bittersweet migraine.

Kick operated on a just let yourself in because I'm probably doing something when it came to Sabine. Be it come in and grab something and then leave or come in and stay and visit for a while - it was the same thing. She had worked with Sabine since the two of them decided Inn and Winery partnership. It had more or less saved Kick's life in the days following her decision to stay in Blythe Cove after the media frenzy had died down. Her father wanted her to play the part of a grieving widow and then move on.

She was a widow.

Didn't really grieve.

Still wasn't ready for a Randolph Cross version of "moving on" because that meant a new husband for her and a new son-in-law for him.

But just because she wasn't fully by the book when it came to the Cross patriarch's plan didn't mean that she was totally free from family obligations. She was in the small dining room looking over pattern examples and had tabs open on floral arrangements while she went back and forth with the different venues for her father's holiday/business party.

He could hire a party planner - but he wouldn't because Kick had a reputation for the events she put together. Peter died but there was no reason to let her skills go to waste.

She hung up the phone and sighed, resting her back briefly against the chair before good manners dictated that she straighten her posture and stand up. She greeted Sabine with a warm smile as she gestured for her to come in. "Mushroom Risotto with homemade bread and salad for dinner sound all right?" she asked. She was always cooking and trying things that she might want to implement at the inn starting late next-spring as the tourist season kicked off. She had to make sure any meal she wanted to make could be scaled for guests and their breakfast and dinner offerings.

"Hm... ignore the mess. Randolph wants poinsettas as party favors but -- people who have animal companions at home. So, I'm trying to think of a floral alternative. I've tried telling him that party favors shouldn't be anything that requires care and attention but, what do I know."

They took turns in their misery — Kick first, after, well, the upheaval of her entire life, then Sabine following her grandmother’s death. Blythe Cove was home, and yet it had taken time to reconcile it with the life she’d created beyond it. Coming back felt simultaneously like a homecoming and stuffing herself into a mold that no longer fit. She eventually found her place, carving out a niche amidst the sea breezes and weathered houses. Kick’s house, in particular, became a comfort. This very kitchen had been home to many a late-night brainstorming session, minds too many bottles deep to filter their thoughts as Sabine ran through the merits of expanding the winery’s collection. Fears of destroying generations of work with one ‘shitty currant’ — their logo depicted red currants, not black currants, she’d argued against her own point. Thankfully, Kick had the good sense to suggest they trial any new varieties at the inn first, before sending the blend into mass production.  

Mushroom risotto. ❛ Sounds great. ❜ And it was, the white wine would pair nicely with the woodsy flavors of the fungi. She was a willing subject in Kick’s test kitchen, knowing the meals she turned out would be better than the charred remains of whatever Sabine tried to cook in her kitchen. Besides, if she could match the wines to the inn’s seasonal menu, it would earn an uptick in business for both of them. She filtered through the cabinets, hooking a finger around two long-stemmed glasses. 

Sabine could bake well enough, although she kept that conveniently close to her chest. If Kick found the tin of cookies at the bottom of the basket, it would be easy enough to dismiss them as a fluke. 

❛ Randolph is too busy being important to be practical, ❜ she teased over her shoulder, uncorking the bottle and filling the glasses with a healthy pour. The man’s air of self-importance amused her, especially in the shadow of his daughter’s very real laboring. It would be funny if he weren’t so incorrigibly serious. She contemplated calling him Randy once, just to see if his mustache would twitch the way she imagined, an outward manifestation of his extreme malcontent. What a strange man. 

❛ Crazy to think his daughter, who works in hospitality, might actually know something about entertaining. ❜ 

Sometimes she wondered if all fathers were like him, all bluster and aggrandizing statements, obsessed with who their daughter dated. She wouldn’t know. Hers hadn’t bothered to stick around. And wasn’t she better for it?

❛ What about orchids? ❜ She racked her brain for the proper name, Cym something. Sabine knew carignans and cinsauts, sweet amignes and tart albariños; unfortunately, if it wasn’t a type of grape, it was lost on her. ❛ Boat orchids. My mom swears by them. Festive and non-toxic. Problem solved. ❜ She slid a glass across the dining table, already sipping from her own. ❛ Then, when everyone’s favors die by New Year's, they’ll have a pretty new vase. ❜

"Mm, the vineyard is gorgeous. Remind me to stop by when spring comes." She could almost imagine the rows and rows of green, interrupted only by workers or Sabine herself. Flagging down a bartender, Eden ordered a drink for herself. She let the strong liquor flow down her throat for a moment before she spoke. "Oh, do not get me started. Or do, whichever you prefer. It has been that kind of day."

She listened to Eden order her drink, quietly impressed by the strength. She could relate. ❛ That sounds treacherous, ❜ Sabine hummed around her glass. Unfortunately, her curiosity was an insatiable thing. Where she often dodged questions about her own life, divulging just enough to be sociable and little else, she was happy to be a sounding board. ❛ Want to vent? I’ve been told I’m a sufficient listener. ❜

❛ Are you an artist? ❜ Commissions took time, didn’t they? And, unfortunately, Susanne Delmare didn’t have the kind of daughter who planned ahead. Besides, the woman had said, we. ❛ Do you have any pieces I could see? ❜

"How lucky can he be if he's dating me? A workaholic who forgets he's there sometimes." She wasn't sure why her boyfriend was still her boyfriend, really. Sometimes she went an entire day without sending him as much as a text when he'd send her sweet messages asking her about her day or wishing her good luck on things. Simple things as don't forget to have lunch. He was a sweetheart and she was... a mess. "You should stage a coup on his behalf actually. Poor man."

❛ Never. ❜ Sabine shook her head. ❛ He doesn’t need a coup because you’re a catch. You care about your job, you’re kick ass at it, and you still find time to care about him too. ❜ Personally, it was a balance Sab could never quite strike herself. Even before the winery and its endless list of tasks took over her every thought, there was always something preventing her from making time. Genuine time. And when she’d gotten close, well, managing the gallery had been a pretty damn good excuse to leave their bed in the early hours of the morning. ❛ Really, PJ, I'm sure he knows that. ❜ 

The threat was light, she didn't have it in her to do anything to the records store. It was all his; in her eyes, it was very much his needed proof of independence from his family. Her eyebrows furrowed briefly in confusion. "Mm, I'm guessing some long lost record worth its weight in gold." She paused for a moment before frowning slightly. "Or was it that one guy trying to sell you his Kidz Bop Karaoke vinyl again? Because that's what everyone really wants."

❛ Close, he is incredibly insistent. ❜ Or obsessive, if the man’s biweekly visits were any indication. ❛ But no. You know that old record your mum used to play for you? ❜ He took a step back, moving toward the bag he’d left in the hall. From inside it, he retrieved a thin item wrapped in striped paper, a bright red bow adorning the front. A crude attempt at wrapping, to be fair, but leagues beyond where he’d started. It didn’t help that the electric green paper was the only one the corner store had in stock. He extended it toward her anyway, watching her expression closely. ❛ Happy early Christmas. ❜

Contemplating for a moment if her standing with Skippy was still good enough that her attendance could handle another small dip in it, Charlie only sighed and groaned angrily—sighned? groaghed? some kind of slippery combination of the two—before she'd returned a moment later after discarding the overshirt and washing up a bit in the bathroom. And although she'd been thorough, the disgust was still lingering.

"Just one more hour. I can do one more hour." Maybe. Maybe not. But then, as if by some divine intervention, the other woman presented perhaps the only sensible diversion that could make finishing her shift bearable.

❛ Unless you’re rejecting my generosity, ❜ she added,  ❛ Then you’d better count your days, Nick. ❜ The description sounded vaguely familiar, and she would be sure to avoid him the next time she visited the bar.  ❛ I’m Sabine, unless you hate pushy customers who laugh at others’ misfortune. Then I’m Nell, and I’m visiting from… so far out of town. ❜

Taking a sip, she turned to her, pushy curiosity clicking firmly into place. ❛ So, humor me — what made your day so bad that it earned you a lucky bird shit as icing on top? ❜

You think I'm handsome?

That was too much for her to handle - both as a person and as a coach. She struck fast, this time aiming for his right and hit against his kidney, hard enough to tell him that his glibness was not going to work when he was training. "Knock it off and focus." She ordered him. Dresden didn't like it when people were able to key in to anything about her - no matter if she thought they were handsome, a jerk, talented or if she cared about them. She wanted to keep everyone at an arm's length or further, easier for her when they left.

After the punishing jab, she stepped back and dropped her hands. "Step out of the ring," she ordered. She didn't do the talk about feelings when they were in the ring. It made things too convoluted, and she couldn't have people get used to talking when they were supposed to be fighting, but she also wasn't going to turn him away. She was serious about wanting him to have good form; it would keep him from getting hurt unintentionally.

She slipped under the top rope and hopped down. She gestured to the head coach. "Take the next one in for a bit and get them away from the speedbag - they're starting to look bored." Bored didn't work. Bored meant a lack of focus. Dresden didn't allow bored.

"So, they threaten you? Make it so you didn't have your trustfund or investments? Can't go visit them for Christmas? Are they bugging you for grandchildren or asking you not to have grandchildren?" she asked, tossing Theo a bottle of water. "Drink." She didn't do the at least they want you. Or the at least they bother to call you. She didn't pull the you have a family and I don't. Instead, she focused on Theo and how he was doing. "It's not a crisis right? It's actually your life. If they can't respect that - what are they doing calling you?"

Was Dresden right? Were they threatening him? He couldn't be sure; taking it as such would mean taking their grievances seriously. Seven years in, and he was no less enamored and no more swayed towards his parents' wishes than he'd been the day he met his wife. ❛ Not quite, they’re… waiting. ❜

Waiting for the day he abandoned his life to return to England or waiting for the day he cut them off entirely — it was difficult to tell. The optimist in him chose to believe the best, that with time, they would come to accept his choice and finally embrace his bride.

❛ My mother still tries, ❜ he said. ❛ Sometimes she mentions grandchildren, comments on little sweaters and shoes she sees on the way to the shops. ❜ It seemed to surprise her, too, the thought slipping out unbidden before the conversation shifted. Still, it was there. ❛ No, it’s my father. She does what she can to balance him, but it’s never enough. ❜ He took a long swig from his water bottle. ❛ Thankfully, I much prefer my wife’s family. They’re actual people. ❜

"And this is why you're in this mess - because you just go and hire whoever has good ratings off the internet and forget that this house is old and needs someone who knows it." He pointed out. "So, yeah, maybe you should wait until I approve them." He snorted at her childhood good intentions. "I was only gone for eight years, so it's not like that's a whole lot of time where I wasn't working on the cottage - and it was probably in that eight years that it started to go to shit."

He followed her up the stairs. He knew the cottage well enough. He knew where it creaked, and why it groaned. There was a spot on the fourth stair that would sag just a little, and no matter what he did, it would never stay fixed. Sabine's grandmother would just laugh and say it was the house playing with him.

"If it's the pipe, I'll fix it. If it's the roof - I'll look at it and see if I can patch it - I will. Somewhere, your grandmother has a book that lists when she did all the repairs, and she kept the receipts. Do you know where it is?" he asked.

She nodded at his question, already starting down the hall. ❛ Yeah, I keep it in the office. ❜ Amongst her grandmother’s numerous tomes on the winery, there were several files dating back to the original construction of the property. Sabine maintained the matriarch’s strict order, keeping every receipt and shipping slip should she ever need it in the future. Where her own room tended towards disorder, the rest was a carefully oiled machine.

It didn’t take long for her to cross through the bedroom into the adjoining office, the book resting on the shelf nearest to the door. ❛ Looks like the most recent work to the roof was… ❜ she thumbed through the pages, finding the tab that demarcated the structural repairs, ❛ … May of ‘22. And you last fixed the pipes in August ‘24. ❜ Reaching him, she handed over the book, still open to the repair log.

Her eyes glinted in the bar's dim light as she heard her friend talk about her vineyard and the ideas she had for the event. "An intimate experience with booze sounds exactly how I want to get rich assholes to give me money." PJ grinned. It wasn't as easy as that and she put a lot of effort and planning into her campaigns and events but she always pretended it was nothing when it really wasn't nothing. It was a lot of fucking work and ass kissing and she drove her marketing team crazy, sometimes to tears. "Say Glühwein again. You're hot when you talk wine, you know? I have a boyfriend, keep it in your pants, Delmare." She teased.

❛ A girl’s gotta try, ❜ Sabine winked. A chronic bachelorette, Sabine could hardly relate to the other woman’s plight, even if she occasionally wanted to. Relationships rarely held her interest long enough to warrant sweeping gestures or formal titles. Still, she was happy for her friend. ❛ So tell me, ❜ she started, setting her glass down with a soft clink. The bar’s amber lights caught the rim, scattering little flecks of gold across the bartop. ❛ How is your lucky suitor? I’m not above staging a coup if he’s not giving you —or Frida— princess treatment. ❜

"I mean, I know I could talk music all day." James finally said, leaning lightly against one of the shelves as well. Letting out a deep breath as he did so. "It's just everything else that might come with working here. I have no idea if I would remember it, if I could do whatever else the job might entail." But hell did he want it, to feel like he had a purpose once more than just sitting around all day doing nothing in his apartment.

A small grin was back on his face. "You'd end up getting customer complaints about the weird guy who sits around and talks about jazz and swing all day and has the knowledge of a rock when it comes to today's music."

❛ Look, forgetting things… getting mixed up? That’s not a dealbreaker. You should see me when I haven’t had enough coffee — I once rang up a limited press of Back in Black as a novelty poster. ❜ That was the last time he stocked posters, but the sentiment still stood. James hadn’t said no yet, and Theo could use the help. He shook his head lightly. ❛ We help each other. That’s kind of the whole point. And, if you wanted to try it, we’d start slow. One shift a week. No register, no pressure, nothing you can’t walk away from. ❜ 

He chuckled, ❛ Besides, every shop needs a resident jazz historian. ❜ While Theo had studied music theory, crossing his T’s and dotting his I’s, learning the names of the various industry powerhouses, his fascination was more thoroughly held by rock and punk. He enjoyed listening to jazz, but was thoroughly underprepared to hold long conversations about it. ❛ Makes us look classy. ❜

It was a comfort, though, that he had his own passion project. His love for music and opening of Golden Hour had led to an abundance of records tucked away. So, she'd had a wide array of vinyls to pick from during the club meeting. For the moment, she had a compilation of Christmas songs playing as she re-folded blankets. Though she stopped the moment she heard Theo's voice, turning with a bright smile to face her husband.

"Yeah, it was great. I'm always glad to see my club members." They'd all become such dear friends to her, and it was always a fun time filled with laughter when she had them all around. Still, she crossed the room in order to loop her arms around Theo's neck so that she could better pull him into a kiss. "I missed you."

His thumb swept a line at her hip as he took in the warm glow. ❛ You won’t believe what someone tried to sell me today. ❜ It took a lot to surprise Theo when it came to the shop. He kept up with the industry pages, checked in with his stockists every morning for new records, watched release calendars like clockwork. Rarely did anything slip past him.

However, there was one item he'd hunted for over seven years. First with an over-confident certainty that he would track it down easily, and later with a quieter stubborn hope he kept to himself. An elusive album he wanted not for the shop, but for her.

PJ looked back and finally caught what Sabine had been talking about, snorting a laugh when she saw the poor sod being shit on. She took a hand to cover her mouth and it made her shiver, thinking it could be her. Bird poo was so gross and hard to clean off. "Nah, he'll notice soon enough unless he has no sense of smell." She shrugged and turned to Sabine again, taking another sip of her drink before talking. "So, do you think I can have that fundraiser at the vineyard. I'm pushing the Mayor to move up the ladder and I need to do something big because we'll need deep, really bottomless pockets for this." It was probably PJ's worst characteristic, not being able to turn off her work brain, even when out with a friend for a drink. Especially these days.

❛ I had the main hall repainted a month ago, and we’re running string lights through the hallway leading down to the wine cellar. I was thinking we could have timed tastings with our head vintner down amongst the barrels, so that it’s a more intimate experience. ❜ Which, in turn, might encourage guests to pull out their checkbooks. ❛ We’re also experimenting with a spiced wine this year, similar to a German Glühwein. Would you prefer grape or currant? ❜

Today was no different, James found himself shifting through a pile of records, comparing them to his notes app where he had a running list of what he already owned. Having made the mistake more than once of buying something he already had at home. At the sound of Theo's voice, James looked over at him with a grin on his lips. "I wouldn't say no to a frequent flyer program." He laughed but as the joke came about him clocking in, James grinned a bit wider.

That was something that had been on his mind lately, being able to work once more. And while he would never be able to work with something related to what he did in the army, he wondered if there was a chance he could hold any type of job. His days were mostly just sitting at home and that wasn't how he wanted to spend rest of his life. No. He wanted to get out there and live and right now, it felt like he was simply in survival mode. "Trust me, if I hadn't been injured in the army-" He waved a hand towards his head. "I probably would have been in here the day I got back in town begging you to let me work here." He laughed softly, his full attention now on Theo.

❛ Half the work is talking about music and pretending you know where everything is. ❜ Which was easier said than done, especially when the store’s inventory was constantly expanding and browsing customers had a knack for rearranging the bins.

Theo could never claim to be the most organized, but he was methodical when it came to music. His office often looked like a bomb had dropped, papers scattered across the desk and order sheets, but trust that the shelves would be immaculate, or at the very least close to it. ❛ I am confident that you can do both. ❜ Then, less seriously, he shrugged. ❛ Besides, I could use the company. It's getting old philosophizing about King Gizzard on my own. ❜

She looked at the piece again, head tilting slightly as she admired it. ❛ Does she take commissions? I’m looking for a gift for my mom, and she would love the use of texture. ❜