Luke burst out laughing, and she joined him. She seemed very amused with herself, and—he thought—with him, for appreciating her story. He liked the way her eyes shined at him.
She’d given him another bit of information, he realized—she’d said this had been when she was in graduate school. Business school, it must have been. She must be an executive, somewhere here in Napa; high up at a hotel, or a big wine conglomerate, or something like that. She probably wasn’t from here at all, but had come here for this job, and despite all of what she’d said to him about the way people dressed in Napa Valley, she still dressed however she wanted to.
He liked that about her.
Especially since he really liked the way she looked in that dress.
“Okay, but where does the tow truck come in?” he asked her.
She picked up her glass of wine. The light reflected off the red liquid and onto her face.
“I was getting to that,” she said. “We had to get our truck unstuck, didn’t we? When we got to town, we called for a tow truck.” She grinned again, that slow, wide grin that made him smile back at her, even though he didn’t know the joke. “And when that tow truck got stuck, we had to call a second, more powerful tow truck that could get both our rental truck and the original tow truck out.” She shook her head. “I have absolutely no memory of how much all of that cost us but I’m certain it was very expensive.”
Luke moved to the side to allow the server to clear their plates. He hadn’t even realized they’d finished the charcuterie plate while they’d been talking.
“What did you do once you got your truck back?” he asked.
She laughed.
“We did the only thing we could do, after sunset, in a hotel in a tiny town in Death Valley. We got very drunk.”
Speaking of. That had been his general intention when he’d walked into this bar, which was why he’d ordered whiskey instead of beer. That’s why he’d come here, after this week, before the week to come. But Margot had done a good job of distracting him from all of that.
“Sometimes—not all the time, but sometimes,” he said, “that is the best course of action.”
She looked at him, and smiled slowly.
“Indeed,” she said.
Two
THREE HOURS LATER, MARGOT got up from the bar and slid her leather jacket on. Despite what she’d said to Luke, she hadn’t gotten drunk, but then, neither had he. They’d been too busy talking to drink that much.
They’d talked about so much over the last few hours. About his best tow truck adventure, which included an accident and rescue by the side of Highway 101; how they both felt about cheeseburger toppings—they agreed that the trend of far too many toppings was just a way to mask a bad burger, but vehemently disagreed on fried eggs on them (she was pro, he was con), and tomatoes (vice versa); and books they’d read recently—she’d raved to him about a mystery novel, he’d raved to her about a celebrity memoir (she’d been skeptical, but he’d convinced her to read it).
Sydney raised her eyebrows as both Margot and Luke got up, but Margot shook her head. She didn’t think anything was actually going to happen between her and this adorable, far-too- young-for-her man she’d been talking to all night. Sure, he’d listened very closely to her at the bar, asked her lots of questions, and hadn’t then immediately jumped in to tell his own stories. But while they’d sat closely together for the past few hours, he hadn’t done any of the moves that made her know a guy would try to get her to go home with him that night: no “accidental” brushes of her arms or back, no hand on her thigh, no staring at her cleavage.
And yeah, she could have made some “accidental” touches of her own, of course, just to see what would happen. But it had been a long, stressful day, and she didn’t want to deal with the ego blow that she’d get if she made a move on this guy and he told her no, he wasn’t interested, he had a girlfriend, whatever. Better to just leave the bar smiling. Maybe it was enough to have a few hours of good, old-fashioned flirting with a guy who seemed charmed by her, whether he actually was or not.
She let out a small sigh as they approached the door. She was sad that the night was ending. Even aside from how fun it had been to flirt with Luke, it had been one of her best actual conversations with someone in a while. They hadn’t talked about work—as a matter of fact, they hadn’t talked about wine at all. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a conversation with anyone that didn’t touch on wine. She didn’t even know what wine Sydney had poured for her—a Cab, obviously local, but that was all she’d recognized. God, that felt great. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her job—she did love her job—but it was all-consuming sometimes. Most of the time.
As they stepped out of the Barrel, they walked into a crowd of slightly rowdy tourists, complaining about Napa’s early last call. One guy got in Margot’s way, and she almost stumbled as she pushed past him. Luke put a hand on her back to steady her and then stepped in front of her. Margot didn’t even see how it happened, but the path in front of her cleared, and she followed him until they were around the corner from the Barrel. The tourists were now halfway down the street, still complaining.
“Thanks for that,” she said.
He shook his head and smiled at her.
“It was nothing.”
Okay, that was obviously her cue to say good night and walk home. Just as she opened her mouth to do that, Luke looked up at the sky.
“Up here in Napa, you see so many more stars than you do down in the city,” he said. “I always forget that.”
“You do,” she said. She looked up, too. “I miss a lot about living in a bigger city, but this is one of the things I love about living up here.”
They were silent for a moment as they stood close together, both staring up into the clear night sky, bright with stars.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked. She was still looking up, but she could tell, without even looking, that he’d moved closer to her. She looked at him. She liked that look in his eyes.
“Sure,” she said.
He took another step closer to her. It would be too close, if this were someone else, if this were a different night, if she hadn’t just spent two and a half hours wanting this, even as she’d pretended to herself that she hadn’t.
He leaned down, his lips close to her ear.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice was low, warm, clear. He asked the question politely, but there was a rough edge to his voice. She liked both of those things, too.
His lips were so close to her ear that he could have kissed her there easily, without even moving. But he stopped, a hairbreadth away from her, and waited for her answer.
She turned toward him so they were face-to-face, eye to eye.
“Absolutely,” she said.
His lips were on hers immediately. His lips were soft, firm, demanding. He kissed her like his whole day had been leading up to this, like he’d been thinking about how to do it since she’d sat down next to him, like all he wanted in the world was to keep kissing her. He kissed her exactly how she wanted it.
They moved together, slowly backward, kissing the whole time, until she was pressed up against the side of the building. His hand stayed right where it was, at her waist, and she realized how much she wanted it to roam around her body. She wanted more than just this kiss. She wanted it all.
That’s when she forced herself to pull away.
“We can’t do this here,” she said. “Too many people know me around here.”
He dropped his hand and took a step back. She was gratified to see how fast he was breathing.
“Okay,” he said. “Sorry. I got carried away.” Then he smiled slowly. “Wait. Did you say here?”
She nodded.
“I thought you were an unusually good listener.” She stayed close to him. “You said you lived around here—how close? I’m four blocks that way.” She gestured down the street.
He put his hand on her back and turned her in the opposite direction.
“I’m two blocks this way.”
They didn’t talk as they walked those two blocks. What was there to say? They’d made all of the necessary small talk—and more—at the bar. They weren’t going back to his place for more conversation—they both knew that.
They kept their distance from each other—he dropped his hand from the small of her back, they were arm’s-length apart on the sidewalk, and anyone looking at them from a distance might think they weren’t even together.