Vines & Pages

Spencer Maxwell stared intently down at the open book in front of her. She'd been reading the same page for at least ten minutes, but the words refused to register. All around her people sipped wine and nibbled at cheese, their casual chatter blurring into a sort of non-distinct hum. Out of the corner of her eye, Spencer saw a tall figure walking towards her, and felt her heart thrum like a hummingbird had found its way into her chest.

It had all started with the mysterious box she’d received in the mail. The name on the front was written wrong, labeled "Maxwell Spencer" instead of the other way around. Rolling her eyes, Spencer had checked the sender, frowning at the unfamiliar address. It was a company she’d never heard of, called Vines & Pages. Quickly dashing off a signature she’d thanked the delivery driver, carrying the box inside. When she’d opened it Spencer had found a hardcover copy of the new legal thriller she’d been dying to read, and a bottle of expensive-looking merlot.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she’d cracked open the bottle and poured herself a glass. Digging through the box Spencer discovered that Vines & Pages was one of those monthly clubs, which sent out a bottle of wine and a book tailored to the member. Confused, she’d looked them up online, wondering if she’d somehow signed herself up without realizing it. But the site was completely unfamiliar, and when she entered her email she’d gotten a message informing her there was no account tied to that address.

Spencer had then taken a closer look at the letter, realizing that it, too, was addressed to Maxwell Spencer. It had taken one simple call to the local post office to find out there had been a mistake—Maxwell Spencer lived at 3408 Brentwood Rd, whereas she, Spencer Maxwell, lived at 3804 Brentwood Rd. The woman on the phone had offered to have the driver come back immediately, but Spencer quickly told her she would take care of it, guiltily eying the open bottle of wine sitting on her counter.

Building up her courage by drinking another glass, she’d grabbed the book, placing it neatly back into the box and writing a quick letter of apology. Before she lost her nerve Spencer hurried out the door, following the street until she found the address 3408. It was a few blocks away from her place, at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. Knocking on the door, Spencer felt a rush of relief as she realized no one was home. Leaving the box on the doorstep she darted back down the driveway, only slowing down when she reached her own driveway.

Two hours later, the first text message had arrived.

Hi Spencer. Thanks for the note, and sorry about the mix-up. I can’t say I blame you for drinking the wine, and I appreciate your honesty. You don’t have to worry about paying me back, but maybe you could help me out. I just moved here, and I wouldn’t mind getting some advice on where to go to meet people. I’m thirty years old if that helps.

Spencer had read the text, grateful that whoever Maxwell was he didn’t seem to be holding a grudge. She'd figured the least she could do was help the poor guy out after basically stealing his wine. Moving to a new place was never easy, and she knew how tough it could be to meet people on a good day, let alone on the tail-end of a pandemic.

Of course! Since you clearly like wine, I'd suggest the wine bar over on 6th Street. It’s called the Blind Monk, and they do different events all the time. I go a lot with my friends, and there are usually quite a few people there around our age.

Spencer had figured that would be the end of it, though she’d fleetingly wondered what he would be like in real life. She was pretty sure none of the men she’d recently gone out with had ever read a book in their life, let alone signed up for a monthly book and wine club.

She still wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, but somehow the two of them had continued talking. Then—a few hours of messaging and the majority of a bottle of merlot later—the mysterious Maxwell had suggested they meet the next night for a drink. Spencer had thought it sounded like a fabulous idea at the time, but now, sitting in the Blind Monk and waiting for him to arrive, she found herself deeply questioning her life decisions.

She mechanically flipped to the next page, keeping her eyes directed downward even as a shadow fell over the table.

“Spencer?”

Seeing no other choice Spencer peeled her eyes away from the book she wasn’t reading, her mind going blank as she saw the man standing in front of her. Tall, blonde, and devastatingly handsome, Maxwell had warm blue eyes that brightened as he got a good look at her. “I’m Max,” he said, entirely unnecessarily.

“Spencer,” she introduced, trying not to cringe as she realized he’d already said her name.

“Right. Also known as the wine thief.” He winked, settling casually into the seat across from her. “What are you reading?” He gestured towards the book she still had clutched in her hands.

“Oh. Um, it’s just a romantic suspense,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat up though she wasn’t sure why.

“Any good?” He sounded sincere, and Spencer felt herself relax a little.

“It’s not bad,” she said, relieved her voice came out sounding normal. “I’ve read most of her books, and some are definitely better than others. It’s not terrible but I probably wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I’ve read…” Max listed off a few titles by the same author, placing his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. “Don’t tell anyone though,” he whispered, his breath smelling deliciously minty. “If word gets around that I enjoy reading romance books then I might not be invited to play on the beer league baseball team I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“The Weekend Warriors?” Spencer laughed, closing her book and tucking it away in her oversized bag. “I wouldn’t be too worried about that. It just so happens that the woman who stole your wine has an in with them.”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow at her, then smiled at the waiter who approached the table. “Do you have a preference?” Max motioned to the wine menu, which was at least five pages long.

“Well, I suppose I owe you a merlot.” Spencer glanced up at the waiter, giving him a questioning look.“Is there one you’d recommend?”

“We just put this one on the menu,” the older man said, flipping to the correct page. “Here.” He gave a little tap, and when Spencer saw the name she let out an inadvertent laugh, which she hastily smothered with her hand.

“A bottle of the Stolen Merlot it is,” she said, handing the menu back to the waiter. “Two glasses please.” Across the table, she heard Max give an amused-sounding snort.

“It’s meant to be,” he said, echoing her thoughts. Within minutes the waiter returned, setting down their glasses and pouring a small amount into hers. Spencer gave it an expert swirl, sniffing before placing her lips on the wide rim. She let the smooth wine flow over her tongue, inhaling slightly to get a better taste. She could taste red fruit, with an underlying hint of cocoa and maybe some vanilla.

“Lovely,” she said, giving the server her approval. He leaned over to fill Max’s glass, then topped up her own. Holding it aloft Spencer looked across the table. “Cheers.” She made eye contact with Max as they gently clinked their glasses together, feeling suddenly bold. There was a beat of silence as they both sipped, their eyes still locked together. The hummingbird returned, but this time her rapid heart rate was more from excitement than nerves.

“So, have you lived here long?” Max asked, at the same time Spencer spoke.

“So, you just moved here?”

They both laughed, any residual tension melting away. It turned out Max had previously lived in Toronto before taking a new job in Vancouver, and he didn’t know anyone on the West Coast. He loved dogs, played every sport under the sun, and was determined to learn how to surf. By the time they’d finished the bottle and worked their way through a few of the items on the tapas menu, Spencer thought she might be half in love with him already.

“May I bring you two anything else?” The waiter gave them an indulgent smile, gesturing towards the menu. “We have quite a selection of desserts, as well as some sweet wines.”

“How about one more glass of merlot?” Max suggested. “We could share a cab home.”

Spencer felt a slow smile spread across her face. “We could,” she acknowledged. “Another benefit to being your neighbor.”

Later that evening, Max insisted on walking her to the door. “I feel like I owe the post office a thank you,” he said, glancing over at her. “If they hadn’t screwed up I would never have met you.”

“But you’d have gotten your wine,” she pointed out, letting a teasing gleam show in her eyes as he leaned closer.

“If you’ll let me kiss you then it was well worth it,” he whispered, his lips hovering over hers.

Spencer closed the distance between them, tasting a hint of chocolate and raspberry from the merlot that still lingered on his tongue. When he stepped back, clearing his throat, she discovered she needed to hold onto the doorknob for support. “I think I’ll have to take next month’s wine too if that’s how you’re going to punish me,” she said, somewhat breathless.

Twelve months later, another box arrived. “This is actually for my neighbor,” Spencer said, a smile playing on her lips as she thought of Max. “He’s at 3804 Brentwood.”

The postal worker frowned, squinting as he looked down at the package. “You sure?” He held out the box. “Says here that it's for a Spencer Maxwell at 3408 Brentwood. Is that not you?”

“Oh!” Spencer peered down at the box. “Sorry, my mistake.” Taking the box inside, she felt her phone vibrate.

Open it.

Grinning, she quickly ran a knife through the tape that held the package together. Inside was a book and a bottle of wine. Taking a closer look, Spencer saw a shiny gold key tied to the neck of the bottle with a bright white ribbon. Picking it up, she held it in her hand for a moment, wondering what it was for. Then her phone vibrated again.

You stole my heart along with my merlot. Move in with me.

Spencer held the key tight to her chest, making a mental note to give the local postman a huge tip the next time she saw him.