She lets me kiss her, lets me press her against the counter and run my hands under the thin cotton of her shirt. She moans into my mouth and pulls me close, but she doesn’t relax and melt into me the way I hoped she would. She holds on for dear life.
Like she’s afraid to let go.
The plane rattles as we back up on the runway, ready for take-off. I close my eyes, even though I took the window seat. Enzo must notice because he clutches my hand tightly and pulls it into his lap.
“I didn’t realize you were afraid of flying,” he says with a small laugh.
I allow myself to pop one eye open so I can glare at him.
“I’m not afraid to fly,” I say shakily. “That’s so cliché.”
“Alright,” Enzo stokes my finger with his calloused thumb. “Then what’s with the death grip?”
I sigh, open my eyes, and release my hold on his hand. A little.
“I’m not afraid of flying. I’m afraid of planes that are piloted by the same person who checked our baggage.”
Enzo throws his head back in deep laughter. “It was not the same guy.”
“I’m pretty sure it was. If we could see the front of the plane, I bet he even got out and spun the propeller himself, too.”
“Jordan,” he sighs. He’s looking at me and trying to keep a straight face, but the shit-eating grin tugs at his mouth making gorgeous smile lines around his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. Sit back, enjoy the flight. I’m sure there’s going to be a drink service soon, we can get you a vodka and soda and—”
I throw my hands up. “Perfect. Just what I want, total auto pilot while the captain plays stewardess.” This time I am joking.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous flying today. It’s unusual for me to be so uptight, when it comes to traveling, I’m typically a pro. Maybe it’s because I’m worried, despite Enzo’s reassurances that he won’t take this job if it’s formally offered. I couldn’t blame him if he did, to be honest. It’d be a great opportunity to build a lasting career somewhere closer to his family.
Which is another reason I may be nervous. Enzo mentioned that if the interview wraps up quickly, he’d like to make a stop at his parents’ place. Sure he’s met my family—but as my coworker. I’d be a guest in his family home as his—girlfriend? We haven’t said the official words yet, but there’s no doubt in my mind that we belong together.
“Relax,” Enzo says. He kisses each of my knuckles before reclining his seat now that they’ve given the all clear. “It’s going to be a good day.”
I open my mouth to say the words I know it’s too soon to say, no matter how strongly my heart feels them, and clamp it shut again.
He may be mine, but I have to see how things turn out with this interview before I risk it all. As if I even have a choice when it comes to him.
This place is much, much bigger than Golden Leaf. When you think family owned vineyards, you think of a small property like I’ve grown up on. Angelino’s is a different animal entirely.
Enzo has been touring and meeting with the operators for well over an hour, so I’ve been wandering the grounds alone. It’s a gorgeous day out. Even though we’re in the same state, the weather here is warmer, the sky seems clearer without the Bay Area fog clinging onto the vines, and the air feels drier. It’s a little easier to breathe it in. The heat of the sun scorches through the thin, eyelet sundress I’m wearing, but it feels good.
So far I’ve strolled past a massive day spa, a venue for music and performances, and a small hotel. The buildings are much more modern than the type of thing you’d find up in Napa and Sonoma Valley, and definitely differ from the old stonework of the buildings at Golden Leaf. I wonder if Enzo likes the vibe of this place. If he could build a career—if he could build a life here.
It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that even though its sleek lines are probably supposed to feel casual, it feels a little cold and unwelcoming to me.
I follow the path along the outside of the building, and when I round the corner, I see that there’s a wedding taking place. A gorgeous bride stands in flowing ivory lace surrounded by bridesmaids in short, plum-colored dresses and her groom and his groomsmen in classic tuxes. The bride speaks softly, everyone is leaning in to hear her as she half-talks, half-sobs into her handkerchief. She must be saying her vows.
I think back to the first time I met Enzo and smile, remembering how he cared for me at Dad’s wedding. Fed me. Picked leaves from my messy hair. I can’t believe we’re at the place we are now.
I slip into the first open door to avoid disturbing the ceremony—luckily it’s a tasting room.
“Jordan!” Enzo’s voice is surprised, but he’s beaming when he sees me. “Come on over.” He waves me toward the bar where he’s standing with two other men.
“Gentlemen, this is my—” Enzo stalls for a moment, just long enough to lock eyes with me and say, “This is my girlfriend, Jordan.”
My heart expands. I maybe forget to take a breath. I only guess that must be the case because of the way I’m suddenly a little lightheaded.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand to the men who want to take this man—my boyfriend—away from me.
“I’m Bill,” one of them says. “This is Kevin. Pleasure to meet you, Jordan.”
This isn’t a tasting room like any of the others I’ve been in before. The familiar wood bar has been replaced by a shiny, black acrylic top. The stools are made of clear fiberglass. The wine list isn’t written on a flimsy chalkboard like it is at Golden Leaf. Instead, there are multiple iPad’s along the counter with the full list, clickable.
“How’s it been going?” I ask Enzo.
His smile is warm, and gives nothing away either way.
“Really well,” is all he offers.
“Have you had a chance to take a look around?” Bill or Kevin asks me. I’ve forgotten their names already, I’m too distracted by what I think is a Cher cover song blaring from the speakers.
“I did! Thank you,” I say politely. “You have a lovely place here. Really great.”
“You two interested in a tasting?” Bill/Kevin asks. “This is one of the private rooms. We can get someone back here to help you two try some of offerings.”
“I’m okay, thank you,” I say, nervous to make this place more intimidating than it already is. If their wine is as fancy as they’re set up, I think I might cry. But I refuse to let Enzo see my panic. “Feel free, Enzo.”
Enzo holds up his hands. “I appreciate it, Kevin,” he says. Well, at least I know who’s who now. “But I think Jordan and I better head out. I’d like a chance to see my family while we’re in the area today if that’s alright.”
“Sure, sure,” Kevin says. He reaches into his wallet and hands Enzo a business card. “If you two don’t feel like flying home tonight, you just give my secretary a call. I’m sure we can get you set up here in a nice room, fly you home in the morning. Pilot probably wouldn’t mind the night off anyway.”
At that, Enzo squeezes my hand, knowing there is no chance in hell I’m getting on a plane with a pilot who’s itching for some shuteye. My relief at being able to leave the winery tramples the nerves I’d had earlier about meeting Enzo’s family.
“So, how’d it go?” I ask as we cross the parking lot, walking to the rental car.
“It was fine. It was exactly what I said it was going to be. They offered me the moon, I told them I’d think about it—”
“You’ll think about it?” I stutter out.
Enzo stops walking and pulls the hand he’s holding to his lips.
“I told you, I’m not taking the job. But it’d be impolite to turn them down right away. That’s a rule in business, right?”
“I guess,” I admit.
He steps in toward me and says against my ear. “After the other night? How the hell am I going to walk away from you?”
“You told them I was coming, right?” Jordan pins me with those big brown do
e eyes. I can’t lie to a girl who looks at me with Bambi eyes. But, if I don’t want those eyes to change from sweet to evil quicker than I want, I’d better do something other than stand around half-bumping into the thousands of plants crowding the porch. “Enzo?”
“It’s complicated, Jordan. Trust me, my parents are used to people dropping in all the time. I mean, you should have seen the way we pretty much adopted neighborhood kids and just plopped them down for dinner—”
Jordan puts a hand to her lips and shakes her head. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I didn’t clarify before now.” She turns around and heads back to down the steps, to the car.
“Hey, wait up!” I chase her down the stairs and grab her by the shoulders, turning her so I’m looking her right in the eyes. “Jordan, it’s honestly no big deal. Really. My parents are super laid-back. And they’ll be so happy to meet you.”
“Enzo, you didn’t tell them you were bringing me?” She looks down and closes her eyes, then gives me this disappointed stare. “Do you bring random girls over often?”
“You’re not a random girl.” I rub my nose along her neck, breathing the sweet smell of her skin. “Mmm. You’re my boss. My very, very sexy boss,” I joke. I even thrown in a wink for good measure. She purses her lips and narrows her eyes. Not amused at all. I try some damage control. “If it helps, I didn’t tell them I was coming either.”
“What? Enzo, you’re kidding me.” Jordan practically stomps, pulling back from me and crossing her arms. “We’re crashing Sunday dinner?”
“Whoa, Jordan, it’s okay, really. Crashing is such an ugly word. Trust me, we’re welcome. Anytime.” I try to pull her over, but she backs away. “Doll, this is a family dinner. We’re family. Always welcome, okay?”
I know Jordan’s got a complicated family life. She’s the only child of divorced parents, and she doesn’t exactly have a ton of experience with an open, warm, accepting mother. I could picture Mrs. Caletti expecting an RSVP from Jordan before she’d let her in for breakfast, so maybe she’s just freaked out because of that.
“I think you’re getting all excited for no reason.” I reach out and slide my fingers down her arm.
Her shoulders buckle forward. “Enzo, I’m meeting your family. For the first time. I want them to like me. I want this to…”
She stops short, but suddenly it all makes perfect sense.
“This means something,” I say, and she immediately takes a few rapid steps back to me. She throws herself into my arms, and I hold her tight.
“What if they don’t like me?” she asks into my neck.
I laugh out loud at that one. “Babe, they’re gonna love you. By the time this dinner is done, I guarantee they’ll be willing to kick me out and make you an honorary Rodriguez. C’mon. Let me show my parents I finally pulled my head out of my ass and decided to bring home an amazing woman.”
Her face breaks into a huge smile. We walk up the porch steps holding hands and I reach for the doorknob, pausing for a quick second before we barge in.
I can already hear the familiar voices inside through the heavy wood doors, because my family does everything at maximum volume. I’m about to face the family I haven’t seen in months. I haven’t returned more than a fraction of my mother and sisters’ calls, even when the worry in the voicemails made me feel the choke of guilt.
I missed my brother’s birthday, a bunch of barbeques, an uncountable number of dawn surf trips, my sister’s big art exhibit. This is the first time in my life I didn’t fast for Tish’a B’Av before the big feast at our temple. Part of finding myself included losing touch with the people who love me most. I needed space, but I also needed to prove myself. I didn’t want to come back until I had something to show.
It’s taken me stepping back to realize my family loves me regardless, and they just want me around.
I close my eyes and pull up the image of my youngest sister, Genevieve’s, face the night I left town, her gray eyes filled with worry and love. I consider how much shit her rad husband, Adam, must have taken from her for weeks, since he’s the person who set my mind on a fresh start. Once those wheels were spinning, there was no stopping me—no matter how much he begged me not to throw him to the wolves—i.e. his new bride, my fierce baby sister.
“So if it’s fine, why are you hesitating?” Jordan asks, nudging my shoulder. That look of panic I just smoothed off her face starts to take root again.
I blink and shake my head back and forth, giving her my best reassuring smile. “Just happy to be here. With you.”
A return smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and I’m contemplating leaning in to kiss the edges of her grin when I hear my father’s voice thunder from inside the house.
“No hay manera en el infierno!” he yells.
That perfect smile falters and Jordan blinks fast, three times. She’s scared.
“I don’t—” She takes two steps backward. Away from the door.
Away from me. I clutch at her hand and pull her back to me. I shake my head at her, trying to calm her back down. “It’s nothing,” I say, weaving my fingers through hers and holding tight. “Don’t worry. We’re Latin. Loud, a little crazy. Especially my dad, but, trust me, he’s all bark and no bite. Just dramatic.”
I know she speaks enough Spanish to know Papa is pissed, but I don’t give her a chance to think on it anymore. I push through the front door, pulling Jordan in behind me. I don’t bother to look back at her, but I can feel the pierce of the daggers she’s throwing my way with her eyes, sight unseen.
“No me estás escuchando, Papá!” my brother Cohen roars from the kitchen.
Cohen doesn’t usually speak Spanish with my dad unless they’re arguing, and based on what we’ve caught of the conversation so far, I think it’s safe to say he’s doing it to keep his wife, Maren, out of the conversation. My brother is a fairly easy-going guy, but you mess with his wife in any way, and he’ll go mad dog on you.
“Enzo,” Jordan whispers, her palm sweaty against my hand. “It’s rude to eavesdrop!”
I raise a finger and touch it to her lips. “Shh…I’m not trying to eavesdrop.”
I’m totally trying to eavesdrop, but only because I need to wait for a break in the conversation.
“Just give it a second. Never hurts to make a good entrance.” I run a thumb over her hand, trying to put her at ease. If that’s possible. We haven’t even entered the room my family is in, but you’d need a sabre to cut the tension swirling through here, even from the safety of the foyer.
“Ah, come on, Pops,” I hear a voice say. Deo. My brother’s best friend. He’s been a permanent fixture in our house and at especially at the dinner table since before I was born. His trademark chuckle is muffled by the sound of him chomping down on something. “Let’s all just chill. Dinah here has prepared a delicious meal—see there.”
I hear the clanging of dishes and my mother muttering under her breath.
“Lunch is served,” she says. Her tone is stern, and says all the unspoken things: You eat this meal I prepared for you assholes, and you like it!
“El almuerzo está arruinada,” my dad says. Lunch is ruined.
“That’s our cue,” I mouth, and round the corner, pulling Jordan behind me.
Her fingers clamp around my hand, which makes her nails bite into my palm. Her nervousness makes me feel braver than I should, considering I’m walking into Sunday dinner after I skipped town in the middle of the night with no explanation. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone—not even Mami. I realize now how immature and selfish it was to focus so completely on my pain, I never paused to think about how my family would feel to lose me.
I’m desperate to believe it won’t be as bad as I’m imagining. Maybe all will be forgiven since I’ve got this beautiful girl with me.
But probably not. Since, you know, I left town on account of a different beautiful girl. Damn it.
Maren sees me first. She’s leaning over and whispering something soothing into my broth
er’s ear so he’ll stop arguing with my dad and looking like he might pop a blood vessel in the meantime. When I catch her eye, her mouth curves up into a sweet smile and she stands up straight, her little belly sticking out under her flowy shirt. Cohen must notice she’s stopped mid-sentence because he looks up, too.
“What the—” He gently urges Maren to sit, ignoring her protests, then pushes himself away from the table and bounds toward me with an enthusiasm that might be happiness based. Or beat-the-shit-out-of-your-prodigal-brother based.
“Enzo!” Mama gasps and leaps out of her chair, her hand on her heart, a look of pure happiness on her face. At least I can always count on Mom to be glad to see me. Whatever Cohen and Dad were arguing about is long forgotten. My brother can thank me later for that bit of grace.
“Are we not eating yet then?” Deo asks, then sees me. “Holy shit! Is it a ghost? Or is that Enzo Rodriguez in the flesh? Where’ve you been, man?”
Cohen reaches for me, grabs me by the front of my shirt and glares. Jordan drops my hand and covers her mouth, a petrified look on her face. Then my brother cracks a smile and pulls me to him, thumping me on the back. I want to reach back for Jordan’s hand, but Cohen has my arms pinned and isn’t letting me go. He pats my back a little too hard, like this is his best option if he wants to avoid punching me.
“You sack of shit, if you ever pull a stunt—” Cohen mutters in my ear through clenched teeth, then shakes his head, noticing Jordan quaking in the background. Like I said, my brother has a soft spot for womenfolk. He’d never scare Jordan on purpose. I’ll have to thank her later for saving me from a vicious sibling beating. “Never mind. I’m glad you’re here. You’re safe. And—” He releases his tourniquet grip. The blood slowly tingles back into my arms and hands. “You brought a friend?”
My brother drops his Hulk persona and extends his hand like he has manners. It’s eerie how my brother can button his rage up like that. “I’m Cohen, Enzo’s older brother.” He turns and gestures to Maren, puffing up like he’s showing off. “And this is my wife, Maren.”
Jordan shakes politely. “So nice to meet you. I’m Jordan.” She glances at me, like she’s asking what more, if anything, she should say by way of introduction. Before I have to get involved in that sticky situation, my family descends on Jordan like the wild wolf people they are.
Almost Lover Page 18
