I went downstairs and when I got to the front, I held the door open for a guest. Right behind her came Zoe—a very frazzled Zoe.
Her hair was curled in soft waves, and her blouse was neatly tucked into her slacks. It wasn’t her appearance that was disheveled, although a strand of hair fell across her forehead, and she aggressively swiped it away. It was her eyes. I could see the strain behind them. She was about to lose her shit.
She paused just inside the door, blinking at me like it had taken her a second to realize who she was looking at.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Sure,” I said. “Are you okay?”
She let out a long breath and glanced around the lobby. “Yes… No. This day is a fucking disaster.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Difficult bride?”
“No, it’s not a wedding,” she said. “Corporate retreat. But the caterer completely screwed me over. They brought the wrong food, which is bad enough. But I have seventeen vegans with nothing to eat because everything contains animal products, even the salad that was not supposed to have goat cheese. And we ran out of the salad because it was all the twenty-four vegetarians had to eat. They forgot the bread, Roland. What kind of caterer forgets the bread? It’s a good thing we’re a fucking winery. If everyone in there wasn’t rocking a wine buzz, I’d have a goddamn riot on my hands.”
“What about the stuff from our kitchen?” I asked. The tasting rooms served food, but the winery always worked with outside caterers for larger events.
“Well, the kitchen would be better stocked if the last delivery hadn’t been delayed due to some issue with our account,” she said. “But it wouldn’t have been enough anyway.”
I had to stop myself from groaning. An issue with the account probably meant yet another vendor that hadn’t been paid.
“Look, I’d love to stand here and fill you in on how extraordinarily shitty my day is, but I have to go figure out how to salvage this.” She turned and started toward the back.
“Wait, Zoe.”
She paused and glanced over her shoulder.
I pulled out my phone and glanced at the time. I could spare an hour if I skipped my run. “Would it help if I went to the store? If you text me a list, I can get whatever you need to fill in the gaps.”
“Um…” She walked back toward me, slowly, like she was uncertain. “Yeah, actually that would help a lot.”
“Okay.” I held up my phone. “Text me while I’m en route.”
“Right… I don’t have your number,” she said.
“It’s the same.”
She pulled out her phone. “Yeah, well, I deleted it. Can I have it again?”
Why did hearing her say she’d deleted my number feel like a kick in the balls? I couldn’t remember the last time we’d texted or talked on the phone. She didn’t have a reason to keep my number. But it still bothered me.
I cleared my throat, trying to get rid of the feeling, and gave her my number.
“Thanks,” she said. “I have to go make sure my client isn’t planning to have me killed, but I’ll text you in a minute.”
I watched her hurry down the hall, then went out to my car and drove to the store. Her text came through just as I was pulling into the parking lot. Then another. And another. She’d sent me a long fucking list.
It took me a little while to find everything she needed. The lady at the bakery next door saved my ass—or Zoe’s ass, at least. I explained the situation and she quickly packaged up enough bread to feed an army.
I texted Zoe to let her know I was on my way back. In addition to the bread, my car was full of cheeses, fruits and vegetables, a variety of butters and spreads, olives that had cost as much as a good steak, and three more bags of stuff I’d never even heard of.
She met me outside and we quickly unloaded through the side entrance into the kitchen. I went out to get the last of the bread. When I came back in, she was at the sink washing her hands, an apron tied around her waist.
“Can you slice?” she asked.
I glanced at the time. I’d be cutting it close if I didn’t leave soon, but I could at least help Zoe slice bread. “Yeah, sure.”
“Awesome.” She tossed me an apron and nodded toward the sink. “Wash your hands. You remember where everything is?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
I washed up and put on the apron, then got to work on the bread. She pulled out bread boards and I lined up the slices in neat rows. I didn’t know where the caterer had gone, but it was just the two of us in the big kitchen. Maybe she’d fired them while I was out.
By some sort of Zoe-magic, she turned the stuff I’d brought into platters of tidy finger food. She had me run upstairs to her office for note cards and a pen, which she used to label everything with vegan or vegetarian, and listed the ingredients.
“This is a start,” she said, stepping back to eye our—well, mostly her—handiwork. “They’ll go through this in about ten minutes, but better to tide them over. Then I can get another round of food going. Let’s get this out there before they all die of starvation.”
I hesitated, checking the time again. If I didn’t leave now, I was going to miss my flight.
But I was looking at a two-hour drive just to get to the airport. Then ninety minutes of waiting, and a two-hour flight home. My return flight was tomorrow afternoon. I’d be in San Francisco for less than twenty-four hours. Then all the travel time to get back here. It would be nice to see Farrah, but that was a lot of travel for one dinner.
It wasn’t really about Zoe. Now that I was looking at the timing, it just didn’t make sense for me to go.
“Yeah, give me a second.” I sent Farrah a text, letting her know I had to cancel. She traveled all the time, so I knew she’d understand. And we were both so busy, canceled plans were nothing new for us.
I grabbed two trays of food and followed Zoe. It reminded me of when I was a kid and my parents would rope me into helping when they were short-staffed. I’d learned how to serve wine before I’d learned to drive.
Her corporate crowd—I would have bet a thousand dollars they were a PR and marketing firm—applauded when we came in. She gave a little bow, playing it up. The mood in the room seemed considerably lighter as people dished up; food had a tendency to do that. I noticed a woman who looked like she might be in charge pull Zoe aside to thank her.
I stayed to help. We prepped, then brought out more food and wine. When she was satisfied that her clients had everything they needed, we wandered back to the kitchen. The hum of conversation in the event room faded behind us.
We put a few things away, wrapping up the excess food and moving the dirty dishes to the sink. With her clients appeased, there was no rush. Things felt relaxed. Comfortable.
She leaned against a counter, a rag in her hands. “So… what have you been working on, all shut away in that office?”
“Going through Salishan’s finances,” I said. “I have a handle on some of it, but it’s taking time to get everything under control.”
“Cooper said the bank was threatening foreclosure.”
There was a slight hitch in her voice. She’d been worrying. “That was before I got here. They’re not going to foreclose.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said. “I know it’s not really my business, but I’d hate to see anything happen to this place.”
“Yeah, of course. I would too. I’ll get them back on track.” I rested my elbow on the counter. “It’s been frustrating, though. I’ve been going through their records and I keep wondering what the hell my dad was thinking.”
She shrugged, and I caught a slight eye roll. “Well, you aren’t the only one who wonders that.”
“It’s like he’s been investing in the wrong things,” I said. “After they built the Big House, they should have focused on saving for more capital investments. Equipment doesn’t last forever, and they have no plan for investing in new technologies. Everything is haphazard.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And there’s so much more competition these days. All these semi-retired people buying land and starting wineries. Even I remember when we were one of just a handful of wine producers around here. Now there are dozens.”
“Exactly,” I said. “They need to be able to adjust for that. Differentiate themselves in the marketplace. But that requires organization and planning. I don’t know what the fuck my dad’s been doing all these years.”
“I shouldn’t talk shit about your dad, but I don’t know what the fuck he’s been doing either,” she said with a little grin. “I don’t envy you the task of dealing with him.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, he’s… challenging. He always was.”
“He’s certainly no picnic,” she said. “You know, once last year I had to kick him out of the Big House because he was making a scene in front of guests.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I can laugh about it now, but it wasn’t funny at the time. He lost his temper about something and went off on the tasting room staff. I had a brunch in the other room and we could hear him yelling. I pulled him outside and told him to stop being a jackass in front of our guests.”
I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t surprised Zoe had stood up to my father like that—she was feisty—but it couldn’t have been pleasant. “What did he do?”
She shrugged. “He was angry with me, but he walked away. He knew I was right, but it wasn’t like he was going to admit it.”
“No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him admit he was wrong.”
“Not exactly his best quality,” she said. “I hope fixing all this stuff isn’t giving you too many headaches.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Yeah, you will.” She put the rag on the counter. “I’m going to go check on things in the other room. They should be winding down.”
“Sure.”
Pausing for a second, I watched her go. It was nice to talk to someone about what I was doing here. I had a lot on my mind lately, and it was good to get some of it off my chest. Share my frustrations with someone who understood. Someone who cared.
I followed her out to see if she needed help wrapping up. The guests were all staying at the hotel next door—which was good because it looked like barely a quarter of them were in any shape to drive. They left in small groups until finally the room was empty.
I brought an empty platter back to the kitchen, but I didn’t see Zoe. The side door was open a crack, and I peeked outside.
She stood with her back against the building, a plastic cup dangling from her fingers.
“Looks like you pulled it off.” I went out to stand beside her.
“Oh my god, what a day. I’m just glad it’s over.” She took a sip. “Thanks for your help, by the way.”
“No problem,” I said. “So let me guess. Tonight’s agenda includes a hot bath and a stiff drink?”
“I already have the drink covered.” She held out her cup, offering it to me.
I took it from her—whiskey—and enjoyed the burn as it went down my throat. I handed it back, and for a second our eyes met. Spending the afternoon with her had been fine. Pleasant, even. But standing with her here, in the cool evening air, I was hit with a potent mix of resentment and longing. A part of me wanted to pick a fight with her, while another part…
Another part wanted something else entirely.
That was messed up. I shouldn’t be thinking about Zoe like that.
As if she could read my mind, she shifted away from me. Stood straight and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I need to finish up so I can go home.”
“Do you need any more help?” I asked, knowing the best thing for me would be to walk away, not stay with her longer.
“No, I’ve got it.” She met my eyes again. “Thanks. I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.”
She went in through the side door, and despite the piece of me that wanted to follow, I let her go.
Seven
Zoe
Sunday, I only had a small wedding to contend with. The ceremony and brunch reception went off without a hitch—catering included. It was a relief after Saturday’s shit show. My client had been understanding, but it sucked, having an event go south so badly. I was certainly never using that caterer again.
Thankfully Roland had jumped in to help. I’d been trying to find Shannon—or hell, even Cooper—to see if they’d run to the store for me. But neither of them had been around.
When Roland had offered, I’d almost said no. Because Roland. But it would have been stupid to refuse the help when I’d really needed it. And he’d come through for me like a champ. He’d even been nice to me.
I was off Monday and Tuesday, and I didn’t leave my house. It was glorious. Cooper texted to see if I wanted to catch a movie, but that would have required putting on pants. And a bra. So it was a definite no-go. But more than anything, I just needed a break. From work. From people.
From anyone whose last name was Miles.
I got in early on Wednesday, feeling refreshed. Not long after I arrived, while I was still yawning over my first cup of coffee, Roland passed my half-open door. He paused for a second, like he might stop. But he kept going, down the hall to the office he’d been using.
I rolled my eyes at the sharp sting of disappointment. So he hadn’t stopped to say good morning. So what? It wasn’t like we were friends.
And maybe that was what had been eating at me. We weren’t friends. I hated the feeling of distance between us. The awkwardness. It had dissipated on Saturday, although I’d been so focused on salvaging the event, I hadn’t had room to be aloof toward him. I’d simply needed to get things done. But working side-by-side with him… well, it hadn’t been bad. We’d both relaxed.
Although I hadn’t allowed myself to admit it, I’d been hoping that lack of tension would have carried over to today. That maybe there was a version of reality where we could be friendly. Stop by each other’s offices to say hi. Maybe rib each other a little bit. That would be better than feeling like he’d become a stranger.
However, I needed to remember who I was dealing with. He was going to help his parents, and roll on out of here back to his life in San Francisco. It wouldn’t matter if we were friends or not because in a few days, he’d be gone. And who knew when I’d see him again.
I opened my calendar and sighed. My bridezilla was coming today for an in-person meeting. I was not looking forward to spending an afternoon with Miss Victoria Jones. And to make matters worse, I’d started my period. My lower back and hips ached something fierce.
When it came to the bridezilla, my only consolation was that she was marrying a man named Victor Cockburn. Not only was her husband-to-be’s first name only two letters different from her own, his last name was Cockburn. Cock. Burn. It sounded like something he should see a doctor about.
So while Miss Victoria was micromanaging me to death, I amused myself by making up new versions of her impending last name. Burningcock. Cockdisease. Redcock. Cockrash. Not that I’d be anything less than totally professional on the outside. But what went on in my head was none of her business.
She was late—because of course she was—and she brought her maid-of-honor, Heather. They weren’t related, but they looked, and dressed, so much alike, I had a hard time telling them apart. Big blond hair. Bright pink manicures. Leggings with tan Uggs. They were a couple of pumpkin spice nightmares. I plastered on a smile and led them to one of the meeting rooms upstairs.
“Can I get you ladies anything?” I asked.
“No, we’re doing a juice cleanse,” Victoria said.
I wondered how her bestie felt about that. Heather nodded, but her enthusiasm seemed forced.
“Water, then?” I asked.
“Is it filtered?” Victoria asked.
I opened the mini-fridge and pulled out two waters. “Bottled.”
Victoria put her giant wedding binder on the table and set her water next
to it. We all took a seat, and Victoria flipped through the thick pages. She had magazine clippings, print-outs, notes—both handwritten and typed—samples, and who knew what else in that binder of hers. The first time she’d met with me, I’d asked her if she’d been working on the binder since she was little. I’d meant it as a friendly joke, but she’d looked at me with a straight face and said she’d started it when she was five.
Okay, then.
“So, I have some changes to the décor to make sure everything matches my vision.” Victoria flipped through a few more pages. “Here. I need it to look like this.”
I took a second to peruse the photos she’d laid out. Her ceremony was supposed to be outdoors, in our main garden area. The photos were all indoor venues.
“Why don’t you tell me which parts of this are the most important to you,” I said. “Because there’s a lot here we can replicate, but some won’t translate to an outdoor space.”
“This is what I want,” she said, gesturing to the entire page.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, these pictures have a lot of lights hanging from the ceiling to create that overhead twinkle effect. We don’t have a ceiling outside.”
“I’m sure you can figure something out,” she said. “Can’t you build a structure to drape the lights from?”
Build a structure? For fuck’s sake. Cocksting. Smokingcock. Victoria Cockpain. “I don’t think new trellises are in the budget, I’m afraid.”
She took a deep breath, like she was trying very hard to control herself. “How many more disappointments am I going to have this week?”
Heather made a sympathetic cooing noise. “Oh sweetie, I know, you’re dealing with so much.”
I was very practiced at keeping my thoughts from showing in my expression when I was with clients. So I kept my face carefully pleasant, even though my uterus was wreaking havoc on my lower half and my bridezilla’s dramatics made me want to bang my head against the table.
I also knew it was usually best to keep quiet and let the bride realize I wasn’t going to jump through hoops to appease her. I’d make her happy to the best of my ability, within the budget she—or in this case, her parents—had set. Outside of that, there wasn’t anything I could do. I’d had to learn early to set boundaries with some of my brides, or they’d demand the moon and throw a tantrum when they realized it wouldn’t fit through the door.
Broken Miles Page 5
