Chapter One
Meg
“Wait, this happened to Josh Whittier? Like LaChappelle/Whittier winery, Josh? Get the hell out of here.” My friend Francesca, Frannie, nods her head yes. “Wow, his girlfriend, Elle, is she ok?” I’ve hung out with them recently. This is freaky. Especially in Sonoma, it’s way too small.
“Fiancée and she is fine. And I have one hell of a case against that creep for her.” Frannie’s a shark of a lawyer.
“I just can’t believe that all this went down at Poppy’s Cafe tonight. And Poppy?” I adore that little redhead. I hope she’s ok.
“Concussion.” “Damn, those women are badasses. I’ll call Poppy when I get to New York.”
I thought the most exciting thing to happen tonight was I was going to cry in public as I said goodbye to my friends with one last glass of wine. I can’t wait to tell Scott this story tomorrow. Tomorrow that is freaking me out a little bit. I breathe deeply through my nose. I’m moving in with the boyfriend tomorrow, 3000 miles away from here. I have a silly stomach about it right now—one full of excitement but nervous knots as well.
Becca Gelbert, Frannie’s law partner, steps over to us and fills in the rest of the story her brother, David, told her. I can’t concentrate because Becca has the most delicate features and luminescent skin. I’m kinda blotchy tonight. I always think she looks a bit like a china doll, but she’s impossibly tall. She flits around too. I’m not a flitter. More of a stomper and then ungraceful flumper into a chair. She glides. Frannie’s dark long hair is pulled back into a very severe and exact ponytail at the nape of her neck. She narrows her deep dark eyes and scans the room. I think she’s looking for our friend Brian, the manager of the girl and the fig restaurant. Even though she’s been to the hospital and the courthouse tonight, Frannie is still sporting a perfect smoky eye and tall heels. Heels I most certainly would topple over in. I move on from the topic.
Becca makes her exit, and Frannie continues to gossip about Becca’s boyfriend, who she hates. I sit back and bask in the minutiae that will soon be our history. Frannie’s husband and my close friend, Wade, is happily letting his wife talk. He’s next to me, his warm hand on my leg, and it’s a familiar gesture from my dear friend. Every time his Frannie gets way too over the top, Wade squeezes my thigh. The bartender, Mark, weaves his way through the restaurant to us. It appears that he’s leaving a bustling bar to deliver my favorite wine in the world, Imagery Estate Viognier. I recognize it from the color and smell. He smiles and presents it with a flourish, “A gift.” I happily take it, “From you?”
He shakes his head, “Will you throw it at me if I say it’s from him?” He gestures to the man at the end of the bar who towers above the other patrons. His incredibly high and famous cheekbones cut through the fog of customers. I saw him when I came in and disregarded him. I have more important things to do tonight then wonder why a hot pop star is here. Mark’s acid-rock heart probably hates all that Ian Reilly represents, and he would be thrilled if I tossed the drink at him.
“I’d never throw this wine. Hey, you don’t sell this by the glass?”
Mark crosses his arms and smiles smugly, “He asked for your favorite. I made him buy the bottle.” Mark leans over and kisses my cheek, “I’ll miss you.” AC/DC’s Have A Drink On Me plays in my head. A song that reminds me of a good memory of my ex-husband and Mark playing in a pickup band for some long-ago local fundraiser. I pluck the song right out of my Pantheon of memories and bathe in the recollection. I let it wash over me for a moment.
I look in Mark’s eyes, “And I you. My glass is getting shorter.” I recite a lyric to him, and he kisses the top of my head. I see Ian Reilly position himself in my sightline. I’m not going to encourage this attention, and I politely nod with a ‘Yeah, no, don’t think so’ smile. And then Ian responds with a look that I can only be described as that’s what you think’. What the hell is happening? My stomach does this weird adrenaline thing. I disregard the sensation. The last time my stomach went floppy was four months ago when my boyfriend Scott mailed me a box of African soil, so we could stand on the same ground for just a moment.
Francesca gets way too excited about the drink. “Oooh, don’t tell him about Scott. But definitely flirt. Who does it hurt?” I sneak another look at Ian. Much to my annoyance, he’s still looking at me. It’s an incredibly well-known smile, but there’s a little mystery to it. His dark eyebrows raise over his amber eyes as I quickly look away. I shake my head to refocus on my friends.
Wade chimes in, “It hurts Scott. Remember Scott? Our friend Scott?”
Francesca defends herself, “It’s not like she’s going to screw him, are you?”
I can’t help but laugh at them. “No! I’ll tell him about Scott right now. Stop texting him, Wade.” Wade places his phone back in his breast pocket and nods at me. Wade and Scott grew up together, and it’s how we met. I’m wearing an old chunky army green sweater dress, black tights, and a beat-up beige suede jacket, so I’m totally confused by his attention. I have minimal makeup on and black moto boots that have seen better days.
On my way over to him, I trip. Not unusual for me. I catch myself on the back of a patron at the bar, but my wine and glass go flying. Mark holds out his hand, snatching the goblet out of the air before it crashes into the mirror behind him. He also gets a face full of wine. This is not the first time Mark has caught my glassware. There’s a round of applause. Mark and I bow to the crowd, and then everyone turns and goes back to their conversations. It’s not a new performance. I grin as Mark hands me a bar towel, wiping his own face with another. I wipe my face, as well as the bar, and turn my attention to Ian.
Ian quickly asks, “You don’t seem embarrassed by that?” I’m honestly confused. “Why? Should I be?”
He looks at me, incredulously, “You just fell and threw your drink all over people.”
I don’t hesitate, “Yeah, well I didn’t write the lyric ‘Your toes remind me of cream horns.’ I mean, that’s embarrassing.”
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