The rest of the wine festival went well—at least from a sales perspective. I introduced myself and West Wines to a few wineries I hadn’t spoken to before, making connections that would hopefully help us grow. Dad had made us one of the biggest distributors in this part of the state, but there was always competition. And now that West Wines was going to essentially support the launch of Mom’s winery, well, I didn’t want to tell her this, but it was going to be tight for a bit.
My mother wasn’t wrong about needing help. Besides not having the first clue how to make wine, she wasn’t much of a salesperson. She was too kind. If I left it to her, she’d be giving the wine away. Jacques already had his hands full in the winery—he’d mentioned that Mom was a lot more prepared to embrace the “art” side of winemaking than she was willing to undertake the more scientific aspects.But making her own wine was Mom’s dream, and it was the only thing that had made her smile since Dad had died. So even though Cunning Ham Wines looked to be a money sink, if it made my mom happy, I was going to support it. I’d just have to work twice as hard.“That’s right,” I told the final winery I visited, smiling over a surprisingly excellent Bordeaux blend I knew I could sell into mid-range lists locally, “we’re a family business. Three out of four sons joined my dad at West Wines, and the Cunningham family has been running it for the last fifty years.”“That’s great, son,” the man on the other side of the table told me. He was the owner and winemaker of a place I’d heard of a few times recently, and I’d tried unsuccessfully to get a meeting with him in the past. “Well, give me a call this week and I’ll bring you in and show you the operation. I’m curious to see how much you think we can move, especially into retail.”I smiled at him, pulling on the version of my smile I reserved for closing. “Sir, if you keep making excellent wine, I’ll make sure it’s in every four-star restaurant and retail store from Redding to Phoenix.”“I like the sound of that.” He clapped me on the back, his smile growing as he envisioned it. That was the key, I knew, getting people to see something much bigger for themselves than they’d imagined before. And making them believe you were the only one who could deliver the dream.“I’ll give you a call this week. See you soon,” I told him, shaking his hand and then turning back toward the slowly dissipating crowd.The sun was streaking down the sky in the west, and the air was taking on the chill of evening, bringing the faint scent of the Pacific on the light breeze coming over the distant hills. Vendors were beginning to pack up their wares, and wine-tasters were starting to take themselves back to the parking lot, heading for home.I was headed back to help Mom pack up, crossing the now-vacant dance floor, when a body slammed unceremoniously into me from one side.“Whoops!” The body cried loudly in a distinctly feminine voice.I turned, catching the quickly toppling pile of girl in my arms and setting her back onto her towering wedge shoes. As I set her upright—even before I got a glance at her pretty face—I knew it was El. And for that brief second she was in my arms, something inside me let out a sigh.But then I was righting her, my hands on her soft hips and my eyes drawn to her very low-cut top. “There you go,” I managed, pulling my eyes up to look into her face. She had amazing blue eyes—wide and fringed with dark lashes, and there was something so sweet and honest in them. I’d noticed it long before I’d had the chance to sit across a desk from her during our ill-fated interview. “You okay?”As soon as El realized who it was that had kept her from toppling over, she practically jumped to move away from me, nearly crashing over in the other direction. “I’m fine.” Her words came out in a rush, and she sounded indignant that I’d even asked.“You practically fell over there,” I pointed out, wanting her to realize I hadn’t exactly sprinted over and put my hands on her for no reason.“I was fine,” she said, her voice taking on a somewhat terrifying edge of anger.This was going about as well as our interview had. “Okay, well. Did you have a nice time?” I tried. I could be friendly. Maybe she’d see that I was actually a nice guy.She sniffed and crossed her arms over her body, “Yes, thank you. But now I need to go.” Her eyes held mine for the briefest of seconds, and in that instant my insides jumped into some kind of jiggling rhythm, and I wanted to hold that gaze forever. But she was already turning around, heading away from me.“See you at the office,” I called, though if she heard me, she didn’t respond.El joined her friend on the other side of the dance floor, and while her friend looked back at me with a quizzical expression, El kept right on wobbling toward the parking lot, clearly hating me with every unsteady step. Man, she was cute.For the second time in a few minutes, another body jolted into my side, tearing my attention away from the pretty girl who despised me. I was evidently in the middle of a high traffic area or something.This time, the body was Chad, and from the grin on his face, I knew he’d slammed into me on purpose. One of his less-charming ways of commanding my attention. Like a puppy, the guy didn’t seem to realize his own strength.“Good day, bro?” he asked, the grin still in place. “I take it you had a good time?”“I always have a good time.” That was true. I envied that about him, actually.“I’m glad.”“That one was a firecracker,” he said, nodding at El’s distant form, making slow progress through the parking lot. The fading sun was lighting her blond hair, making it gleam with glints of gold.I faced him. “What do you mean?” My stomach turned over itself uncomfortably. “You didn’t, uh . . .”“What? Here? No.” Chad’s eyes went a little misty and I knew he was picturing it. I kicked myself for putting the idea in his head. He shook his head and his gaze cleared. “Nah, she’s not my type. Too . . . I don’t know. Too something. Seemed kinda overeager, if you want the truth.”“What do you mean?” Could a sweet girl like El really be interested in a guy who called himself ‘The Chadder’?“I mean, I like a girl who’s into it, you know?” “But?”“She asked for my digits. Like five minutes after meeting me.” He nodded like this proved some kind of point. “I’m a pretty serious catch, I know, but even a guy like me likes a little more foreplay than that.”“Dancing at a wine festival
The front door slammed behind me and caught part of thecloth shopping bag I had in my hands to take to Mom’s house. I tried to pull it free, but it was lodged pretty good. With a sigh, I grabbed my keys out of my purse to open my place back up, but then I fumbled the keys and almost spilled my travel mug of coffee.“Careful there, El,” came the voice I tried to avoid when I was running low on time or patience.Frank. My duplex neighbor.I gave him a weak smile, which froze in place when I saw him standing in his bathrobe and boxers, scratching his considerable beer belly. He had one of his female mannequins sitting in the single chair he could squeeze in on his tiny front porch. Usually, he kept those ladies inside the house, which was creepy enough. No need to bring them outside and remind us he had a few screws loose.“Off to your mom’s?” he called across our adjoining decks, then took a huge slurp of coffee before offering the cup to his inanimate friend.My routine was highly pre
She swung her arms out to the side, one of her splints catching me on the shoulder and nearly knocking me down. Her voice came out at a decibel equal to a rocket taking off in Florida. “It’s always about the boobs!”Heads swiveled and I was done. I pushed the cart out of the store, studiously ignoring her like I wasn’t with the crazy lady shouting about boobs. She would catch up eventually. Probably.The only mercy was that in all the conversation throughout the store, I hadn’t told Mom about Chad. Or the fact that I’d actually texted him last night in a moment of weakness. Ashley had been hounding me all afternoon to text him just to see what would happen. At twenty-eight, you’d think peer pressure wouldn’t be a thing anymore, but I was alive and well to tell you that it is. And it got me. I texted Chad and he’d texted me back and now the ball was in my court. Me and sports didn’t get along, so I knew nothing about what to do with this flirt ball or where my court even was. And also,
I shouldn’t have texted with her. I should have told her right away that I wasn’t Chad. I almost forgot she thought I was until that last text came in.Beautiful Accountant: Enjoy your work. Goodnight, Chad.I sat back in Dad’s chair, the loud groan of the hinges sending a wave of deep sadness rolling through me. The single lamp was on over the desk, and the room was otherwise dark and quiet. Seeing my phone light up with El’s name had brightened the place—and my evening—but the brutal reminder that she didn’t even know who she was texting dimmed things considerably.That and the news that she was going to quit.It was probably that information that had stopped me from coming clean. She was leaving anyway, and though Solano Creek wasn’t a big place, I spent all my time at West Wines or Cunning Ham Winery. The odds I’d ever see her again felt miniscule. And who knew if she was even staying here? I knew nothing about Isabel Watson.Nothing except that she was beautiful. And smart. And t
Beautiful Accountant: Not possible. Me: but he’s probably not as hot.Beautiful Accountant: No one is as hot. Doesn’t matter though. I’m done.Despite the fact I was now grinning at her assessment of me, two things occurred to me. One, Chad would not be as excited about her descriptions of me as I was. And two, she was still planning to leave, which dulled my happiness considerably.Me: Maybe there’s one person who is almost as ‘hot’? Like, for instance… me?Beautiful Accountant: Gah. I’m the only person who can put a foot in her mouth via text. Of course you are. Sorry.Me: Thank you.What kind of weird world was I in? I needed to make sure Chad’s feelings weren’t forgotten even though he didn’t care in the least about hers.I needed to come clean.I’d tell her at eleven. When she gave notice.***But at eleven, I was in the midst of a crisis. One of our most sought- after wineries had just called to tell us they’d had a storage issue in their wine cave, and half of last year’s bottl
Crap on a cracker. Please tell me this wasn’t happening.Inside I was cackling like Mom, complete with a coughing fit and some chest thumps to keep the ol’ ticker going, absolutely hysterical with the ironic turn of events. Outwardly, I was dying a slow death, frozen on the spot while all the realizations came tumbling through my brain to slap me in the face. Boston, my soon to be ex-boss, was the son of my new boss. And I’d told my new boss straight to her face that her son was an ass. I’d be fired before I even got the first day of training under my belt. And I couldn’t go back to West Wines once Pam told Boston why I’d been fired. Why couldn’t my life ever be smooth and graceful?My eyeballs dared to move, eyeing the black polo shirt Pam had in her hands that was to have been mine. I saw the cute pig logo, the one I would have proudly worn as I poured wines and schmoozed my way to higher and higher commissions. The Cunning Ham. Boston Cunningham. It was all coming together now. Wha
I guessed it also made me inhale sharply because the next thing I knew, one of the buttons on my polo decided enough was enough and shot straight toward Boston, pinging him on the chest before falling to the floor.“Oh!” I gasped, one hand going to the gaping hole on my shirt, the other covering my gaping mouth.Boston made a noise that sounded an awful lot like he was being strangled. He bent down and picked up the button, putting it on the counter and looking away. “Maybe you should just unbutton it and put that last button out of its misery.”My face flamed a thousand degrees. I looked down to see the remaining button sweating bullets. I took pity on it and unbuttoned it, which saved the button from popping off, but gave a wider expanse of cleavage than I preferred in a work setting. In a stroke of genius, I remembered a tool that would save the day. Spinning around, I took the clip off the cute bulletin board behind me that housed all the laminated wine menus, clamping it onto my
Despite having lost a favorite shirt over the course of the evening, I went to bed feeling oddly happy. It had been a rollercoaster of a day. I’d resigned myself to saying goodbye to El—not that she would actually want me (or allow me) to actually say goodbye to her when she left West Wines. But in my mind, I’d begun to try to get used to the idea of not having her around.It was strange. Up until the wine festival, I’d seen her at work now and then. I’d always thought she was attractive. But it was the texting, I decided, that had pushed that moderate attraction over the edge into something new, something different. The texts she sent me—well, okay, the texts she sent Chad—were honest and open, and I felt like I got an insight into the real El. The Isabel Watson she kept hidden most of the time, or covered up with too many words and a moderate amount of flailing around. They let me see the real her, and even though she didn’t know it was me, the ones I sent back allowed me the freedo