The moms oohed and ahhed. Ashley jumped up and down behind Mom so she could catch a glimpse.
“Everybody back up,” I warned, grinning like a crazy person. Thankfully, nobody questioned, they just moved back so I could do my thing.
I threw my arms around Boston’s neck and jumped. He staggered back a step, but held my hips steady while I wrapped my legs around him. Not one inch of his face was safe from my kisses. He twirled me around and pressed me against the bar. We only came up for air when Lincoln complained loudly about the lame entertainment at this party.
“Let me guess. This is my bridal shower?” I asked Boston, our foreheads still pressed together while we caught our breath.
“Nah. I figured you’d want to plan your own bridal shower. This is just an engagement party. Hope it was okay I texted your friends.”
I smiled up at him, thinking everything would always be okay as long as he was by my side. “More than okay. Wait. You did tell them it was you and not me texting, right?”
Boston’s gaze dropped for a second before lifting again. “For sure. That’s a mistake I’ll never make again.” His grin turned cocky. “Though I can’t say I’m sorry for it. You’re wearing my ring.”
“I’ll never take it off,” I promised him.
And I never did.
* * *
Want more romantic shenanigans at the Cunning Ham Winery? Don’t miss Book Two in the Digital Dating series, While You Were Texting. Read on for a sneak peek!
Sneak Peek of While You Were Texting
CHAPTER ONE
Lincoln
* * *
“Okay.” I tried for a smile as I stood. But my cheeks ached from all the fake smiling I’d been doing for the last hour.
The red-headed woman, who I was pretty sure was at least twenty years older than I was, looked confused. “Okay?” She stood up from the table across from me, a paintbrush still in her raised hand.
“Right,” I said. “Goodbye then.”
“Um,” she said, glancing around like maybe she thought she was being pranked. “Goodbye?”
Her name was Kami, and a lot of the things Kami said sounded like questions, but technically should have been statements. It was one of the things that made me certain that this setup--like every single one of those my mother had orchestrated so far--was not going to result in any kind of happily ever after.
“Yep,” I confirmed, since she insisted on continuing to look confused.
“Okay,” she said.
I took that as agreement and picked up my latest hastily painted ceramic frog and delivered it to the tall, dark-haired girl behind the counter who offered me a sympathetic smile.
“All done?” she asked in a way that made me think she understood exactly why I’d been in here painting ceramic frogs with women I’d never see again over the last few months. “Ah, I see you’ve entered your blue period.”
“Yeah, thanks. You can just put it with the others.”
We both glanced at the shelf behind her, where seven ceramic frogs sat in a row. She was right. I’d been through my red and green periods, and was now hurtling into a blue depression that would probably not let up until my mother relented in her never-ending efforts to make sure I was every bit as happy as her oldest son, Boston.
“Have a good day,” the girl said, smiling in a way that actually made me feel a little better about my plight.
“Thanks,” I said, holding her gaze for just a second. We were practically friends now, the Paint It, Pal girl and me. We saw each other at least every other week, after all.
Kami watched me leave with a look somewhere between anger and confusion on her face, and I gave her a little wave as I headed out into the Solano Creek late-summer sunshine, hopped into my bright red electric car, and drove back to the winery to tell my mother, once and for all, that this needed to end.
***
Mom was at Cunning Ham Winery, which was to be expected. The new winery was her dream come true—something we’d worked to help make happen after Dad had died about eighteen months ago. My oldest brother Boston had taken care of most of the financial side of things, and my younger brother Dalton and I did a lot of the manual labor required to get the place going. I focused on the vines, since I’d gotten a degree in viticulture.
We had a winemaker, Jacques, who was slowly teaching Mom to make wine, but he’d confided