The Night Before the Winemaking Contest, Floating Comments Exposed His Plan Chapter 04

The Night Before the Winemaking Contest, Floating Comments Exposed His Plan Chapter 04

“You’re serious? You can actually grow snowcrest chardonnay?”

Snowcrest chardonnay was a cultivar so rare that most people thought it was a myth. I’d gotten my hands on it by accident three years ago.

Back then, I’d planned to grow it myself and give it to Wesley on our wedding day. A gift no one else could offer.

The corner of my mouth twitched.

“If nothing goes wrong, I can harvest and process it before the championship.”

Over the next few days, I moved out of the house and into the vineyard.

I stopped asking about Wesley and Camille.

All I did was watch over this vine.

Then one morning I walked into the vineyard.

Figures rushed me from the tree line.

The one in front had a vicious scar under his eye and a grin that made my skin crawl.

I knew him.

One of the creeps who’d cornered Mallory downtown all those years ago.

“Finally got you alone.”

My stomach dropped. I turned and ran.

The vineyard was too big. I was one step too slow.

My back hit a wall hard enough to knock the air out of me.

He walked toward me, slow and deliberate.

“If you hadn’t gotten in the way, we’d have settled our score years ago.”

“Now Wesley’s got the Ashford estate locked down so tight we can’t get near them. But you? You’re right here.”

I slid my hand toward my pocket, trying not to let him see.

“I’ve got nothing to do with them. You have the wrong person.”

Briarvale was remote. The nearest sheriff’s office was dozens of miles out.

I hesitated, then called my emergency contact.

It rang and rang. Wesley didn’t pick up.

I clenched my jaw and called my brother.

The scarred man spotted my hand.

“Calling for help?”

He stomped on my wrist.

I hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the phone from my hand, and the speaker clicked on.

“Laurel?”

“I’m in the vineyard. Help!”

He cut me off.

“God, Laurel, can you stop making everything about you?”

“Camille’s trying on her wedding dress today. Why do you always have to ruin things for her?”

I froze.

Laughter and the chatter of a bridal consultant bled through the speaker.

“Wesley’s throwing her the biggest wedding Briarvale has ever seen.”

My mother’s voice in the background.

“Who’s on the phone?”

“Just Laurel. I muted her. She’s not ruining this.”

Their voices kept going, bright, happy, far away.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, something in me had gone quiet.

I looked at the scarred man.

“I have the verdant touch. If you hurt me, every grape grower in this valley will come for you.”

He laughed and jerked his chin over his shoulder.

“Who said anything about hurting you? Back then, you set off a flare to play hero. Today, I’m returning the favor.”

Fire exploded behind him. The vineyard went up in seconds.

“No!”

My whole body was shaking.

“Don’t… please… those are rare cultivars, you can’t…”

The fire didn’t care.

The seedlings blackened and curled, one after another, swallowed whole.

I threw myself into the fire. A burning wooden trellis post collapsed and pinned my hand to the ground.

Pain whited out everything.

But from the dirt, the phone was still broadcasting the dress fitting.

“Oh, Camille, you look like a vision… straight out of a fairy tale…”

I squeezed my eyes shut, clenched my teeth, and curled my body around the last snowcrest chardonnay vine in the world.

It burned anyway.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed.

The doctor studied my chart, frowning.

“Your wrist has severe burns and a fracture. If you want to keep the use of your hands, you can’t work the vines. Not for a while.”

I stared at my bandaged hands for a long time.

“Thank you. One more thing.”

“If anyone comes to see me, turn them away. I don’t want to see a single person before the championship.”

The doctor stared at me.

“You’ve lost the verdant touch and your vineyard. You still want to compete?”

I looked up.

“Everyone thinks it was the verdant touch. But I’ve studied viticulture for over twenty years.”

“I got myself here. Not the gift. Me.”

If the vines died, I’d plant new ones.

If they destroyed everything, I’d build it back with my own hands.

The day of the championship arrived.

The crowd was buzzing.

“Did you hear? Someone actually grew that variety…”

“No way. That cultivar’s been extinct for years. Every top grower has tried and failed.”

“Hold on, is that Laurel? She lost the verdant touch. She actually thinks she can win?”

Across the crowd, Wesley’s gaze found my bandaged wrist. Something unreadable passed over his face.

His mouth opened, but I’d already turned away.

The head judge tapped the microphone.

“Vintners, bring your entries forward.”

I straightened my back and stood.

Someone approached Wesley and pressed a folded note into his hand.

“Mr. Ashford, I was asked to deliver this. Anonymously.”

“She said if she’s fortunate enough to win, this is her demand.”

He unfolded it.

The color drained from his face.