“Sure, yeah. Thanks, man.”
Grant walked off with the blond woman next to him. Just as they got down the hall, Luke heard him say in a low—but not that low—voice, “Wonder what the real story is there. I heard some rumors that guy got fired, but I was sure they were all wrong. Guess he just couldn’t hack it.”
Luke felt a flash of rage, the kind of rage he hadn’t felt in months. There were rumors that he’d been fired? Who had started them, he wondered? Brian, who hadn’t liked him, but had also been pissed when he’d quit? Or that dude who’d never liked him, ever since that time he’d corrected him in a meeting and his boss’s boss had praised Luke? Or . . .
The inn phone rang, and he turned to answer it.
“Good afternoon, Punchdown Inn. Can I help you?”
“Yeah, we’re running out of toilet paper in our room. Can you make sure housekeeping brings us some?”
“We’ll get you that toilet paper right away,” he said. “Please let me know if there’s anything else we can help you with.”
He winced as he hung up the phone. How the mighty have fallen. Grant might have a point.
* * *
IT WAS A PACKED week at the winery. And that was great, it really was; obviously that’s what Margot had been working toward for the past three years, to have almost every appointment of the day full, to be busy with visitors and tours and emails and reservations and inquiries about the party and press calls. But when she’d been working toward all of this, she hadn’t realized it would all feel so fraught. It felt like they were right on the edge, like the next few months might be huge for them—but that was only a might. The next few months could also all fall apart. The party could fail, the interviews could come to nothing, the sales could slow down, the appointments could all stop, and they’d be right back where they were before. But it would be worse, feel worse, because she would know what it felt like to almost succeed.
She felt all week like she was scrambling to catch up, to return all of the emails and phone calls, and check in with everyone, and smile at everyone, and get the whole place organized, and get the party planned just right, and it felt like she would never get there. That day at the beach with Luke had been wonderful, but she felt like it set her back, like the deep breaths she’d managed to take then and the relaxation and peace she’d felt for a few hours hadn’t been worth all of the work she hadn’t done. How could it be worth it, when she still had so much to do?
Tuesday night, Luke came over, but not until late, because she’d stayed later than usual at the winery to catch up on things. Wednesday she told him not to come over—she stayed at the winery until after nine, returning emails and pulling together her spreadsheets for the party. Sure, she could have done some of that at home, but it was easier in her office, with her two big monitors and all of her notes around her . . . and without the distraction of Luke there.
But that night, when she walked into her dark house at almost ten, with a takeout bag in her hands, she wished she hadn’t told Luke not to come over that day. She wished he were there with her, to entertain her with stories from the inn from that day; to joke her out of her bad mood; to sit with her on the couch, his arm around her, and listen patiently while she ranted about the annoying guy who’d called her that day; to kiss her after she stopped ranting and make her forget she was upset at all.
She couldn’t call him now, though. She would feel like an asshole, changing her mind like that, and plus, he had to get up far earlier than she did to work at the inn. He might already be asleep. He would probably come over anyway if she called—he was a red-blooded male, after all—but that would be unfair of her.
And also . . . what if he didn’t come over if she called? She would understand, of course she would, but she didn’t want to deal with how bad that would make her feel.
Plus, she would see him tomorrow night. She’d make sure of that.
She woke up Thursday morning and immediately missed him there in her bed with her. She turned over in bed and reached for her phone to text him. But he’d already texted her.
LUKE
I think the pillows at your house are significantly better than mine. That must be the reason I didn’t sleep well last night
She could feel how silly the smile on her face was, but she couldn’t help it.
MARGOT
That must be it. Weirdly, I didn’t sleep that well last night either. I think it was a full moon LUKE
Maybe tonight we’ll both sleep better? I’ve arranged for the moon to not be full, just for you MARGOT
You’re so good to me. I’ll text when I’m leaving the winery
That day was full of stupid, tiny little things that went wrong. She broke a wineglass in the tasting room that morning—it was fine, no big deal, these things happened, but it felt shitty in the moment. Someone had written down the wrong time for the appointment for a party of four—either on their side or the guests’ side, it didn’t matter—and so the tasting room was packed full of people all afternoon, and she had to pitch in, and she could tell Taylor and Marisol were just as stressed about it as she was. Some asshole had posted on Instagram complaining about his visit to Noble and how it had been so rushed, and she had to respond to it and say something gracious even though she’d wanted to remind him he’d been forty-five minutes late for his appointment. And everything was so busy that day that she hadn’t been able to finish drafting the monthly newsletter to the wine club, and she’d wanted to get it done today so she could send it on Friday. It was the last one before the party, and she needed to encourage more people to come—RSVPs had been strong, but not as strong as she’d hoped. Oh well, she’d just finish it when she got home.
Damn it, Luke was coming over. Well, no, not damn it; she wanted him to come over, she’d been looking forward to it all day. Maybe she could get her work done before he got there, or after they ate dinner, or something. She didn’t want to tell him to come over late, not after how last night had gone. She texted him when she got in her car.
MARGOT
Leaving the winery now! Just fyi, I have a little work to get done tonight LUKE
No problem, see you soon. I’ll bring dinner
Okay, great—she could get home in like twenty minutes, and it would probably take Luke twice that to pick up takeout and get over to her house. She’d have time to at least make some headway on the newsletter.
And then, of course, there was an accident on the road, halfway between her house and the winery. At the first opportunity, she turned down a side road and cut over to the other way to get home, but that was the even-more-congested way, so by the time she got home, Luke was waiting outside.
“Sorry,” she said when she got out of her car. “There was an accident and then traffic and today has been . . . Anyway, sorry I’m late.”
He shrugged and followed her up to her door.
“No problem, I figured.” They walked straight to her kitchen, where he set down the bag he was carrying, and she opened a bottle of wine. She took down two glasses and then turned to hand him a glass, to find him looking at her.
“What’s wrong?” Did her hair look that bad? She hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror all day. Maybe this dress was a mistake? It was snug—was it too snug?
He took a step closer to her and tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Except that it’s been a day and a half since I’ve gotten to kiss you, and I don’t think I can last another minute.”
She leaned against him and felt some of the tension from the day seep out of her body. As soon as she felt his lips on hers, she strained to be closer to him, to feel more of him. His hands moved up and down her body, and she kissed him harder. She felt him smile as he moved his hand around the curve of her ass, and then she smiled as she pushed her fingers underneath his shirt. Finally, she dropped her head back onto his chest.
“I missed you,” he said in her ear, his arms still around her.
“I missed you, too,” she said.
She lifted her head and smiled at him.
“Let’s eat,” she said. “I’m sure you’re hungry, and I haven’t eaten since . . .” She thought about that. There had been a muffin that she’d grabbed from the kitchen that morning, and she’d eaten some cheese that afternoon, but . . .
“Okay, if you have to think that hard, it’s a problem,” Luke said. “Let’s eat.”
She poured the wine, he piled food on both of their plates—he’d gotten noodles and dumplings—and they sat down at the counter and ate, and drank wine.
“How was your day?” Luke asked.
She knew talking about it would make her more irritable, so she just shrugged.
“How’s work been this week?” she asked him, instead of answering.