We have this moment, this scary-sweet couple of seconds I’m mostly trying to escape when Bonnie stomps over, hands on hips, shaking her head. What I feel then is mostly relief. Because I’ll be fired and sent home in shame, and that will be the last I’ll see of Jordan Caletti.
“Enzo, I need to talk to you immediately,” she says between her teeth. “Over here.”
“Are you in trouble?” Jordan asks, dropping the last bite of her burger on the ground and almost toppling the plate of macaroni. “Oh no, is he in trouble?”
Bonnie gives this plastic smile, and it’s probably lucky for me that Jordan is in a bridesmaid dress. Bonnie will only go so hard on me in front of a wedding party member.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, ma’am,” Bonnie explains, her glare getting fiercer, like she blames me for this uncomfortable bullshit. “We just need Enzo back at the tent.”
“He helped me,” Jordan starts to explain, totally unaware how she sounds like one kid trying to get another kid out of trouble with the teacher. “I drank more than I should have. Your Gamay is really good! I usually hate new wines. Really my mother does. She’s a little bit of a wine snob and all, but Golden Leaf is her baby, so you can’t blame her, I guess.” She stops rambling and looks confused. “Um?”
“Your mother owns Golden Leaf?” Bonnie’s eyes bug out of her head. “It’s wonderful wine. I love her Pinot Noir.”
Jordan’s face glows. “She’ll be very pleased to hear that!” She sees me and her forehead wrinkles. “Please don’t be angry at Enzo. I’m sorry he wasn’t there to help with the guests, but if it wasn’t for him, I would never have tried your Gamay. I wonder if my mother would be interested in Gamays?”
Bonnie’s mouth pinches into a tight line, and I listen to the thud of the hammer as the last nail gets pounded into my coffin. I’ve heard little else since starting this crap job apart from the fact that the Gamay is the best we’ve got. I doubt Bonnie wants some rival vineyard taking a swing at making one.
Especially if it’s Golden Leaf. They’re legendary, and could probably trounce us if they gave it half an effort.
Jordan looks at me with a stricken, confused expression on her face—which is adorable as all fuck—and I give her a quick wave and follow Bonnie to the tent.
“We were very clear with you about fraternizing with guests, Enzo. We pride ourselves on being discreet and professional.” She huffs out a long breath. “And Etta Caletti’s daughter? What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t, Bonnie, and I want to apologize to you. And promise this will never happen again—”
Before I can say another word, she looks at me, disappointment all over her face. “Of course it won’t happen again. You’re fired, Enzo. You’ll get paid for the remainder of this shift, but you need to leave now.”
I was expecting it, but you’re never really ready to be kicked out on your ass. “Right. Okay. I get it. Um, just like that, huh? No second chances?”
“I’m sorry. I just hope the groom doesn’t have my head over this.” She rubs a doughy hand over her face. “Getting drunk with his little girl wasn’t the smartest move. Please go now.”
“Right. Going.” I hand in my employee badge and make one last attempt to offer my help taking things down, but Bonnie is firm and pissed.
I’m out.
I want to say goodbye. To Jordan. But I don’t want to screw things up.
I make it all the way out to the parking lot when I remember I rode in with the crew. Fuck. To top it off, the front of the van is locked, and I don’t have keys. I consider calling a car just to avoid the boredom of the next few hours and the mix of pity and aggravation the guys will show me when they have to take down everything on their own and then drive twenty miles out of their way to drop me at my miserable studio. I guess I can always blame Bonnie.
I check my bank card balance on my phone and ixnay the car idea. I’m nearly broke, out of a job, got a nice girl drunk, and have to sit with my hand on my ass for the next few hours. Can shit get any worse?
I grit my teeth as soon as I ask that question.
Because I know the answer so damn well, and should know better than to tempt fate like that.
It can always get worse.
My head is spinning like crazy. I totter toward the wine tent, wishing I had anything on my feet other than these damn heels.
Fuck these heels! I think to myself, then giggle at my own lame badass language. That I keep carefully confined in my head.
I’m the worst rebel. Ever.
Eddie, my cousin, intercepts me before I get to the tent.
“Jordi!” He flaps his arms out at his sides, looking like one of those giant blow-up guys who wave in front of car dealerships. “The music is so damn bad it’s almost good, you know? Almost retro cool. You gotta come dance with me.”
“I…I think I’m drunk,” I whisper.
But it must not be all that quiet, because a bunch of women with their enormous boobs shaking out of their sequined dresses turn and stare at me.
“Okay. That’s fine.” Eddie shrugs and smiles his dopey smile. He looks like an enormously happy puppy. Then his mouth droops into a frown. “Or is it not? Do you need something? Aspirin? Tomato juice?”
“Tomato juice?” I ask, and my stomach rolls in a bad way. I wish I hadn’t eaten that burger Enzo handed me.
“I don’t know. What do you use to fight off a hangover? Your mom is the one who owns a vineyard. Shouldn’t this be, like, your area of expertise?” he asks, his bushy brows knotted over his bony nose.
I laugh a little. And then a tiny bit more. And then I’m full on cracking up, my arms tight around my middle, my head thrown back.
“Jordi, you cool?” Eddie asks, pulling me over to the side and away from the open stares of all those appalled wedding guests. “What’s so funny?”
“My mother…owns a vineyard…” I gasp. Eddie nods, his blue eyes searching my face like he’s looking for clues. “And I’ve never been drunk!”
His smile is toothy. “Holy shit. Your family is so damn weird. C’mon. I do know you need to drink. Not alcohol.”
He leads me to a table, then goes to the wine tent and brings me a huge pitcher of water a minute later. I blanch.
“How much do you want me to drink?” I look at all that sloshing liquid and feel like puking.
He shrugs. “I think you need to drink a lot. And here.” He hands me a long, thin packet and plops on the chair next to me. “It’s all the lady had.”
“What do I do with it?” I ask, turning it over in my hands.
“She said you rip the top and pour it into your mouth, then drink the water.” His gangly shoulders bump up and down again and he kicks the full length of his legs out in front of him, crossing one foot over the other. “She said it works like a miracle.”
I touch my temple gingerly, nauseated at the thrum that’s already hammering away. “Okay. That’s good because I think I may need one.” I take the bitter powder and drink as much water as I can possibly force down my throat. Which is two glasses. Eddie insists I down one more. “Do you have any idea how impossible it is to pee in this dress?” I demand.
“Not something I gave any real thought,” Eddie says, grimacing at my dress like it’s a wool straight jacket. “I think you’ll thank me tomorrow though. I hope.”
“I will, even if I have a monster headache. I’ll thank you for giving a crap and coming to find me.” I gulp down the water that makes me feel sloshy and vomitus. “Speaking of people who are supposed to give a crap about me, have you seen my dad?”
“Jennifer has him doing a million pictures. Did the bridesmaids finish already?” Eddie’s blink is so innocent, it makes my drunk self feel like an even bigger asshole.
“I never got to the picture portion. I, uh, had to catch my breath,” I mutter. “Did you see a guy when you went up to the tent to get the water?” I’m trying to look without really looking. “Dark hair, hazel eyes, probably six thr
ee or four?”
Sexy, funny, willing to put his job on the line for me, might be in deep trouble for helping me out.
“I only saw the woman.” Eddie glances around. “Did you meet someone here?”
“I just…I was talking wine with him. So, I wanted to ask more questions. For my mother, of course.” I feel the burn all up and down my neck, and I know all my freckles are fading into the rash of my bright pink blush.
As clueless as I always assume Eddie is, he’s not buying my lame excuse. “Right. So you just talked about wine. And wound up drunk?” He cocks one eyebrow at me. “Why don’t you go ask? Do you know his name?”
“I don’t want to…um, I don’t want to get him in trouble. More trouble,” I stutter. I press my lips together and close my eyes. “Enzo. His name is Enzo.”
Eddie claps a hand on my back like I’m one of his basketball buddies and says, “I’ve got this.”
He strolls away, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for him to come back with Enzo in tow. And then what?
His boss was clearly pissed when she dragged him away before. And, now that I have some hamburger soaking up all the wine and some water diluting it, I feel a little more sober and a lot more horrified over whatever it was I blabbered to her when she was attempting to talk to him.
Damnit! Why do I always run my mouth?
When Eddie comes back, he’s not smiling.
Which is bizarre. Like the sun not shining or the birds not singing. Eddie’s optimism is as reliable as a Swiss watch.
“Uh, he’s not there,” Eddie says. I nod. Eddie shifts uncomfortably from one giant shoe to the other. “He was fired.”
“What?” My ears plug up like I just cannonballed into a deep lake. I cannot be hearing Eddie right. “Fired?”
“The guys in the back said he was fraternizing?” Eddie is doing his best not to give me a stricken look, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because he’s upset at the idea of his sweet cousin “fraternizing” or because he thinks I had a thing for Enzo and will now be broken up that he was caught “fraternizing” with someone else. “They said they haven’t seen him.”
“Okay.” I put my hands on either side of my pounding head and attempt not to panic like a lunatic. I know his name. I can track him down and…what?
How exactly can I turn this around? Right what I’ve caused to go so utterly wrong?
I can offer him a job!
Not like Golden Leaf can afford more employees right now, but what other choice is there? He lost his job because of me. Granted, I didn’t tell him to steal a bottle of wine or drink it with me, but that’s not the point. The point is that he put himself out there for me, and I’m going to do what I can to help him now.
“I’m going to the parking lot, Eddie. Wait here.”
“No way.” He follows me, catching up in a few gangly steps. “Do you think this guy is still hanging around?”
“No. He probably left. But I…I should check, right?” I shake my fuzzy head, forgetting that Eddie has no clue why I should be chasing down a recently fired wine tender. “The thing is, he saw I was upset about…this,” I say, waving at the embarrassingly overdone party and all its silly trappings. “We had talked before the wedding, and he saw I was upset, so he, um, helped.”
I want to leave it at that and do what I can for Enzo, but Eddie grabs onto my elbow, already shaking his head, the smile wiped completely off his face. It’s a truly weird look for Eddie.
“Jordi, don’t. C’mon, it’s Brecken all over again.”
I close my eyes tight at the mention of my ex-boyfriend. The one who I was sure was going to propose, but wound up dancing a jig on my heart instead. And didn’t, as my mother kept predicting, reveal that it was because I wasn’t the gender he preferred. I hid the section of the paper where his engagement to Roseanne McKenneth was announced. I didn’t need my mother lamenting over the fact that I was thrown over for the heiress to a whiskey fortune.
The news honestly might have exploded her fiercely competitive heart.
“Jesus, Eddie, I just want to see if I can help him, okay? I barely know him, and this is actually nothing at all like Brecken,” I protest, attempting to stare him down.
Eddie just frowns, his wide mouth turned down so far and hard, it’s comically clownish. Like I expect him to yank a big, floppy flower out of his back pocket and spray me with water any second now.
“How is it different? He’s a loser who you’re trying to rescue. I hate to be on your case, but this is a repeat thing with you. You find a guy who’s kind of hard up, help get him on his feet, let yourself be his emotional punching bag, and get ditched. Wash, rinse, repeat.”
I whirl around and he sucks his breath in like he’s waiting for me to sucker punch him.
“That’s not what I do,” I say, but my voice shakes.
Because I’m running a mental inventory starting with Brecken and working my way back to my very first boyfriend, back in middle school. Scotty Han, who needed tutoring in math, leaned on me until the pre-algebra final, promised to take me to the eighth grade dinner dance, and ditched me two weeks before. He took Marissa Rondell instead, and it felt like my heart was a bashed-in piñata.
Much as I hate to admit it, Eddie is right. Every relationship I’ve had, from Scotty to Brecken, has been a variation of the same storyline, any of which would make for an extremely depressing and tragic country music song.
“Damn,” I whisper, wiggling my toes in my too high, too tight heels.
“Sorry,” Eddie mutters. “I just hate seeing you down, cuz.”
I think about Enzo: the way he smiled, the way he came to find me, the way he listened, not so much to what I said, but to what I denied. This is different. I know it looks like the same old crap, but this is a total twist on my usual formula for heartbreak.
Plus that, this has zilch to do with hearts and emotions at all. This is me paying back a favor and perpetuating good karma.
I open my mouth to explain it all to Eddie, but it feels flat and contrived even before I wrap my head around the words.
“It’s different this time,” I finally sputter, wheeling around and running toward the parking lot again.
I expect Eddie to leave my crazy ass in the dust, but—just like the thousands of times he followed me into trouble when we were just kids—he thumps along behind me. I figure it’ll be a no harm, no foul situation. I guess I anticipate that I’ll get to the parking lot and find nobody but the valet guys lounging around, waiting for the first guests to slip away. I’ll go back, nurse my emerging migraine, dance with Eddie, make my apologies to my father and Jennifer, and call it a night as early as possible.
I’ll look Enzo up in the morning and work out the details—if I manage to find him and he’s even in need of help.
I don’t expect to see a pair of long, familiar legs hanging out of the back of the vineyard’s van. I look at the legs and the scuffed hiking books, glossed up so they can masquerade as dress shoes.
That detail worms its way into my heart and makes it go soft and pulpy.
Damnit, Eddie’s right! I need to watch myself…I clearly have a pattern going, and it’s not a good one.
“Enzo?” I call. The legs don’t move. When I get to the back of the van, he’s snoring.
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. He looks really torn up about losing his job. Look, your heart is in the right place, but this is just asking for trouble. Let’s leave him to, you know, nap or whatever. I’ll totally request the electric slide for you. For old time’s sake.”
He grins at me, and I’m half-tempted to go back and hang with my favorite cousin and let the situation with Enzo go for now.
But something about this appeals to me like I’m a dog and this situation is a particularly delicious bone.
“I’m just going to talk to him. Just talking. Okay?” I nod to Eddie who sighs and holds his hands out like, What can I do? I tried to help her stupid ass. “Enzo!” I call louder. He snor
es like a chainsaw. I put one hand out and shake his leg back and forth. “Enzo, wake up!”
He startles awake, sitting straight up like those ancient horror movie vampires in their coffins.
“What the…? Jordan? Is everything…are you okay?” He puts a hand out and grabs my arm, his face panicked.
Eddie clears his throat, and I feel a hot blush that’s tinged with triumph. This is definitely different. Enzo is not like all those other callous user assholes.
“I’m fine. I hear you’re unexpectedly unemployed?”
His features relax. He looks at Eddie and nods in greeting, then lets his hand fall from my arm. I beat down the disappointment.
“Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, it had nothing to do with you, Jordan. Okay? Please don’t feel like you need to get involved with this. The bottom line is, it was just a placeholder job. I would have left it eventually, and I’m bummed, but I’ll find other work.” Those hazel eyes go a dark, chipped gray.
“Where?” I ask. “Do you have another place in mind?”
His smile is sweet and curious, like I’m some exotic animal who crossed his path, and he’s just trying to figure me out.
Good Lord, please try to figure me out, Enzo.
“No, I do not. But—and I’m totally embarrassed to admit this—I’ve been fired before. A lot. More times than I can count. And I always manage to land on my feet. I’ll pick something up somewhere. No worries.”
I hold my breath and wonder if this is a stupid move on my part. I can practically feel Eddie shaking his head behind me, and, though I keep telling myself I am not attracted to this guy in that way, my hormones are clearly screaming otherwise.
I need to use my head. Be sensible. Resist the urge to do anything rash.
“The thing it,” I blurt out, “I think I can get you a job at Golden Leaf. If you want.”
This is an epically bad idea.
First of all, I have zero problems getting jobs when I need them. Never have. I’ve got great luck finding new jobs—I just don’t always manage to stick them once I do. So it’s not like I’m desperate enough to be considering this offer.
Almost Lover Page 3
