Wild Abandon Read online

  He pours more wine into my glass and then pours some into another red wine glass for himself. With his fingers pinching the bottom of the stem, he holds the glass up, tilting it away from himself on an angle, and he starts swirling the wine in the glass. “Before you take a sip, you have to look at it first.”

  I tip my head to the side. “I would, if you turned on a light.” My voice is a little snarkier than it should be.

  He narrows his eyes at me before walking over to an adjacent wall and flipping a switch. The lights above the bar area illuminate, and I see just how unkempt the space is. The bar is full of scratches, and the vinyl liner is peeling back. The linoleum floor is mismatched, and quite a few of the tiles are missing. The entire area behind the bar is a mess of empty bottles, knocked over knickknacks, and a clock that’s blinking from never being reset.

  Also, in this light, I can see Ed’s face properly. He is about sixty years old, and the lines of his face are hidden behind coarse facial hair. His skin is dark, like someone who works outdoors all day would be, and his hands are callous. While he might have been letting this building go to waste, he certainly has been keeping himself busy outside.

  Ed rests his glass on the bar, and with his palm flat on the base, he places his middle and ring finger on each side of the stem and swirls the bottom in circles. The wine swoops and twirls inside the glass. I try to mimic the movement. At first, I do it too fast, and the wine looks like it’s trying to escape, so I slow down.

  He holds his glass up again toward the light and then gives it another tilt, allowing the wine to roll around. I pick up my glass and do the same.

  “See how the wine is dark in the center and light on the outside? If the color is watery at the edge, then it’s insipid. If it’s dark and red, then it’s been oxidized and past its prime.”

  I look at my wine glass and the pink that lines my wine. It looks pale to me. “Well, if that’s the case, this wine will lack flavor,” I state.

  Ed lifts his chin in a way to suggest I try the wine.

  I do and shrug my shoulder. It’s not terrible wine. It’s just as okay as my box wine.

  I place the glass on the bar and ask, “How much is a bottle of this?”

  He lowers his chin and looks at me with a furrowed brow. “Sixty-five dollars.”

  Sixty-five? “I wouldn’t pay more than eight bucks for that at the liquor store.” My hand immediately flies to my mouth.

  Ed stares at me for what feels like ten years. My outburst clearly cost me the job, and now, he’s deciding how to kick my ass out on the dirt road it came in on. I suck on my bottom lip and wait for him to say something.

  Like the crack of a whip, Ed leans his head back and laughs. It’s a heavy, deep laugh that’s so loud that I startle when I first hear it.

  He takes the bottle he poured from and throws it in the trash. The act makes me flinch.

  Taking his cane, he starts to walk back around the bar. As he passes me, he points a finger. “You’re hired. Follow me.”

  I stand with my feet firmly planted on the ground and watch as he walks out a back door.

  Before it closes, he says, “I haven’t got all day.”

  Okay then.

  I follow him out, and just as I’m about to ask him one of a hundred questions I have going through my brain, I stop and let out a small gasp at the view.

  Napa is known for it’s striking landscapes, but here, in the backyard of a decrepit barn in the middle of the valley, is a sight so incredible that I can’t believe some developer hasn’t come here to snatch this little piece of heaven away.

  Through the back door, I am now standing on a stone veranda as wide as the barn and big enough to host fifty people. Above me is a weathered pergola with wood splintering at the ends. Stone benches line the end, also acting as a fence of sorts. Just behind it is a cascading hill of vineyards that make a straight shot through two mountains where it looks like the ends of the earth are just beyond it.

  As serene as that is, perhaps the most enchanting part of the view is the foreground. A sea of gorgeous burgundy roses lying across a field, like a blanket of love. There has to be hundreds of rose bushes back here, all on ample property where grapes could grow. Instead of making a cash crop, someone chose to nurture petals of beauty instead.

  A harrumph sound coming from the back of Ed’s throat stirs me from my bewilderment, and I am brought back to reality. I turn and look back at the overweight man with the incredibly long beard, who just hired me for a job I’m not entirely sure I want.

  “Naomi mentioned you needed someone to play music during wine tastings.”

  Ed waves off my comment and takes a seat on one of the stone benches. “That girl is insistent. What do you play?”

  “The cello.”

  “You any good?”

  “Good enough,” I counter. Then, I look back out at the gorgeous red roses. “How long have you owned this place?” I ask. Then, I realize I never actually asked him who he is. “You are Ed Martin, right?”

  This causes Ed to laugh just a touch, and then he goes back to his grimace. “Yes. Everyone calls me Big Ed.” He puts a hand on his round stomach and gives it a pat. “And that was before I had this.”

  The comment is self-deprecating yet endearing in a way that makes me smile.

  Big Ed looks around the place and continues, “I’ve owned Russet Ranch for seventeen years, worked here for eighteen before that. You think it looks bad now? You should have seen it when I first came here. Old Man Russet nearly had this place collapsing before I came along. Used to have alpacas roaming free. Those bastards ate through everything.” He looks at the back of the building with a fondness in his eyes. “Together, we brought this place to life. Made some great wines, and swung a decent profit.”

  I sway from one foot to the other, wondering how a place that was once brought to life is now in shambles and in need of a change. I feel awkward about asking such questions, so I settle on what I do need to know. “What is your plan? Do you want to revitalize the place again?”

  Big Ed places his free hand on top of his other, which is resting on his cane. With his two hands perched in front of him, he looks out at the roses. “What do you know about wine?”

  “Not much.”

  “You’re not from here?”

  “No, sir.”

  He looks back at me. “You got red hair.”

  I look down at my braid and raise a shoulder in acknowledgment. My hair is a deep auburn. For a long time, I used to say my hair was brown, but when in the light, shades of red would show through.

  “You say what’s on your mind,” he says, referring to my comment earlier about the bad wine.

  Again, I just shrug my shoulder. “You haven’t answered my questions.”

  Big Ed rises from his spot. “And you ask too many. Be here on Monday morning at nine.”

  He starts to walk away, toward a garage that I didn’t see when I pulled up but can now see is far off from the property.

  “But you haven’t even told me what I’ll be doing,” I call out to him.

  With his back to me as he walks away, he raises a hand and yells back, “Don’t be late!”

  My mouth opens, then closes, and then opens again.

  Look like I have a job.

  “You have a job!” Naomi is throwing her hands in the air and doing fist-pumps at the dining room table.

  “Did you not listen to a word I just said?” I start ticking off the many reasons I should not be working at Russet Ranch. “The place is falling apart, the wine tastes like crap, and the man wants me to play the cello, yet there isn’t a person in hell who would pay to go there for a tasting. And,” I exclaim, “we didn’t even talk about pay or hours or anything!”

  Naomi closes her laptop and looks up at me with a beaming smile. “I think it all sounds wonderful!”

  I turn to the only other rational adult in the room. “Scarlet?”

  Scarlet closes the book she’s been reading, leav
ing it on the sofa. Her long brown ringlets bounce as she walks toward me. She puts her hand around my wrist in a move that I think is supposed to be comforting. She looks up at me and says, “What screws us up the most in life is the picture in our head of what it’s supposed to be.”

  I fall to the seat beside me and place my head in my free hand, wondering how I can be schooled by an eight-year-old quoting—

  “Socrates,” she says. Then, she walks back to the couch, plops down, and reopens her book.

  My fingers follow the silky path of my braid, feeling the bumps in the pattern and coming to the end below the tiny elastic holding it together. I pinch the tip of my hair and hold it the same way I did with the wine glass during my lesson.

  So far, my two days in Napa are not at all what I pictured them to be.

  And, yes, it is screwing me up.

  Naomi folds her hands over the top of her laptop and leans forward. “Come on, what are you so worried about? Jeremy and I aren’t expecting you to pay rent, and this whole experience is supposed to be about trying something new. It can’t all be perfect.”

  My head shoots up. “I never said it had to be perfect.”

  Naomi lowers her shoulders and cocks her head to the side. “Crystal, you want everything to be perfect. That’s the way you are. It’s not an insult. It’s one of your best traits. All I’m saying is, try amending a little. You might surprise yourself.”

  I suck on my bottom lip and think about what she’s saying. I don’t need everything to be perfect per se. I just want my life to go a certain way, is all. That’s not so bad. Is it?

  The telltale sound of a phone vibrating causes Naomi to do the hand scramble people do when they think they’re getting a call. From the face she makes, I know it’s not for her. I do a scurry down the hall to my room and see my phone on the wood of Naomi’s desk. The face of a brown-eyed blonde who became a fixture in my life last year flashes on the screen.

  “Emma!” My surprise at her call is apparent.

  I haven’t heard from her since she went on her honeymoon, gallivanting around Europe for a month. Emma, a girl who hadn’t been looking for love, had had it practically fall in her lap. She’d met a man on vacation, and within months, he had a ring on her finger.

  I go on at least one bad date a week and still can’t meet Mr. Worthy of a Second Cup of Coffee.

  “Will you please explain to me why I went to your apartment, bearing lattes and souvenirs, and was greeted by a large Russian man wearing nothing but boxers and a garter?”

  My knees bend, and my hand flies to my mouth as I gasp at the story. “You’re kidding me. Wait, how did the apartment look? He wasn’t doing anything weird in there, was he?”

  I subleased my apartment with all my furniture to an actor in town for an Off-Broadway play. I’d hate to think I’d have to burn my mattress when I returned.

  “Um, I don’t know. I was surprised when he said you’d moved, and he was renting your apartment for the next six months. Crystal! You have some explaining to do!”

  I move the phone away from my ear as her voice pierces my eardrum. She sounds more like her crazy sister, Leah, than the mild-mannered girl I’ve befriended.

  “I moved to Napa. Surprise,” I joke.

  You see, here’s the thing about Emma. When I met her, she had moved to New York for a change of scenery. After suffering the loss of her brother and an injury that had taken away her dreams, she couldn’t stay in her hometown in Ohio anymore. She was also running away from a devastating heartache caused by a man.

  I hear her sigh on the other end.

  “If there’s anyone who understands why you’d move across the country, it’s me. Though I have no idea what you’re running from.”

  She waits for me to answer, but I don’t have one for her. I’m not running from anything.

  “How are you doing?” Her voice sounds understanding.

  I take a seat on the futon, cross my legs, and fiddle with my braid again. “It’s only day two. Any advice?”

  “Don’t come back.” Her answer surprises me, so I let her continue. “Not until the day you set for yourself to return.”

  Six months.

  “Why is that?” I ask, curiosity killing the cat.

  “Because you’ll never learn whatever it is you set out to learn unless you see it through.”

  I take a breath and let her motherly advice sink in. Speaking of which, I ask, “How are you feeling? Have you announced the pregnancy yet?”

  Emma told me the day after her wedding that she was expecting her first child.

  “Ugh, sick to my stomach, which they say is common when you’re having a girl.” The word girl is said with a singsong voice.

  “It’s a girl? Oh, Emma, that’s amazing! Alexander must be ecstatic.” I place the back of my hand to my cheek and feel moisture. For some reason, I’m crying. It must be from the joy of the moment.

  “He is excited and frightened and going absolutely crazy with buying everything pink. He’s even named her Isla.”

  “Isla,” I whisper. “It’s beautiful.”

  Thinking of Emma and her husband, Alexander, reminds me of what I want—love. And not a magical, mythical love. I had that. I want a real-life love with someone who shares my passions and dreams, who wants to experience life’s great joys together. Someone who complements me in every way. Not someone I have to change for. And I don’t want to change someone to make him perfect for me.

  Emma’s tone changes. “Are you okay?”

  I breathe in quick and wipe a rogue tear. “Yes. I’m just so excited for you!”

  If smiling had a sound, I know I’d hear it right now through the phone as she says, “Thank you, Crystal. It’ll happen for you, too. I just know it.”

  I shake my head and laugh, as if she were in front of me and I were trying to physically show her I was okay. “Oh, please. Don’t worry about me. You take care of yourself and keep me updated on the pregnancy.”

  “Will do. And you ring me whenever. I mean it.”

  I thank my friend and hang up, staring at the screen for a few minutes, wondering why I am such an emotional mess.

  “It’ll happen for you, too. I just know it.”

  Taking one heavy breath, I pull back my shoulders, slap my knees, and nod my head.

  Yes, it will.

  chapter THREE

  Wearing a modest yet sexy pencil skirt with a high slit that reveals my thigh when I gracefully cross my legs, I walk into Henley’s Pub and take a seat at a table to the left of the bar.

  Tonight is my first date with a West Coast guy…on the West Coast. I’ve dated a few New York transplants in my day, but this is my first in California.

  Here are the stats:

  Name: Gavin Carter

  About Me: Avid skier who loves to hit the slopes. Looking for someone to head to Tahoe with and have cocoa by the fire.

  Age: 34

  Occupation: Senior Home Mortgage Loan Officer

  Interests: Travel, fine dining, real estate

  Catching a glance of my reflection in the window, I do a final once-over before taking my seat. Black stilettos make my legs look lean while the high-waist skirt gives me a nice hourglass shape. My butt is a little bigger than I like, but it seems to be the one feature that, no matter how much I diet, I can’t seem to get it down. I have an ass. And I try my darnedest to work it.

  Since I opted for the sexy skirt, I chose a sleeveless turtleneck that’s snug enough to let the imagination wander. I also spent a long time blowing out my hair, leaving it long and bending at the edges. An article in Maxim said men found women with long hair more desirable than those with short hair. And, while the magazine said men also preferred women with less makeup, I tend to think they’re all liars, and I went heavy on sultry eyes.

  I know. I’m thirty and still single. I shouldn’t act like I know everything about dating. But I do know this—I have no problem with keeping a man’s attention. I can be flirty and conversati
onal, and I am actually interested in learning about my dates. What I don’t know how to do is pretend like I want the date to continue when I’m over it.

  Hopefully, Gavin will prove to be worthy of dinner after drinks.

  I chose Henley’s as a meeting place because—aside from being in public in case my date turns out to be the next Craigslist Killer, or in this case, the MatchDateLove Killer—it’s casual. My rule for first dates is always coffee or drinks. Never a meal. This way, if it goes south, we can part ways without having to sit through an entree first.

  The pub is busier than the last time I was here. About twenty patrons are around the bar in various spots, and a half-dozen tables are filled. This must be the lingering happy-hour crowd. The TVs are on. A commercial for Thursday Night Football is playing, and music is bellowing from the jukebox. A country song was on when I first walked in, and now, there’s an eighties hit playing. I appreciate the variety.

  Scanning the pub, I can’t help but wonder if a certain bartender with olive-green eyes is here. Part of me is desperate for him not to be here, yet another part is…anxious? I don’t want him to think I came back here to see him.

  Because I didn’t.

  In fact, I reconsidered Henley’s as a meeting place, but being new to the area, I don’t know of many spots. Sure, it’s thirty minutes from the house, and I could have asked Naomi for a closer suggestion, but I like being somewhere familiar. Until I learn the lay of the land, Henley’s is my go-to spot.

  A waitress comes over and hands me a drink menu. She is sprightly with a little bounce to her step. With her short haircut that’s teased in the back and falls around her chin, bangs that showcase bright blue eyes, and a button nose, she reminds me of a pixie. I tell her I am waiting for someone, and she says she’ll be back to take our orders. As she walks back to the bar, I do one final scan before concluding that he is not working tonight.

  “Crystal?”

  I am so focused on who is not at the bar that I didn’t see Gavin walk in. I stand to shake his hand.

  He’s tall and dark-skinned. He has a handsome face with eyes the color of malt whiskey, accented by wire-framed glasses, a Roman nose, broad chin, and a wide smile. He is, surprisingly, more handsome in person than his profile pictures, which all featured him in various vacation settings—solo and fully clothed. Gotta love a man who travels.