by Shirley Jump
But first, there was dinner with Daniel. Carrie smiled to herself, then pulled a compact out of her purse and touched up her lipstick, then fussed with her hair.
“Ooh. Hot date?” Faith asked. “With Daniel?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across her face.
“He is hot.” Faith put up a finger and let out a long hiss. “Even hotter than he was back in high school. And you know, forget all that stuff I said about the television show he works for. I heard him talking to Mrs. Miller and he seems amazing.”
An even bigger smile curved across Carrie’s face. “He is, isn’t he?”
Faith laid a hand on Carrie’s. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. I know this sounds weird, but it’s nice to have just a…normal relationship. Like anyone else would have.”
“It doesn’t sound weird at all,” Faith said softly. “And if you ask me, you deserve it. You’re a great person, Carrie, and a great catch.”
“Thanks.” She was grateful to have a friend like Faith during her stay in America. Faith didn’t see her as a princess, a foreigner or as anything other than another woman. It was refreshing and freeing and gave Carrie the confidence that she could someday live the very ordinary life she’d been struggling to have all her life.
Maybe an ordinary life with Daniel and Annabelle?
Her mind darted around the prospect, flirted with images of a future with him. Would they laugh every day? Exchange kisses over their morning coffee? Watch the sun rise over the lake?
Maybe. Just maybe.
The bell over the door jingled and a man stepped inside. He was tall and distinguished-looking, with short light gray hair combed back on the sides and deep chocolate-brown eyes. He wore a short-sleeved T-shirt and jeans that fit his still-trim frame snugly. He had the air of a man who would be as comfortable in a boardroom as he would on a fishing boat. He stood in the doorway for a minute while his eyes adjusted to the darker interior.
Faith started to slip off the seat, but Carrie put a hand on her arm. “Stay, take a break. You’ve worked hard today already. I’ll handle this.”
Faith settled back on the stool with a contented sigh. “I won’t argue with you.”
Carrie headed across the shop. She thought of Daniel and their date tonight, and she found herself hoping the customer would finish quickly. “Hello, sir, and welcome to By The Glass. My name is Carrie and I’m here to help you find the perfect wine.”
But the man’s gaze wasn’t on any of the bottles displayed throughout the store. Or the vast collection of wineglasses and decanters. His focus was entirely on Carrie. “You’re her.”
“Oh, that. Yes, I am,” Carrie said, gesturing toward the sign in the front door. “I’m Princess Carlita Santaro. Of the Uccelli royal family, which is where many of our wines are made.”
“I’ve heard it’s a beautiful country.”
“It is. Full of rocky shores and beautiful homes that date back before Father Time.”
The man chuckled, then his features softened. “You are indeed her.”
“I am.” Just another tourist here to see the local curiosity of the princess. Maybe she could talk him into at least one bottle of the Uccelli wine as a souvenir of sorts. “Now, can I help you find a wine?”
The door burst open and a woman Carrie remembered from the day before came rushing into the shop, heading straight for Carrie. “Dinner party emergency! My husband invited his boss to dinner tonight. What do you have for wines that guarantee promotions?”
Carrie laughed. “I’m sure we can find something, Mrs. Dell.” She turned to her male customer. “Why don’t you look around for a bit, sir, and if you need any help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
The other man looked as if he wanted to say something more, but then he glanced at Mrs. Dell, and he appeared to change his mind. “I’ll do that,” he said instead and turned to the racks of wine on the wall. Carrie went back to work and never gave him a second thought.
Later, she wished she had paid closer attention. But at the time, she didn’t know what one innocuous conversation could cost her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DANIEL cursed. And cursed some more. He took a long walk around his mother’s block, cursing under his breath the whole way. The neighbors undoubtedly thought he was crazy, but he didn’t care. He was sitting on information he hadn’t expected, and for the first time in his career, he wished he hadn’t done such a thorough job on his research.
No matter how he played this in his head, he couldn’t see a way that would keep his boss happy, keep Carrie from enduring a potentially humiliating experience and give everyone a happily ever after.
Or even anything close to it.
Daniel had given up on happy endings for himself a long time ago. He’d seen where believing in being happy forever got him—watching his marriage go down in flames, filing for divorce, and then, standing over a grave site and trying to comfort a little girl who couldn’t understand why her mother was never again going to tuck her in at the end of the day.
“Is that you, Daniel Reynolds?”
He turned at the sound of his name. “Hello, Mr. Miller. How are you?”
“Terrible.” Walter Miller scowled. “My hip’s acting up so I can’t hardly walk, my arthritis is making it damned impossible to work in my garage and I got a cracked crown.” He pushed at his cheek and winced.
Daniel bit back a chuckle. “Well, at least you’re in good spirits.”
Walter waved off Daniel’s words. “Good spirits are overrated.”
“Have a nice night, Mr. Miller.” Daniel started to walk away.
“Wait.”
Daniel turned back. “Did you need something, Mr. Miller?”
The old man scowled again, then pursed his lips, as if speaking the next words came at a great cost. “I wanted to thank you. For helping the wife make up her mind about that wine. That woman is about going to drive me crazy with all her hemming and hawing.”
Daniel smiled. “My pleasure.”
“And you tell that princess that we enjoyed her wine. It didn’t make me sick.”
Yes, he could tell Carrie that. The rest, he wasn’t so sure about. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that rousing endorsement.”
“Whatcha doing featuring the princess on that Inside Scoop trash? I saw them advertising it when I was eating my liver and onions tonight.”
Daniel bit back a groan. Apparently, Matt hadn’t wasted any time getting a preview on the air.
“Why do you work for a jerk like that?” Mr. Miller asked. “I know the guy who runs that place.”
“It’s a long story.”
Mr. Miller glanced over his shoulder at the house behind him. “Myrtle would have my head for talking about my nephew like that.”
“Matt is your nephew?”
“My brother-in-law Charles’s kid. Turned out just like his father, too. Bunch of ’em give the family a bad name.” Mr. Miller cleared his throat. “So, you gonna marry her?”
The question came out of nowhere and left Daniel reeling. “Marry her?”
“I’ve seen how you looked at that princess. Come on, boy, you look like a man in love.”
“Uh, Mr. Miller, I don’t think—”
“Let me give you a word of advice.” Walter leaned closer. “Marriage ain’t easy. Lord knows it’s the hardest damned thing I’ve ever done. But if you do it right, it’ll make you happier than you ever thought possible.”
“Well, sir, I hardly know her and—”
“What’s that matter?” Walter threw up his hands in frustration at Daniel’s clear denseness. “You see happiness, you grab it, boy. Lord knows there ain’t much of it going around. It’s like that wine.”
Daniel shook his head, trying to follow the circuitous path of his neighbor’s conversation. “What’s like that wine?”
“Love.” Walter let out a gust of frustration. “At first, you think you don’t need it. Just one more
damned bottle to clutter up the kitchen counter. But then you buy it, and you know what happens?”
“Uh, no.”
“The woman you love is smiling and singing while she’s making dinner because you did something nice. I even opened the bottle, poured my Myrtle a glass. That is a happy marriage, son. The kind that keeps a man from wanting to tear his hair out.”
Daniel chuckled. “Well, that’s some advice, Mr. Miller. Thank you.”
“Yeah, don’t mention it.” He leaned in again. “And I mean it. Don’t mention it to Myrtle. She’ll be all kissy and huggy if she hears I said something nice.”
“My lips are sealed. Have a good evening.” Daniel walked away, the echoes of Walter’s mutterings about the length of his lawn echoing in the quiet twilight.
By the time Daniel got back to his mother’s house, dusk was falling and he hadn’t come up with any solutions. He pulled a beer out of the fridge and dropped into a seat at the kitchen table.
“I thought you were having dinner with Carrie,” his mother said.
“I canceled.” He glanced out the window, his gut torn by his decisions. “I have too much work to do tonight.”
“Well, there’s leftovers. Would you like some?” He nodded and his mother fixed him a plate. After it was done reheating in the microwave, she laid the meal before him and took the opposite seat. “I know that look. Something’s bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” He paused. What good had it ever done him to keep things bottled up? To try to run his world single-handedly? The past year had taught him asking for help was a sign of strength, not weakness. “Yes.”
Greta steepled her hands and gave him a kind smile. “I’m here to listen.”
Daniel laid down his fork, his appetite gone. “I came across some information today. The kind most reporters would kill for. It could change everything with my career.”
“But…”
“I haven’t used it yet.” The paper in his pocket seemed to weigh ten pounds, laden with results of an interview and a few details checks that proved the story the former newspaper editor had told him. “Dad would say I was a fool. He’d be blaring it on the front page.”
“Your father was a good man,” Greta said. “But sometimes he didn’t make good decisions.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, Mom.”
“These were different. They were the kind of decisions that haunted him.” She toyed with the salt shaker. Daniel waited, sensing this was something his mother needed to say, as difficult as it might be. “I’ve often thought guilt was the real cause for your father’s heart attack.”
“Guilt? Over what?”
“He always told you about the good stories he wrote. The ones he took pride in. But the ones that bothered him, that haunted him, he kept to himself. I’d see him brooding and try to get him to talk, but most of the time, he didn’t want to talk.”
“He never told me anything, either.” Daniel had always thought his father’s distance was a symptom of a frustrated artist. But apparently there’d been more—more that he hadn’t said to his son.
“He had one story, about a missing bank teller and a whole lot of money that went missing with her. Do you remember it? It happened when you were about seven.”
“Vaguely.”
“Your father was bound and determined to find that woman. She was a young mother, and the whole thing scared the community. So your father uncovered every stone he could. He was working around the clock, getting the news in as fast as he could write it. And then…” His mother let out a sigh. “He realized he’d been wrong about almost everything. The teller wasn’t some innocent, out there suffering at the hands of a kidnapper. She was a manipulator who had staged her abduction and in the process, planted information that made her boss look like the guilty party. Maybe hoping the attention would focus on that scandal instead of hers.”
“She hadn’t been kidnapped, if I remember right. She had embezzled a lot of money from the bank,” Daniel said. He recalled some of the story, not all, but enough to remember that part. There was something about the young woman meeting up with her boyfriend and her child in Mexico, where she was finally caught by the police.
His mother nodded. “And in the process, the boss’s life was ruined. He was completely innocent—all the information had been fabricated—but he never recovered. The paper had moved on to other stories by then, and the truth became a small paragraph at the back of the section. The bank manager committed suicide a few weeks later, and your father…” Greta sighed. “He took that to heart. If he hadn’t been so eager to get the story, he told me, he might have paused to think. He was never the same after that.”
“And never here.” Daniel’s words tasted as bitter as they sounded. He remembered his father pouring himself into his work, jetting off here and there in the quest to find the next headline. He fact-checked and researched everything ten times over, becoming almost obsessive about the job.
“True. And his absence was one of his biggest regrets. I think he was gone all the time because he was trying to make up for that one bad story. And because you idolized your father and I don’t think he could admit to you that he had made such a bad mistake.”
“I wish he had.” It would have humanized the elder Reynolds. And given the two generations a way to connect. “To me, Dad was this distant, mythical person. The perfect reporter. The one I had to live up to.”
Greta’s hand covered his. “And you did, and then some.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“But I’ve seen what it’s cost you. For a while there, you were more like him than you realized.” Her face softened with concern, and she gave his fingers a squeeze. “You don’t have to get the story at all costs, Daniel. You don’t have to be the top reporter on the show. You don’t have to unearth the next big scoop. There are bigger things in life than that.”
“Like what?”
“Like being a good father. Being one Annabelle can look up to and respect. Life is about the connections we make, Daniel. Not about the successes we have at work.”
“I do that. I make connections.”
Greta arched a brow.
“Okay, so I could do a better job at connecting. But…I guess I don’t know how.” Daniel pushed the beer away. It wasn’t really what he needed or wanted.
“Just start with listening.” Greta smiled. “The rest will follow.”
“I don’t know.” He thought he’d been listening to his daughter for the past year, and yet their relationship still felt stalled. He thought he’d been listening to Carrie, but when the scoop landed in his lap, the old urge to reclaim his journalistic pedigree resurfaced. Had he been shoving connections aside, and choosing instead career success?
“Do you remember what it was like for us when your father died?” his mother said. “You were nineteen and even though your father’s heart attack wasn’t my fault, you blamed me. Things were tense between us for quite a while.”
He hung his head. “I know and I’m sorry for that. I understand what you went through now.”
Her hand covered his. “It’s okay. I understood. The point is you do the best you can do for your children and still try to live your life. Family, and the people you love, have to come first. The rest will follow as it’s meant to. Don’t be afraid of that, Daniel.”
“Mom, I can’t.” He shook his head, and tried to head off the tears brimming in his eyes. “I’m terrified of screwing it up again. My marriage was a mess. My daughter barely knows me and the thought of trying that all over again with someone else…and maybe screwing that up, too?” His voice broke on the last words, and a tear slid down his cheek. “I…I can’t.”
“If you’re always afraid of what’s coming around the corner, you’re going to miss the great things that are already here, honey.” She gave him a gentle pat, then got to her feet.
His mother left the room, and Daniel sat in the darkening kitchen with his thoughts. Two people
in a row had given him the same advice—let people into his heart.
Maybe if he started there the rest, as his mother had said, would follow.
CHAPTER NINE
WEDNESDAY wound to a close. After the hectic day, Carrie knew she should be glad Daniel had canceled their dinner plans, but the parts of her that weren’t exhausted still missed him. With the princess test coming up tomorrow, she would have felt better to have seen him, and maybe go over their plan one more time.
Ironic, wasn’t it, that she was trying to use an event meant to prove her royalness—with the intention of avoiding that designation in the end? All her life, she’d rebelled against her royal life, wanted nothing to do with that. She’d run from the castle every chance she’d had to work in the vineyards, go off with her friends…be normal.
“You nervous about tomorrow?” Faith asked.
“A little. But I trust Daniel. He and I have a plan for that test, and I know he won’t do something to embarrass me.”
“A good man like that is hard to find.” Faith pulled a small mirror out of her purse and touched up her makeup. “Speaking of meeting great men, are you sure you don’t mind closing up?”
“Not at all. Have fun on your date.” Earlier, Faith had mentioned she was going on a first date with a new guy, and Carrie had told her she should leave a few minutes early to have extra time to get ready. It would give Carrie some time alone in the shop to strategize for tomorrow.
“Thanks. I will.” Faith grinned, then grabbed her purse and headed out the door, while Carrie remained behind to finish the day’s last few tasks.
