Author's Note: Welcome to the sequel to Christmas in July, which follows Zoe and Wade to New York. I'm really excited about this story, and hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: All Hart of Dixie characters belong to Leila Gerstein and her writers.

Brand New Start

Chapter One: Start Spreadin' the News

"Statue of Liberty, obviously."

"OK." He brushes Zoe's hair away from her neck and kisses below her ear.

"Hmmm…MOMA…the Library…the Met…oh my God!"

"I'm likin' the appreciation," he murmurs, working his way across her bare shoulder.

"No—not that—" She puts up a hand, as if to slap at him, but then pulls him closer, sighing, "Don't stop… mmmm…I meant you have to see the Guggen—ohhh…"

He raises his head, causing her to pout in frustration. "Jeez, Doc, what is this—a sixth-grade field trip? How about somthin' fun?" he smirks, kissing his way down to the hollow of her throat. "Like Coney Island? Hot dogs—" He keeps going.

"Well—"

"Ice cream…"

"O…K…"

"Cotton candy?"

"Yes!" She arches up into him, twining her fingers in his hair.

He props his chin on her chest and grins. "I think I'm gonna like New York."

Wade is packing—or trying to—when Zoe skips into the gatehouse, holding up a piece of paper. "I got our tickets!" she sings, making her way over to him.

"What tickets?" he asks absentmindedly. Every article of clothing he owns is scattered across the bed. He's decided that he's only taking his "best" stuff to New York: the navy-blue peacoat Zoe gave him for Christmas, his one suit, a few years old but still serviceable, all the jeans that don't have rips, holes, or paint stains on them, two sweaters that he's had forever, but that still look new because it's never cold enough to wear them, and, of course, a few flannels—but which ones?

Zoe wraps her arms around him from behind. "Our plane tickets." He turns, slowly. "I can't believe we're really doing this," she smiles, lifting her face for his kiss, but he drops his arms and steps back.

"Plane tickets? I thought we were drivin'."

She looks at him, brow furrowed. "We can't take a car, silly. Do you know how much it costs to rent a garage in New York?" She narrows her eyes. "Don't be grumpy just because we can't act out your Cannonball Run bed-hopping fantasy."

"It isn't that," he comments tightly. "You just bought the tickets, without asking me—"

"We said we wanted to leave on the first…these were the last two seats—I had to grab them!" He frowns, hands on his hips, and she reaches out to touch his chest. "What's wrong?"

He brushes a long chestnut lock back over her shoulder. Goddamn, but he loves this woman; he wishes he could just get caught up in her excitement and forget everything else, but better that they have this conversation now, then after they get there. "I hadn't exactly…budgeted…for flyin'. I was plannin' to use my savings, such as they are, to tide me over until we get set up."

"Oh, sweetie, you won't need to worry about any of that! We're staying with my mom, so that's rent-free, and I'll be making double what my salary is in Bluebell—"

"Zoe," he says quietly, but very definitely. "I can't start out livin' with you as a…kept man."

"Though you do provide exceptional service." Her joke falls flat, and she looks up into his face, lacing her fingers through his. "Wade, you and I are taking this amazing step together. It means so much that you're willing leave everything you've known behind to come with me. So what if you need a little time to get on your feet? That's what couples do—they support each other. You'd do the same for me if the situation was reversed."

"I guess that's what I'm afraid of, Doc. That I'll never be able to do the same for you." He sits down heavily. "Maybe I should let you go on ahead and get settled. If I work just a couple more weeks at the Rammer Jammer, I'll have enough for my ticket, and I can join you then."

She shakes her head vehemently. "No! The whole point of this is that we're going together. Our flight is Sunday, so we can spend a couple of days sightseeing before I have to start at New York Pres. These fellowships are super-demanding, Wade—I might not have any time off for awhile." She pauses. "Besides, if you don't come with me, how do I know—" she breaks off, turning away from him.

"How do you know, what?" Silence fills the room, and he lets it hang there.

"How do I know you'll come at all?" she asks, in a very small voice.

Remorse hits him. He can't ruin this for her…he takes her hand, spinning her back toward him. "You gotta give me more credit than that, darlin'. I'm not usin' this as an excuse, I promise. Just…give me a little time to figure things out."

"Fine." She toys with his shirt buttons, eyes downcast. "But don't take too long, OK?"

"Yeah." He runs his thumb over her cheek and she leans into him, just for a minute.

"I've got to go meet Lavon. His cousin might rent the carriage house while we're gone, and I have to see if I can store my stuff in the attic." He stands up to give her a proper kiss goodbye, but she leans around him and snatches a certain blue flannel shirt off the pile on the bed.

"Where you goin' with that?"

"I'm packing it."

"Forgive me for sayin' so, Doc, but I don't think it's your size," he comments, happy they are back on a lighter footing.

"You liked it well enough last time I wore it," she smirks.

"I would've liked it a lot better if that'd been all you were wearin'." He pulls her against him. "Maybe you should try it on now," he suggests, into her neck.

She tips her head to the side, allowing him more access. "Mmmm….wait…Lavon…"

"Yep, I'm thinkin' Lavon can definitely wait." He slips her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and runs his hand up her back to her bra clasp—

There's a knock on the door, and Earl peeks in. "Y'all busy?" he asks, then turns an embarrassed pink when he sees them. "Didn't mean to intrude." He ducks back out again.

"I have got to start lockin' that door," Wade mutters.

"Just think," Zoe giggles as she tucks her shirt back in. "Next week, it'll be my mom interrupting us instead of your dad. At least, I hope it'll be next week," she adds, with a significant look.

"All right," he concedes. "But that's not exactly a big selling point, Doc."

"Don't worry, we'll just hang a sock on the door like I used to do in high school." At Wade's intrigued look—"Kidding!" She throws the flannel over her shoulder and makes her way to the door.

Wade sticks his head out after her and calls to Earl, who is trudging around the pond. "Come on in, Dad."

Earl stumps back up the steps. "Sorry 'bout that. Shoulda called first." He sees the array of clothes littered over the bed. "So…you're really doin' this whole move-to-the-big-city thing?"

"Looks like it," Wade replies, sinking down next to a stack of t-shirts. "Hey, Dad? Did you ever feel like you shouldn't be with Momma?"

His father looks surprised at the question. "I wanted to be with Jackie from the first time I saw her in the seventh grade. I loved her from that hour to this—ain't stopped yet, no disrespect to my Mae."

"No…I mean, a time when you felt like you couldn't…live up to her."

"Only every day!" Earl laughs. "I always knew I married above my meed, but she wanted me, for some reason…I could never give her the life she deserved, so I made damn sure I made her happy in other ways." He looks at Wade for a long moment. "What's eatin' at you, Son?"

"It's nothin'."

"It's not nothin', if you're thinkin' you're not worthy of the doc…that just ain't true. You're smart, and a hard worker, and you ain't made the mistakes I did…no reason you can't build a life that both of you can be proud of."

"That might be the case back here in Bluebell, but New York is an expensive city, and I'm not exactly flush with cash." He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "I shoulda thought of that before now, only Zoe's been so fired up about the whole notion that I got wrapped up in it, too."

Earl is quiet for a minute, apparently thinking; then he drops a hand on Wade's shoulder. "Don't go borrowin' trouble, now. I just bet you're gonna figure it out."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure I will. Now what brought you over?"

"Well, maybe now ain't the best time for this…" he hesitates. "But I brought you somethin' I thought you might need—eventually." Fishing in his jacket pocket, he pulls out a small red box.

Wade sits back in shock. "Is that—Momma's ring?"

"Yep."

"It's not—we're not—"

Earl puts his hands up. "I ain't askin'! I always meant to give it to you anyways…so you can take it to New York, or not, but she would want you to have it." Earl sets the box on the coffee table and walks to the door. "And Wade? She would want you to have Zoe in your life, too—they woulda been two peas in a pod, those women. Keep you on your toes, no matter what."

"That's for sure."

The door slaps shut behind Earl, and Wade picks up the box from the table, turning it over in his hands and wishing he could see into the future.

The next day, Wade is loading cases of beer into the Rammer Jammer's storage room when Earl comes around the corner. "Hey there!" he says, surprised. "What can I do for you?"

"For once, I'm hopin' I can do somethin' for you." He hands a manilla envelope to Wade. "I know you've been worryin' on how much New York is gonna cost…"

Wade looks up at him suspiciously. Opening the envelope, he finds a collection of grimy, crumpled bills—tens and twenties, mostly. The rich smell of soil hits his nostrils—"What in the blue blazes is this?"

"It's yours," Earl replies.

Jesus, Wade thinks, kicking himself for even mentioning his money concerns to Earl. What's the old man gone and done? "Mine? No—I don't know where you got all this, or why it stinks like it's been keepin' company with a dead body, but I don't want no part of it—"

Earl looks hurt. "T'weren't in a coffin—I used your momma's cannin' jars! What does it matter that a little dirt got in anyway? It's still worth the same!"

What? Wade takes a deep breath, realizing they may be talking at cross-purposes, and speaks slowly. "Where did you get this money, Earl?"

"I tole you—it's yours. Back when I was drinkin', and you'd give me twenty bucks just to shut up and leave you alone, I…I saved it." Astonished, Wade gapes at him. "I'm sure you thought I poured it all right down my gullet but I didn't. Figured you might need it someday."

Wade's throat suddenly feels tight. Guilt—at underestimating Earl, at jumping straight to the worst conclusion, and not for the first time—swamps him. He wonders when his father went from being a millstone around his neck to his fairy godmother. "As it happens, it's gonna come in very handy. Thanks, Dad."

"You and the lady doctor have done an awful lot for me these last months, and I want you to know I appreciate it."

Wade clears his throat. "Don't get all sappy on me, now."

Earl rocks back on his heels with a pleased grin. "Well, don't go gettin' all hoity-toity up there, and forgettin' us all."

"I won't. Is there anythin' we can send you? You want a model of the Empire State Building, maybe?"

"Aw, nothin' for me. But maybe…Mae, she collects those little spoons with the pictures on 'em from everywhere she goes? One of those might be good—women do like their doodads."

"You bet." Wade pauses. "We gonna see you at the New Year's party?"

Earl looks a bit uncomfortable. "Naw…those big to-dos aren't really my speed." Wade understands that this has more to do with being around lots of alcohol than the party itself, and doesn't push it.

"Take care of yourself, Dad," he says instead.

"I'll do that." Earl puts out his hand; Wade takes it and pulls him into a hug. "Now who's gettin' sappy?" the older man complains, but doesn't let go.

It's New Year's Eve, and the Rammer Jammer is packed. Wade stands behind the bar, surveying the crowd. In spite of the early hour, noisemakers and periodic cheers are already lending a festive air to the night.

A banner stretches across the back door: Good Luck, Wade & Zoe! When Wally first offered to honor their last night in Bluebell at the Rammer Jammer's annual bash, Wade wasn't sure how Zoe would take it. Maybe she would want something smaller, more intimate, with just their closest friends, instead of a raucous shindig people came to from three towns over, but she surprised him: "All of our friends will be there anyway, and there'll be music and dancing. What's not to like?"

Lavon comes up, leans on the bar, and orders a Moscow Mule. "Seems a shame you have to work your own goin'-away party," he comments as Wade mixes vodka, ginger beer, and lime juice.

"Nah, I'm happy here—can keep my eye on all the action, but don't have to answer a pack of questions like 'Am I sure I should be doin' this?', or listening to New York horror stories that Big Ethel saw on Facebook."

Lavon laughs. "Yeah, well, I've been there—used to play at the Meadowlands at least once a season—and I think you're more ready for New York than New York is ready for you."

"I bet they've seen their share of hick bartenders up there. You got any advice, Mayor?" Wade asks, wiping down the counter.

"Keep your wallet in your front pocket, and take the subway—most times, walkin' is quicker than a cab. Also, just 'cause folks are talkin' too fast, doesn't mean they're lyin'; seems like nobody has time for a normal conversation. And whatever you do, don't stop in the middle of the sidewalk—you'll get plumb run over."

"Duly noted."

"So…" Lavon looks down at his drink thoughtfully. "Now that you and Big Z are gonna be livin' together…you have any thoughts of makin' an honest woman of her?"

Wade thinks of the little red box, buried at the bottom of his carry-on suitcase, and deflects. "Misery loves company, huh?"

"I've never been happier in my life! And you didn't answer my question."

"Well, I—" Just then, the object of Lavon's inquiry slides onto a barstool. That was close, Wade thinks, as he leans over the bar to kiss her. "Hey, baby…you need to wet your whistle?"

"I just did," she says saucily.

"You're still lookin' a bit parched…right over here." He plants another kiss just at the corner of her mouth.

"Yo, I'm still here, y'all," Lavon comments good-naturedly.

Wade turns away to serve a gaggle of barely-legal-looking girls at the end of the bar. When he returns, Lavon is saying to Zoe, "Plantation's not gonna be the same without you two."

"Oh, Lavon," Zoe replies, her eyes welling up. "When I think about you, all alone at breakfast—"

"For Pete's sake, Doc, he won't be alone—he does have a fiancée," Wade puts in.

"I know, but Lemon's not much of a morning person. Remember all the fun the three of us used to have, while Lavon made pancakes…granny's recipe…" The waterworks start again.

Wade hands Zoe a napkin to dry her eyes. "No offense, Mr. Mayor, but I do believe she'll miss the food as much as the company."

Sniffing, she looks sheepishly over at Lavon. "Could you maybe send us some buttermilk muffins once in awhile?"

He puts one large paw on her shoulder. "For you, Big Z? It'll be an honor. Now, serious question: you'll be back for the weddin', right?"

"Do you think we'd miss our best friend's wedding? No way! Of course we'll be back," Zoe asserts.

"Good to know…Lemon'll kill me otherwise."

"Awww…that's so sweet," Zoe says. Wade and Lavon both raise their eyebrows at her. "Oh—not the killing part. The part where it's important to her that we be there."

Lemon herself walks up, and Zoe wastes no time wrapping her in a hug. The blonde tolerates this, then steps back, patting her hair. "I do declare, Dr. Hart, it's not as though you're leaving forever. Surely we don't need these—displays—"

Zoe smiles. "Oh, Lemon, you'll miss us."

"Bless your heart. How will I learn to survive without seeing shirtless tenants at breakfast and listening to the constant raiding of our kitchen at all hours?" She turns to Wade. "Shelley jammed the register tape again and every receipt is a mess of inkblots."

"I'm on it," replies Wade.

Lavon puts an arm around his fiancée. "See, honey? Taken care of. Now you have time for a quick dance with your poor neglected betrothed."

Addy comes to grab Zoe, and Wade goes in the back to deal with the register. As he fiddles with the tape roller mechanism, he's accosted by Tom Long.

"Hey, Wade—" He glances around nervously. "Before you go…there's somethin' I've been meaning to ask you, man to man…it's about women and…how they work."

Oh, jeez. Please tell me I'm not gonna spend my last night in Bluebell teachin' Tom Long the sex ed he apparently missed in high school. "If you're needin' to know anythin' about the birds and the bees, I'd check in with the Doc. She's a professional."

Tom looks aghast. "Of course not! I'm saving myself for marriage."

"Really?" That's still a thing? "Uh—good for you, Tom. So how can I help?"

"It's Wanda." He gazes besottedly over at the red-haired, porcelain-skinned waitress, currently weaving her way through a crowd of revelers, tray held high above her head. Wade recognizes the puppyish eagerness on Tom's face—the kid looked at Zoe that same way, not too long ago. "She's—she's perfect," Tom sighs. "How can I get her to notice me?"

"For starters, wipe that fool stare off your face. It's a turnoff."

Tom instantly straightens, endeavoring to plaster on a more blasé expression, but ends up looking like he swallowed a catfish bone instead.

Wade tries to stifle his laughter. "Yeahhhh. Maybe not so much with the James Bond bit. Just…look normal."

"I don't know what that means," Tom complains, crestfallen.

"OK, let's move on. What kinds of things does she like?"

"Well…I saw her reading a magazine once, when it was slow in here—it had a lot of cookies on the cover…and she always sings along to Luke Bryan songs—"

"You've never talked to her?"

"I have!" Tom protests indignantly. "The other day, I ordered an omelette from her—with ham!"

"That must've made her heart go pitter-patter."

Tom finally catches the sarcasm in Wade's tone. "I know…but how did you get Dr. Hart to notice you?"

Wade thinks back to a certain steamy night, playing Guitar Hero with the Rebeccas (or the Rachels?), and one pissed-off doctor in a tiny nightie yelling about the fuse box. Yeah, she noticed him all right…and the fire lit that night was still burning.

"Tom, I'm not sure you're ready for the Defcon-5 level of flirtin'. Why don't you just try askin' how she likes Bluebell, or tellin' her a joke—"

"A joke! That's an idea. I'm tryin' to put together a set for Open Mic night at Tricky Rick's—maybe I could try one of my bits on her. Thanks, Wade!"

Wade is dubious about the effectiveness of this approach, but Tom seems enormously encouraged, so he lets it go. He claps the younger man on the shoulder. "Whatever floats your boat. Most important thing is to be yourself. If it's meant to be, it'll be."

Goofy expression back on his face, Tom replies dreamily, "Just like you and Zoe."

Wade looks across at his girl, currently doubled up in laughter at something Addy is saying, and smiles. "Y'know, you're absolutely right. I think it's time for me to take a break." He turns back to Tom and shakes his hand. "Good luck with everything. Let me know how it goes with Wanda."

Sauntering over to where Zoe and Addy are now mirroring each other in some kind of 60s shimmy, he asks, "Can I cut in?" The first strains of Frank Sinatra's classic float over the general noise, and he glances up to see Lavon smirking at him from the DJ stand. Addy turns back to coerce Bill onto the dance floor, while Wade twirls Zoe under one arm.

"Having fun?" she asks.

"I am now," he grins, dipping her.

"I never thought I'd say it, but I'll really miss this place."

"Good news is, everything'll still be here when you get back, right where you left it. That's Bluebell for you."

These little town blues

Are melting away

We'll make a brand new start of it

In old New York…

TO BE CONTINUED

A note on the posting schedule: a new chapter should be up about once a week, if all goes well, though I'll certainly post more quickly if I can.

Would love to know what you think!