Read Online Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) by Marina Adair - Free Book Online
Authors: Marina Adair
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them than peopleher own age. But Lexi’s pork loin smelled amazing and Frankie was starved. She’d split her last Pop Tart with Mittens before she’d left for court.
Frankie gave them all a stern look for several long seconds before turning and walking into the house. “Watch your step.”
She walked through the front room, silently cringing as three sets of orthopedic shoes squeaked on the wooden floor behind her. She knew what they saw. Nothing about the house was impressive. The building itself was sound, but the furniture was outdated, the wallpaper covered in grapes, and everything was coated in a fine layer of dust.
Saul and Glow hadn’t lived in the house in years. When their kids went away to college they had moved closer to town. So, in addition to prepping for the upcoming harvest and planting her soon-to-be vineyard, Frankie had a decade of grime to deal with.
They walked into a large farm style kitchen, with more grapes, and Frankie grabbed a bottle of her Cab off the table and four wine glasses. Pricilla pulled a sanitizing wipe from somewhere inside her crocheted purse and went about wiping the table down.
ChiChi opened and closed every last cupboard and shook her head. “Child, how long have you been living here?”
“Since Monday,” Frankie admitted.
“How have you managed to eat when you don’t have a single plate, cup, or fork in the entire house?”
Frankie looked at Luce who was stroking Mr. Puffins and rolled her eyes at ChiChi’s outrage over Frankie’s lack of homemaking skills. Luce was the one person who completely understood Frankie. They were two peas in an extremely screwed up pod.
“I have cups.” Frankie held up her wine glasses and smiled.
“You’ve got a set of shot glasses too. The ones I brought you as a housewarming present,” Luce added with a grin.
“Yeah, but no water to wash them. I guess Saul had the same tank working both the house and the vineyard.”
“I already called Walt,” Luce said. “He’ll be over first thing Monday to check out the water tank and see if he can get the water running, at least to the property.”
“Shot glasses. No indoor plumbing,” ChiChi chided as though she didn’t, on occasion, sip homemade Angelica, aka fancy people’s moonshine, from teacups. “You two are as bad as my grandson, Trey. Boy doesn’t even have a place of his own and he’s coming on thirty.”
“Lexi sent paper plates and plasticware,” Pricilla said. “So stop harassing the poor girl and help me serve before it gets cold. And Trey would get himself a place if you all didn’t pamper him.”
ChiChi harrumphed but took her seat. In minutes, supper was being spooned up, plates were being passed, and a comforting hum of chatter filled the room. Frankie looked around the table at three incredible women whose friendship had outlasted wars, marriages, funerals, and feuds and found herself smiling. What would she give to belong to something as special as what they’d created?
Oh, she had friends. There were Jordan Schultz and Regan Martin—well, Regan DeLuca now—but for whatever reason, Frankie had never been able to fully open up. Not the way these women did. There was nothing hidden between them. Even when ChiChi had married Geno DeLuca, breaking Charles’s heart and starting a feud that would forever change the shape of St. Helena, never once had their friendship waivered.
The humbling part: They’d always made room for Frankie in their group, especially after the divorce. Going out of their way to include her in all of their plans, their crazy and sometimes illegal schemes, to make her feel a part of something. Which was why, when Frankie looked up from her nearly devoured dinner to find the grannies’ plates virtually untouched and all bifocals on her, she stopped, fork in midair. “What?”
They exchanged worried looks, then Luce spoke. “How are you doing? After today?”
“Great,” she lied, taking another forkful of green.
Frankie gave them all a stern look for several long seconds before turning and walking into the house. “Watch your step.”
She walked through the front room, silently cringing as three sets of orthopedic shoes squeaked on the wooden floor behind her. She knew what they saw. Nothing about the house was impressive. The building itself was sound, but the furniture was outdated, the wallpaper covered in grapes, and everything was coated in a fine layer of dust.
Saul and Glow hadn’t lived in the house in years. When their kids went away to college they had moved closer to town. So, in addition to prepping for the upcoming harvest and planting her soon-to-be vineyard, Frankie had a decade of grime to deal with.
They walked into a large farm style kitchen, with more grapes, and Frankie grabbed a bottle of her Cab off the table and four wine glasses. Pricilla pulled a sanitizing wipe from somewhere inside her crocheted purse and went about wiping the table down.
ChiChi opened and closed every last cupboard and shook her head. “Child, how long have you been living here?”
“Since Monday,” Frankie admitted.
“How have you managed to eat when you don’t have a single plate, cup, or fork in the entire house?”
Frankie looked at Luce who was stroking Mr. Puffins and rolled her eyes at ChiChi’s outrage over Frankie’s lack of homemaking skills. Luce was the one person who completely understood Frankie. They were two peas in an extremely screwed up pod.
“I have cups.” Frankie held up her wine glasses and smiled.
“You’ve got a set of shot glasses too. The ones I brought you as a housewarming present,” Luce added with a grin.
“Yeah, but no water to wash them. I guess Saul had the same tank working both the house and the vineyard.”
“I already called Walt,” Luce said. “He’ll be over first thing Monday to check out the water tank and see if he can get the water running, at least to the property.”
“Shot glasses. No indoor plumbing,” ChiChi chided as though she didn’t, on occasion, sip homemade Angelica, aka fancy people’s moonshine, from teacups. “You two are as bad as my grandson, Trey. Boy doesn’t even have a place of his own and he’s coming on thirty.”
“Lexi sent paper plates and plasticware,” Pricilla said. “So stop harassing the poor girl and help me serve before it gets cold. And Trey would get himself a place if you all didn’t pamper him.”
ChiChi harrumphed but took her seat. In minutes, supper was being spooned up, plates were being passed, and a comforting hum of chatter filled the room. Frankie looked around the table at three incredible women whose friendship had outlasted wars, marriages, funerals, and feuds and found herself smiling. What would she give to belong to something as special as what they’d created?
Oh, she had friends. There were Jordan Schultz and Regan Martin—well, Regan DeLuca now—but for whatever reason, Frankie had never been able to fully open up. Not the way these women did. There was nothing hidden between them. Even when ChiChi had married Geno DeLuca, breaking Charles’s heart and starting a feud that would forever change the shape of St. Helena, never once had their friendship waivered.
The humbling part: They’d always made room for Frankie in their group, especially after the divorce. Going out of their way to include her in all of their plans, their crazy and sometimes illegal schemes, to make her feel a part of something. Which was why, when Frankie looked up from her nearly devoured dinner to find the grannies’ plates virtually untouched and all bifocals on her, she stopped, fork in midair. “What?”
They exchanged worried looks, then Luce spoke. “How are you doing? After today?”
“Great,” she lied, taking another forkful of green.
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