Changing Lanes Read online

  “Oh, come on, ref!” Reagan yells, slamming her fist on the bar and glaring at the TV. “That was clearly hooking!”

  Marley rolls her eyes. “This raving lunatic is quite the sports fanatic. Anything and everything. Otherwise, she’s quite lovely.”

  “I swear, if the Sabres lose this game because of blind refs, I’m going to drive to Buffalo tonight,” Reagan says, facing us again.

  “Road trip!” Kennedy calls out, wiggling her bottom and shaking her shoulders.

  “So, I’ve never done a wine crawl before, unless you mean what I do after I’ve had too much of it,” I say. “What happens here?”

  “So, you buy a ticket and they’ll give us all wristbands to wear,” Marley says. “We stop at six places and at each stop, you get a free glass of wine. They usually offer a red and a white, so you get to choose. And they’ll all have small appetizers too.”

  An older woman with short silver hair and horn-rimmed glasses approaches us. She’s wearing a black dress with neon piping that looks like it stepped right out of the ‘80s. “Hello, ladies. Are you joining us tonight?” she asks, holding up her wrist to display a yellow paper bracelet.

  “Hi, Linda,” Kennedy answers. “We’ll take four.”

  “That’s $20 a piece,” Linda answers, unzipping her leopard print fanny pack to pull out wristbands and deposit our cash.

  After we all take turns helping each other put our wristbands on, Marley groans. “We forgot to eat before we came. Rookie mistake.” She shakes her head.

  I shrug. “So, we stockpile hors d’oeuvres in my purse at each stop. We’ll be fine. Twenty dollars is a deal for six glasses of wine and snacks. Also, I had no idea that Grace had six bars.”

  The three girls laugh. “We don’t,” Kennedy says. “We have Freebush and Lou’s. The other stops are local businesses that open up for the night just for this event.”

  “We’ll go to Kennedy’s bakery, Sweet Things,” says Marley. “That’s her little place on Third Street. Then we’ll move on to Lou’s, Grace Garage, Grace Books, and end the night at Starlight Diner. And we will all have to endure the Chance/Reagan tension.” Reagan crosses her arms and bites her lip. She looks to Kennedy for help, but her sister remains quiet.

  “It’s a hate/hate relationship,” Reagan says. “We dated in high school. He was the bad boy and I was… sheltered. Took my virginity. Broke my heart. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “I met him when I was looking for a job,” I say.

  “You wanted to work there?” Marley asks.

  “Why not? I’m good with cars. But he wouldn’t even give me a shot because I’m a woman.”

  “Sounds like Chance,” Reagan says. “Women are delicate flowers that need to be taken care of and can’t understand the complex workings of something like a car engine. What a pig.”

  “A hot pig that you totally want to shag,” Marley says.

  There’s three seconds of silence before the group of us nods in agreement. We’re interrupted when the tinkling sound of a ringing bell cuts through the room. Linda jumps onto a chair so we can all see her.

  “We’re officially on wine time, everyone. You may visit the back bar to get your glass here. We move in twenty minutes.”

  The four of us are closest to the back bar, so we get there first. Marley and I each order red, while the sisters get white. Kennedy grabs us a table and we all take a seat.

  “So, Kennedy, you’re a baker? That sounds like fun,” I say. “I always wanted to try baking, but there’s so much science to it. This has to react with that and the measurements have to be precise. I’m more of a throw-a-bunch-of-things-into-a-pot-and-hope-for-the-best kind of cook.”

  She grins. “Yeah, I like having a recipe to follow. I’m not great at making anything edible without instructions. By now, I’ve made my own adjustments to things and most of my recipes are up here though.” She taps her temple and sips her wine.

  I swallow down a sip of my own and love the woodsy, berry notes in it. “And what do you do Reagan?” I ask.

  Marley sits up tall with a grin. “Oh, she’s our resident hippy.”

  Reagan dismisses her with a wave of her hand. “I run a little homeopathic shop just outside of town. I make my own essential oils, organic beauty products, and aromatherapy candles.”

  “Her clay mask is to die for,” Marley says.

  “That’s great,” I reply, kind of feeling embarrassed that I don’t have my own business or even a trade or hobby that I’m passionate about. I push down those feelings and reassert that the whole reason I moved here was to leave behind my old life and rediscover who I am. I will find my place in the world, I’ve just got to start looking.

  We all sip our wines in silence for a bit, enjoying the atmosphere and people watching when a funny thought occurs to me.

  “So, together, you guys are the Brit,” I say pointing to Marley, “the baker,” I move to Kennedy, “and the candlestick maker?” motioning to Reagan.

  “Holy shit,” Marley says with a laugh. “That is golden.” She lifts her wine and we all clink our glasses together. “To, Stella. I think we’ll keep her.” We all have a chuckle and before we know it, it’s time to move on to Sweet Things.

  The walk to the bakery is short but chilly. I hold my coat closed and mutter under my breath. “Sheep balls, it’s cold out here.”

  “Honey, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Marley says.

  I spot Kennedy’s place on the corner and am so excited that we’re almost there. I’m so focused on my destination, that I don’t make the transition from sidewalk to cobblestone street very gracefully. Luckily, Reagan grabs my elbow before I go down.

  “These streets are charming,” she says, “but dangerous.” Reagan gives me a wink and links her arm with mine as we make our way inside the bakery.

  The place is small, but adorable. The walls are painted a soft pink color and there’s a wall mural of cakes and cupcakes painted behind the counter. White lights are strung up around a makeshift bar in the corner with a selection of two wines. On the front display, there are trays of miniature cupcakes and petit fours.

  “Kennedy,” I gush. “This place is so cute. I can’t wait to try your treats.”

  She guides me over and explains all the different sweets laid out. I choose a miniature banana pudding cupcake and shove the whole thing in my mouth.

  “Oh. My. God. This tastes like home, specifically my grandmother’s recipe. Wow.”

  She smiles and twists her hands together. “Thanks, Stella. This bakery is my life. I love bringing joy to people with food.”

  “I don’t know how you look how you do, because I’d be the size of a house if I worked around this deliciousness all day.”

  She smiles. “I work out. A lot.”

  We all grab our wine and stand near the door chatting until it’s time to move on. Linda rings her bell and we look to her for instruction.

  “On to Lou’s,” she announces.

  As a group, we all make our way outside and move like a herd to Lou’s which is just two doors down. Glass number three and I’m feeling much warmer than when this journey started. Lou’s is a sports bar with lots of televisions and sports memorabilia. The wine here is my favorite so far. It’s a red blend from California and I make a note of the name and brand in my phone.

  Reagan keeps checking the Sabres game on the televisions in between conversation. She starts to feel more relaxed and opens up around me. She gets so excited when talking about her products and working with natural ingredients that her excitement spills over to me. Before I know it, she’s convinced me to come by her shop for a consultation and some free samples.

  Linda rings her bell again, shouting over the noise of the televisions. “Wine Walkers, we’re heading to Grace Garage.”

  Reagan and I groan while Marley and Kennedy give each other a knowing look.

  This time, I am an expert crossing the cobblestone street, or maybe the wine has installed a false sense of confidence i
n me. Either way, I make it to the sidewalk with no problem, the other three girls trailing behind me.

  When I enter the shop, the same familiar smell of oil and engine hits me, but there’s something new too. Something smells absolutely delicious and my mouth waters as I search the space for food.

  We take off our coats and place them on hooks by the door, along with the rest of the wine crawlers. I recognize Chance standing at the front counter greeting people. He looks very different all cleaned up and in a nice button up and jeans. Next to his desk, there is a table set up with already filled plastic wine cups of red and white wines.

  “Hello, ladies,” he greets. “Hey, Reagan.”

  She tries to seem disinterested, but there is an instant spark in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She stands a little taller and adjusts the neckline of her dress. The sexual chemistry between these two is tangible and I make a note to get with Kennedy and Marley to give them a shove into doing something about it. Big talk from someone who seems to be sitting on the sidelines of her own life, I know.

  “We have two offerings from the Castiel Valley winery in Napa,” Chance says with a wave of his hand. “And over here,” he says, motioning to the other side of the room, “we have an enormous charcuterie board put together by Mr. Lane Holder.”

  I whip my head in that direction and find Lane there, explaining the offerings to other guests. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him and I wonder how to seem available but nonchalant.

  Marley sneaks up behind me. “There’s your man, love. Now go get him before someone else snags him,” she whispers. She gives me a little push and after that, my feet carry me across the room on their own accord.

  I smooth down the front of my dress and approach the table. When he turns to find me there, I see that signature crooked grin appear from the corner of my vision and I try to play it cool.

  “So, charcuterie?” I ask without looking at him. All the food is laid out beautifully on a long piece of natural looking wood. It looks way nicer than anything I ever thought I’d find in this town.

  “Yes,” Lane answers, surprised but happy to see me. “You know, an assortment of breads, cheeses, meats, and veggies mostly.”

  “You put this together?” I ask, snagging a cracker and throwing it in my mouth.

  “I did.”

  “That’s impressive. I didn’t know you were fancy like that.”

  Lane grins and shoves his hands into his dark jean pockets. “It’s not that fancy. It just appears that way because it’s in a garage.”

  “Fancy by proximity?” I ask, twirling a piece of hair around my finger.

  “Definitely.”

  “Between you two and Reagan and Chance, I can barely breathe with all the suffocating tension in the room,” Marley complains as she walks by, dragging a giggling Kennedy with her.

  Wine is forgotten as I let Lane show me around the assortment of goodies to eat. He has me try all of his favorite pairings, naming each cheese as we go and bragging that his grandmother made the fig preserves. Every few minutes, he’ll touch my arm or shoulder, one time being so bold as to wrap a hand around my waist as I reach for a piece of toasted rye. I never thought I’d feel comfortable just shoving food in my face in front of a gorgeous man, but here we are.

  Much too soon, Linda is ringing her damn bell. Lane helps me into my coat and straightens the collar. His fingers linger on my coat for too long and the heat from his hands permeates the material.

  “Well, thanks for the lesson in cheese this evening,” I say. “It was enlightening and delicious.”

  “My pleasure, Stella.” His hand slides down my arm slowly, until he grabs my hand, squeezes and lets go.

  “Stella! Reagan! Let’s move,” Kennedy yells when we’re the last two guests lingering inside. I look over to find Reagan leaning on the front counter, her back to Chance as his eyes linger on the exposed skin of her back.

  “Well, I’ll see you around, neighbor.”

  “You certainly will,” Lane answers, his smile showing off a dimple.

  Marley motions wildly for us to catch up with the rest of the group. I’m so high from my time spent with Lane, that I don’t pay attention to where I’m walking. One wrong step on a crack in the cobblestone street and my ankle twists. I let out a yelp and hit the ground hard.

  The girls come running over. “Oh my god, are you okay?” Reagan asks.

  I wrap my hands around my ankle. “I don’t know. It really hurts.”

  Sharp, shooting pains travel up my leg and I take deep breaths to manage the discomfort. Marley disappears while the two sisters try to help me up. Once I’m upright and balanced on my good foot, I try to put some weight on the hurt ankle, only to go falling to the ground again. But this time there are strong, hard arms to catch me. I look up to find Lane’s concerned face looking back.

  “You should stay off of that,” he says. He glances at my injured ankle and back. “It’s already starting to swell.”

  The girls gather around us, while Lane picks me up, holding me bridal style. “I’m so sorry girls.”

  “Well, let’s get you home,” Marley says. “And sidenote, good thing you put your knickers back on, otherwise it would have been ‘Hello, world. Here’s my vag.’ Would have had to make a pubic apology to the whole town.” She pauses. “See what I did there?”

  Lane shakes his head. “You girls can stay. I’ve got her. My truck is just next door and my duties here are done. I’ll get Stella home.”

  “Are you sure?” Marley asks, but she’s looking at me, not Lane.

  I nod. “Yes. You guys stay out and get sloshed. Drink some for me.” I look up at Lane as he adjusts his grip on me. “Thank you so much.”

  “It’s no problem, really,” he says. “Goodnight, ladies.”

  With that, he turns and carries me down the sidewalk toward a driveway where his truck is parked. I watch over his shoulder and Marley, Kennedy, and Reagan each give me a wave before heading off to catch up with the rest of the group.

  In the dark alley, Lane gently puts me into his truck and closes the door before jogging around to the other side. He climbs in and starts it up, turning the heater on and moving two vents to point at me. All I can think about is that tiny gesture, moving those vents, making sure I’m comfortable. It’s something my ex would have never considered. There are big words and small acts, and each can make a woman feel like she’s special. Kindness comes naturally to this man and that warms me from the inside out.

  “Now, let’s get you home,” he says.

  The ride back to our neighborhood is quick and quiet. The silence is not awkward, but comforting. When you can just sit with someone in stillness and silence, those are the people you need to keep near.

  Lane swings into his driveway, parks the truck and hops out. He’s at my door before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt.

  “I’m sure I can manage from here,” I say. He gives me a look that makes me shut my mouth and not protest when he scoops me out of the seat and into his arms again.

  “It’s okay, Stella. I’ve got you,” he says. His voice is deep and soft at the same time. It feels compassionate and like he wants to say more. I pray that is not just my imagination.

  With no effort at all, Lane carries me through my door and up the stairs. His strong arms feel safe around my body while the scent of him leaves me intoxicated. The push of his chest against my ribs makes me imagine a more intimate position and I squeeze my thighs together in search of relief. He sets me down on my bed with my skirt nearly around my waist. We both reach to pull it down, but he yanks his hands back when I get to it first.

  “There you go,” he says. “Can you manage from here?”

  I nod and try to remove my shoes, but wince when the throbbing pain travels up my leg. “Damn. I swear I’m not always this damsel in distress.”

  “I don’t see you that way,” he says, kneeling before me. “I see a strong woman.” One hand wraps around the bottom of my calf while his fi
ngers unbuckle the tiny clasps on my shoe with no problem. “You don’t necessarily need help, but you aren’t afraid to ask for it.” He takes them both off and sets them to the side. Both hands come back to rest on my calves and all coherent thought is lost with his large, warm hands on my skin. They travel up and come to rest on my bare knees. I’ve never thought of knees as being erotic, but in this moment they are. “There’s strength in that.”

  I eye my bruised ankle and frown. “I don’t feel strong. I feel like a hot mess.”

  Lane looks up at me, his eyes so intense I hold my breath until my lungs burn. “Well, you’ve got the hot part right.”

  Air rushes out in a sort of laugh and I feel dizzy. “I think I need to lie down.”

  Lane nods, his lips forming a little pout as he gets to his feet. “You’re going to sleep in that?”

  “Well, no. But I can handle it,” I insist. “Thanks so much for helping me… again.”

  “Hey, let me run downstairs and get you some ice for that ankle before I go.”

  “Okay, sure.” He heads for the door. “But then that’s it. You’re outta here. No more knight in shining armor duties tonight.”

  By the time I finish my rant, he’s already out of the room. I slide off the bed and hop to my bathroom, knowing my comfy yoga pants and sweatshirt are on the counter. Eyeing my reflection, I decide that I don’t look so bad in this dress and I just might keep it for a while.

  I lean one hip against the counter and grab the hem of the dress. Yanking it over my head, I think I’m in the clear, but one arm gets caught up in the ties. I turn toward the mirror, but it’s no help with the dress covering my entire head. Lane’s footsteps on the stairs stir a panic in me and I thrash against the supposed stretchy material, trying to free myself.