Rom-Com Collection (Part1). Kristan Higgins
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by the rocks, staring up into the blue sky, wondering how she could tame a hawk or fawn. It was so magical to her then, she could just about hear the soft footfalls of a unicorn or hobbit. Of all the places on their land, the vines and the fields, the woods and the falls, this had been the most special to Faith.
And now, finally, she could contribute to the family business. It felt good. Just because she was the youngest didn’t mean that this place wasn’t part of her soul.
Blue nudged her hand and dropped his tennis ball. “Again?” Faith asked. He didn’t answer, just stared at her, willing her to throw the ball. “You got it, big guy,” she said, hurling the ball into the woods.
Faith had spent the morning at the library, taking photos of the courtyard off the children’s wing, measuring, taking notes. It was a sweet little space, and she intended to make it great. Flowering trees (she was already shmoozing the nursery for donations), a winding path, a water installment, because she loved the sound of gushing water (who didn’t?). And then, for the centerpiece, something really special, though she didn’t know just what yet. She had to spend a little time there first and feel the mojo before she decided. One of her clients in San Francisco used to laugh at her for lying down on the ground of any given project, but, hey, he kept hiring her for more jobs, so clearly it worked.
Just this morning, Faith had probably seen a dozen people she knew: Lorelei from the bakery on the green; her old classmate Theresa DeFilio, and her parade of children, following her like beautiful, dark-haired ducklings. Faith’s old Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Linqvist, who still made Faith feel guilty. The football coach’s wife. Jack’s high school girlfriend. The nurse from Jeremy’s office.
As for Jeremy himself, she’d be seeing him tomorrow night.
Faith took another breath, and, as ever, the uniquely sweet smell of the Finger Lakes air—grapes and grass—calmed her. The smell of home.
Blue was back, but he raced past her, woofing joyfully around his tennis ball.
“Hey, Faith.”
“Hey, Pru! What are you doing here?”
“Just figured I’d come have a look, see what you were doing up here.” She threw Blue’s tennis ball into the woods. “About time Dad green-lighted this. All the other vineyards have been doing weddings for years.” She took off her hat and ran a hand through her salt-and-pepper hair.
They were quiet a moment, the beauty of the gray day solemn somehow.
“How are you, Pru? You seem a little down.”
Her sister sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired. Early harvest and all that. Dad’s driving me crazy, as usual.” She glanced over at Faith. “Also, I feel like Carl and I are living in a porno these days. Sex, sex, sex, all the time.”
“Oh! How thrilling!” Faith glanced at her sister’s face. “Oops. Not thrilling?”
“First it was just hints, you know? Like, did I want a bikini wax, or could we talk dirty. Then...” To Faith’s horror, Prudence’s eyes filled with tears. “Shit, Faith. I don’t know. The whole bringing sexy back...you know that song? By that cute boy?”
“Yeah, I know it,” Faith said grimly.
“Who is he again?”
“Justin Timberlake.”
“Right. “Bring Sexy Back” or something. Well, I didn’t know sexy was gone. Now Carl wants me to be all creative. You know what he brought back from Costco last week? Eight cans of whipped cream, Faith. Eight.”
“That’s a lot,” Faith said. Time to swear off dairy.
“And it’s having the opposite effect. Right? Like, the storm of love I used to have has dried to a mist, because all of a sudden, plain old marital brevity isn’t good enough. Oh, and the other day, Abby walked in on us, and she’s not speaking to me at the moment. Last week, Faith, I had a mammogram, you know?”
Faith looked up sharply. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure! But I was looking forward to it! Like, that was my special alone time, just me and the boob squisher. I didn’t have to talk dirty to Carl or wear Vulcan ears—”
“Oh, boy.”
“—or deal with the kids, Dad wasn’t asking me questions and Honor wasn’t up my butt. The mammogram people were running behind, so I got to sit there in a bathrobe and read a magazine and it was the best time I’ve had in ages! Even when my boob was in the machine, I said to the woman, ‘No, no, take your time,’ and I meant it!”
“Pru!” Faith pulled her sister into a hug, and Blue, panting, joined in the comfort, nosing against the two of them, whining. “Oh, honey. Maybe you just need some time away.”
“I know that, Faith!” she barked. “But I can’t. We’ve got harvest, which is seven days a week till it’s done, then we have the ice wine harvest, then it’s the stupid holidays, and really, why did Baby Jesus have to be born in December? Because March is wide open! I’m just saying.”
“I think Jesus was actually born in—you know what? It doesn’t matter. You should get away for a few days. Alone. I’ll drive Abby wherever she needs to go, and make dinner for everyone or whatever you need. Really, Pru.”
Her sister straightened up and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt, then scratched Blue behind his ears. “It’s a nice thought,” she said. “But I can’t.”
“Well, you can. You’re choosing not to. Don’t be a martyr, Pru.”
“Please. You sound so California. And being a martyr is our family motto.” Her sister wiped her eyes again. “Let’s change the subject. Show me what you have in mind for up here. Come on. Chop, chop. I don’t have all day.”
“Sure.” Faith led her sister into the woods proper. The path was overgrown, but it was there. A squirrel chastised them from a tree branch overhead, and the smell of rain was thicker now. Blue led the way, his tail waving.
“I haven’t been up here in years,” Prudence said behind her. “Always too busy, I guess.”
“Do you remember the barn?” Faith asked, holding a branch back so her sister wouldn’t get whacked.
“Not really.”
“Well, here we are.”
They stood in front of what currently didn’t look like much: the rock walls of the old barn, which had been built in the early 1800s and burned when Teddy Roosevelt was President. The roof and interior had been destroyed in the fire, as well as the wooden doors, leaving a wide gap in the wall.
Faith went inside, Pru on her heels. “Huh,” her sister said.
Three walls of ragged stone surrounded them. The floor had long been taken over by forest grass and moss, and lichen had coated the rock walls. But the best part was—to Faith’s mind, anyway—that the lake-facing wall had crumbled, opening the space up to the most amazing view. Thanks to the steepness of the hills, they could see the tops of the trees in front of them. Past that were the fields of grapevines, the white buildings of Blue Heron—the New House, the tasting room, the barn where the wine aged in tanks and casks—and then more fields and woods, and finally Keuka, the Crooked Lake itself.
“So how would this work for weddings and such?” Pru asked.
“Well, this would be the space. You could get about seventy-five people in here, give or take. I’d level off the floor but maybe keep it grass. Then we’d build a cantilevered deck, so you could stand out there like you were on the prow of a ship, ten, fifteen, twenty feet off the ground as the floor extended out. Maybe take down a tree or two and open up the view.”
“What if it rains?” Pru asked.
“That’s the magical part,” Faith said. “You can get clear roofing material, and if Dad wanted to