From the Moment We Met

by Adair, Marina

  “All right,” Abby said, a little of her earlier confidence fading. “Why don’t you e-mail it to me at your earliest convenience?”

  The woman smiled big and bold and Abby allowed herself to breathe. “Well, that’s easy,” Babs said. “There’s only one left. It’s Jack Tanner.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A few hours later, Abby crossed the foyer and opened the front door as the late-afternoon breeze swept through the house, bringing with it the tart smell of tannins and wildflowers and all of the things that made summer in wine country wonderful. Yet instead of spinning around like Julie Andrews in a garden of dahlias for landing her dream job, Abby found herself glaring at Richard, with his chiseled abs and rock-hard buns, sporting the biggest lie ever told to mankind.

  “This was on your lawn.” Lexi held up a plush teddy bear holding a rose. “Please tell me you have a secret admirer.”

  “Nope, it’s for Richard.” And didn’t that just make her day so much crappier. “Yesterday there was a bundle of Mylar balloons tied to his arm, on Wednesday someone set a basket of lilies at his feet like some kind of offering. And don’t even get me started on whoever is placing the lit Jesus candles around the statue.”

  “I hate to say it, but I kind of see why,” Lexi said, staring at the statue in awe. “I loathe Richard as much as the next person, probably more, but look at the lines on that statue, the symmetry. It really is a work of art.”

  So she’d been told.

  Abby took the bear and threw it on the sofa, then took a long swig of wine. Straight from the bottle.

  “Isn’t it a little early for that?” Lexi eyed the bottle.

  Dressed in a cute pair of capris, a bright red top with matching ballet flats, and a disposition sunny enough to give Abby a headache, Lexi looked more like a preppy co-ed than the mother of a two-month-old. She also looked like she had an agenda—one that most likely had to do with Abby’s brothers—or Tanner. Two topics that were off-limits.

  “Yeah, well, I thought I would be able to come home from my meeting and be rid of irritating males.” Abby glared at Richard, then took another swig. A long one. “But instead I come home to my husband still naked and my front yard looking like Graceland. Penny from the Paws and Claws Day Spa is even telling people that one of my dahlias dried in the form of Jesus’s face, so his homecoming must be the sign of a miracle. I think that deserves a drink or two.”

  “Want me to grab some straws and tissue paper? We could spit wad him to death,” Lexi offered, and although that sounded like a fun way to blow off steam, Abby didn’t really feel up to it.

  She considered pulling out her old slingshot from the attic and knocking that God’s-gift-to-all-women smirk right off his face—then aiming lower. “Nah, I’d have to clean it up.”

  “Good point.” Lexi grabbed the wine and breezed into the house. “But if you drink all this, you won’t have enough to make an extra cake.”

  Blowing out a breath, Abby closed the door and found Lexi already comfy at the kitchen counter helping herself to a fingerful of batter. “How did you know I was making cake?”

  “You didn’t call after your meeting. So you were either here with your spatula, mixing away and making a plan—”

  When Abby was stressed, Abby baked. And since there were only two things in the world she could rock in the kitchen, wine cake and Rice Krispies treats, she hadn’t even bothered to change out of her suit before pulling out the sherry and mixing bowls. Plus, if she ended up having to grovel to Tanner, she’d better have his cake.

  “—or you were at the Spigot. Drunk,” Lexi said, grabbing the bowl after Abby poured the batter in the pan. “I went by the bar first since I was sure Babs told you about the money.”

  “You knew they were going to bribe her?” Lexi’s silence was proof enough. “Of course you knew. You’re sleeping with one of my meathead brothers.”

  Lexi laughed at that—hard. “You do remember we have a two-month-old, right? There is no sleeping. Of any kind. And yes, I knew because I told him that couples who have secrets don’t have sex.” Lexi waggled a brow. “I made sure when I said it that I had on nothing but an apron, heels, and a plate of cream puffs. He caved in three seconds and the cream puffs ended up all over our—”

  That was all Abby heard. Hands firmly over her ears, she said, “Again, my soul dying with every word you speak. Plus, my day is bad enough without adding that lovely image. You could have at least warned me.”

  Wow, for a woman constantly smothered by her family, Abby sure felt alone. Completely and utterly alone. A direct result, she was sure, of what happened when one chose to stand stagnant while everyone around moved on, fell in love, paired up.

  “I didn’t know until you had already left for your meeting or I would have told you.” Lexi gave up on using her finger and stuck her head in the bowl. “And don’t be too hard on them. Your brothers are fixers, Abby. They can’t help themselves, especially when it comes to the people they love.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Abby snatched the bowl away from Lexi and smacked at her hand when she refused to let go. “It finally happened. You’re actually siding with my idiot brothers.”

  “Just one idiot brother. And I’m not siding, merely pointing out that his heart was in the right place, even if he might have overstepped a little.”

  “Overstepped?” She dropped the bowl into the sink and put soapy water in it, just in case the traitor tried to snatch it back. “Last I heard, bribing someone into giving their sister a job is a tactic the mafia uses. They paid the woman ten times what I even stand to make on the project.”

  “Wait. Stand to make? Are you saying you got the job?”

  Abby grimaced. “Kind of. We still need the Historical Preservation Council’s approval before we can start any real demolition. I want to submit our plans at the next meeting.”

  Lexi blinked long and slow. “Abby, the next meeting isn’t until next month.”

  “September? But they meet every second Tuesday.”

  “Not in the weeks leading up to Founder’s Day, they don’t,” Lexi said, and Abby felt her chest tighten with a familiar sense of dread that always managed to precede impending doom. “They’re too busy screening Memory Lane Manor entries.”

  Thousands of tourists flooded the valley during the Founder’s Day celebrations to partake in the annual Memory Lane Manor Walk, where they explored some of the most historic and beautiful homes in St. Helena. Each residence offered gourmet nibbles and bottomless wine tastings, which attracted foodies and historians from all over the world. Hundreds of houses entered and five were selected by the Historical Preservation Council as finalists, but only one got to wear the exclusive plaque of Memory Lane Manor of the Year. It was the only thing the HPC would be focused on.

  “I’m cursed.” Abby dropped her head to the counter.

  God, how had she overlooked that? There were posters plastered around town. Her neighbors were preparing for the Memory Lane Manor Walk, which went right through her neighborhood.

  “This is karma coming back to bite me for marrying a moron then speaking ill of the dead.”

  “You’re not cursed,” Lexi said, and Abby lifted her head and raised one challenging brow. “And Richard was a moron. That’s not speaking ill, that’s the truth and . . . wait.” Lexi placed a finger to her lips and tapped it three times—a sure sign she was scheming. “Unless,” Lexi said, doing a little dance in her chair. “You have Babs nominate the Jackson Bottlery for a Memory Lane Manor Walk hopeful.”

  “The bottlery isn’t a residence, therefore doesn’t qualify. There is no way it would win.”

  “Babs is always going on and on about some couple who fell in love and lived there for a whole sinful summer.” Lexi flapped a dismissive hand. “But the point is, you don’t have to qualify. You just have to nominate the building. Every nominee has to have their floor plan exami
ned and the historical accuracy of their renovations approved as part of the process.”

  “But we haven’t even renovated yet.”

  “Exactly, but you’re going to as soon as you get the go-ahead. The first phase is a simple on-paper screening, which I’m betting is nowhere near as detailed as what you put together for Babs. And if the board approves your proposed plan as historically sound and up to code, then it would be the equivalent of getting a two thumbs up. Abby, you could start on the restoration as early as next week.”

  “The building isn’t up to code, and I don’t know if getting it done in time is a realistic goal. The electrical isn’t even started, the plumbing needs to be redone, and don’t even get me started on Babs’s idea of timetables.”

  Lexi reached out and took Abby’s hand. “You can do this, Abs. The final panel for presenting is a week from Tuesday. I know because Sweet and Savory was hired to cater all the events.”

  Lexi was right. If Abby could get her plans reviewed by the board, then she could apply for the permits to start construction. The Pungent Barrel could be open for business as early as next month.

  “Abby, this year, the winner will be highlighted in a four-page spread in Architectural Digest.” That got her attention. “And Martha Stewart Living is sending out a team to cover the event from the hearth and homemaking point of view.”

  Which was why Lexi had agreed to cater the event for free, Abby remembered. That, and the proceeds of the evening went toward restoring the old firehouse into a much-needed community center and performing arts building.

  “This could be huge,” Abby said, getting swept up in the possibilities of what-if.

  “This could change your career, Abby.”

  The truth was, it could change her life. It would take her from laughingstock to respectable designer in one project. It would give her the kind of credibility that ten years of busting her ass designing closets never could.

  “I need to hire a general contractor by Monday if I want to be ready for the inspector.”

  “Then hire a contractor.”

  “I’ve spent all morning on the phone calling nearly every contractor I have ever met, even a few I haven’t. They are all either in the middle of a project, starting one, or if they were interested, it evaporated when they discovered exactly which project. No one wants to sign on to a project that is guaranteed to be ‘the Titanic of the foodie world.’”

  “They said that?”

  “And worse.” Abby sighed. “I still have a few left on my list and am waiting to hear back from some messages I left, but it doesn’t look hopeful.”

  “I don’t see what the big deal is, since according to Facebook you’ve been getting pretty cozy with a certain sexy hired hammer.”

  “I wasn’t getting cozy with Jack.” At least not in the picture. All of said electrical jolts happened well before Nosy Nora had slipped out from the bushes and snapped that shot.

  “Uh-huh.” Lexi was so not buying it. “Well, Facebook has a poll going. There are four-to-one odds that Tanner’s already gotten you properly wired and up to code.”

  “You handle your business like a man?” Tanner asked the wolfhound through the screen. “Because if you’re lying and your business ends up on my newly mopped floor again, I’ll call that animal rescue in town.”

  Wreck didn’t seem overly concerned with the empty threat or Tanner’s newly mopped floor, he just lifted his lips in a smile and barked.

  “Uh-huh.” Tanner wasn’t falling for the big-doggie-eyes trick. That’s how he’d wound up mopping his kitchen at the crack of dawn on Sunday in the first place. “Humor me and make another round or two. Take a whiz on Colin’s Mercedes while you’re at it. Maybe it will encourage him to move out.”

  What had started as his buddy crashing in his guesthouse for a few months until his place was livable had turned into an eighteen-month unwanted houseguest who ate his food, drank his beer, and left a never-ending supply of dirty socks scattered around the house. Most of which Wreck ate.

  “Can’t blame the dog,” Gus said, hobbling into the kitchen and grabbing a mug from the drying rack. It was red, chipped, and had 49ERS CAN SUCK IT scrawled across the front. It was the only mug he’d brought from home. Tanner had a dozen unchipped, unconfrontational mugs, but the old man refused to use them. “Wrecking Ball was just showing you what it feels like to have another man mess all over your plans.”

  Gus sat at the counter and shoved the mug forward, his way of asking for coffee. Tanner obliged.

  “And what plans are we talking about? Him wanting to use my work boots to sharpen his teeth or use my house as some kind of upscale litter box for dogs?”

  From somewhere outside, an offended bark sounded. Tanner just hoped it came from the vicinity of Colin’s tires.

  “No, the sex party you’re throwing here tonight.”

  “There’s no sex party. I just told Colin he could invite a few of the guys over for the game.” A few guys meaning Ferris, because Colin swore that a game at Hard Hammer Tanner’s house was the only way to make up for running out on their meeting to rescue Abby.

  Gus snorted, his eyes straying out the back window toward the pool. “Tell that to the two ladies swimming in their birthday suits as we speak. The blonde one with the Dolly Parton flotation devices was on the phone, inviting all her friends, saying it’s a bikini-optional kind of event.” Gus shook his head in disgust. “Bikini-optional kind of girls have perfumed purse dogs, and I don’t want that kind of lady sniffing up to Wrecking Ball. No man would.”

  If Dolly and her devices were anything like the women Colin usually spent time with, any man would. Including Tanner. Normally. But not today.

  Nope, he had two former playmates naked in his pool, and instead of inviting them in for a little breakfast and get-to-know-you, he poured himself a second cup of the morning and scavenged the pantry for something that didn’t have preservatives, saturated fats, or alcohol. A testament to just how sad his life had become was that he couldn’t even muster up the interest to talk up a beautiful naked lady.

  Well, he could. It was just the beautiful naked lady he wanted to talk up wasn’t interested in anything he had to say.

  “I’ll talk to Colin.” Because suddenly the last thing he wanted was a big party at his place.

  “Good, because you said I could host poker night here and if I call the guys and cancel, I’ll look like a heel.”

  Tanner had never actually said his dad could host poker night. He had offered to drive Gus to poker night last week and pick him up. Which Gus had responded to with a heartfelt, “Do I look like I need a chauffeur?”

  Not that Tanner wasn’t happy his dad was feeling comfortable enough to invite his buddies over. He just wished it had been for another day. Because bikini-optional or not, Colin was going to lose it if Tanner told him he had to cancel.

  “Why don’t you tell the guys it’s game day? We can all watch some ball then you can disappear after and play poker.”

  Tanner opened the refrigerator and pulled out some eggs, onion, and cheese. An omelet was healthy and one of the few things he could cook that his dad would eat. Except the cheese was looking a little fuzzy and the onion was sprouting.

  Eggs and toast it was.

  “With knockers like that girl’s got?” Gus shook his head. “The guys would be too busy staring to pay attention, plus Sal’s got an appointment to get his pacemaker checked. Until that happens, I don’t think his heart could handle all that stimulation.”

  “They’re not going to be parading around naked.” If Tanner had anything to say about it, and since it was still technically his house, he did. So no parade. Period. This Sunday was going to be about beer, ball, and bros. Especially when the Niners were playing and it was the first preseason game of the year.

  Tanner cracked a few eggs into the skillet and dropped four pie
ces of bread into the toaster. “Wait. How do you know the size of her . . . flotation devices?”

  Gus had the worst eyesight on the planet, and since he refused to wear his glasses he was like Mr. Magoo in a china shop. So if he had gotten a good look at Colin’s latest pillow fight, then Gus must have gotten pretty damn close. Or he was using his binoculars.

  “I went out for my morning walk, doctor’s orders, when my leg started giving me trouble, so I pulled up a lounge chair and took a little rest. Not my fault she forgot her bathing suit.”

  Gus hadn’t followed a single one of his doctor’s orders, especially taking daily walks. But Tanner kept that to himself and flipped some pretty perfect eggs onto two separate plates and lightly buttered the toast.

  Breakfast ready, he slid one across the counter toward Gus and dug into his own. He finally had his dad in the kitchen and was about to feed him a meal that didn’t consist of caffeine or hot wings. He wasn’t about to piss the old guy off.

  “Don’t worry, Dad, we’ll stick to the TV room. You and the guys can take the game room since it has the poker table, but you’ll have to share the kitchen. Colin and I are just trying to finalize some business with these guys, that’s all.”

  “If you’d gotten a degree you’d be running your own business, not finalizing other people’s and trying to impress a bunch of starched loafers.”

  “I did get a degree, one I use daily when running my own business,” Tanner informed him like he had a thousand times before and resisted the urge to point out that if he’d gotten a business degree instead of one in construction management, he’d be one of those starched loafers.

  “Yeah, well, just because you have a fancy ring and slap a logo on the side of your truck doesn’t mean you don’t swing hammers for a living. Don’t need a big school education for that now, do ya?”

  Gus had seen football as a means to an education. Tanner had opted out of grad school to play in the NFL. Something most dads would have been proud of.