by Mae Wood
We looked for a place in Napa, dreaming together about a future where we shared a home—something that wasn’t in a friend of a friend’s backyard and was far enough away from my family that we could have our own space. Something we could turn into a home. A real home. A grown-up home.
When he got a fat bonus, he paid off the last of his student loans and agreed that we could look. I thought he’d want slick and modern or something arts and crafts-y or a large family home from a movie set with plenty of space for children one day—a house that would show the world that he was grounded, that he had arrived.
But he surprised me. He fell in love with a modest nineteen-fifties ranch near downtown Napa. The second we stepped into the small foyer, he was all in. His hazel eyes were bright and his eager, lopsided smile asked me to go on another adventure with him, eclipsing all my dreams of a farmhouse near my family.
I loved being in our house, loved being in a space that we’d created just for ourselves. It was a home for us even though he still worked in the city most of the time. One day it would be home for us full time. When he was there, he puttered around on the house, fixing and breaking things in equal measure. He screwed on window boxes for flowers. He had a large wine fridge installed. He painted the front door red and the kitchen blue.
The hills were yellow with mustard flowers when I finally stood with him in front of our friends and family on the land we’d bought with his help. I promised him forever again—this time for everyone to hear. As we raised our glasses of wine in celebration, the afternoon sun glinted off his wedding band and I looked at mine, delighted that the rings we’d kept tucked away in his bedside table at the apartment with his hockey pucks and poetry notebooks, that those rings were on our fingers for good.
Bonus Epilogue
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Keep reading for an excerpt from Drennan’s story, Plus One.
Excerpt from Plus One
Set a few years after Crush, Plus One is Drennan’s fling with a single dad restaurateur in Memphis, Tennessee.
Enjoy this excerpt from Plus One!
Bert
“Hey, Bert. I’ve got a Chablis that you have to taste. Crisp but mellow.”
Before I could take my eyes off the laptop I was working on at the bar, I knew my Monday afternoon had just gone sideways. And this was going to be anything but “mellow.” I braced for the whirlwind that was the restaurant’s wine distributor’s rep. Blond, leggy, bubbly and far south of thirty, Drennan was great at her job—a job that consisted of convincing me and other restaurateurs in Memphis to buy her wares, which always seemed to be on offer. I closed the lid on my computer and turned to her, conceding that the next hour was now hers.
A bright blue dress skimmed her curves, giving me an ample view of her cleavage. My other vendors called on me in business casual, mainly logo-emblazoned polos and pressed khaki pants, but Drennan always dressed like she was headed to a dinner date and about a third dinner date at that.
“How’d that Willamette Valley estate blend work out of you guys? I’ve been hearing a lot of great feedback. Excellent price point even after your margin.”
My brain kicked into gear and away from her muscular calves that I wanted to lick and bite. “Great actually. I may feature it on our fall menu. I’m just finishing inventory and I’ve got two cases left. Put me down for six of those plus my usual.”
“Ever push beyond your comfort zone?”
And there it was—the innuendo I’d been waiting for.
“Seriously, let me see if I can blow your mind with this Chablis. I’ve got two others—a Voigenier and a big bodied Cab out of Mendoza. Totally under the radar.” She made herself at home behind the bar and began pouring tastings while passing me typed tasting notes.
Business. Keep this to business. She’s hot and flirty, but it’s just a way to close the deal, a wine sales deal.
“You know y’all’s tasting notes are always great. Is it wrong to let you know I lean heavily on them when we prepare the descriptions on the wine list?” I said.
“Thank you,” she replied quietly, as she expertly worked a corkscrew into a bottle.
Nice hands. Again I pulled my mind from the gutter, reminding myself of what I really needed to buy and not to be a sucker who ordered to bring another smile to her cherry red lips. “Like Food & Wine good.”
“Thank you. I worked there for a bit. Now let me tell you about this Cab and what I’m seeing in trends for winter while the Voigenier and Chablis get to temperature.”
“You worked at Food & Wine? When you were in high school?” She’s like twenty-three and she’s now hawking wine in Memphis, but she worked for Food & Wine? When she was in utero?
“No,” she said, tucking a lock of honeyed hair behind her ear. “I interned there during college and then was a staff writer for the wine blog for a couple of years.”
“So why are you a sales rep in Memphis?” I couldn’t help myself from asking even though I had no rational desire to learn more about her. Keeping her as spank bank material was ideal.
Memphis was home to me and with Amy’s mother deceased it made the most sense for us to settle here, but why would someone who could write at Food & Wine be here?
“Great opportunity to work on the sales end and help grow a market,” she said, another smile dancing on her red lips, but one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“And you’ve magically accomplished all of this in the three years since you’ve been legal to drink?”
Drennan
A snort escaped me. Way to blow the sexy siren vibe I was shooting for this afternoon. “I’m almost twenty-seven and have a degree in Viticulture and Enology from UC Davis. I’ve been working in the industry since high school. I’m from Napa.”
Bert’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. That’s right, Lickable Man, I’m not just a pair of boobs. But don’t they look awesome in this dress? I couldn’t help but shimmy slightly while recorking the bottle, but Bert just kept looking at me curiously without a word, so I continued, trying to keep the chat lighthearted if he wasn’t going to bite. And I wanted a bite. “So, this,” I said, gesturing towards the bottle and the tasting notes, “is in my blood. What do you think of the cab?”
He swirled the pour in his glass and held it to the light with his glass tilted. “Tell me about it.”
I launched into a spirited, happy sales pitch while watching his mouth form around the bowl. His lips gently parted and I paused for a beat as the wine slid through, showing me a peek of his pink tongue. Sometimes scruffy, sometimes clean-shaven, regardless that face and those lips, not to mention that tongue, were on heavy rotation during prime time.
I let my gaze linger for a smidgen too long and I was busted. His fingers that had curled around the glass relaxed, and with a nod, he started asking me about pricing.
All hope for him to notice me in any way other than as his wine rep disappeared and we chatted about wine and nothing else. I left him with some comp bottles and walked away with a hefty order. Back in my car I dialed my cousin McKenzie to bitch about my latest failed attempt to get Lickable Man’s attention.
“I swear Lickable Man only thinks about his restaurant,” I said as soon as she said hi.
“So, still no luck? How far did you amp it up this time? Try showing up in a lace cat suit? And are you sure he isn’t gay?”
“Not gay. He was checking out my legs when I walked in.” I rested my forehead on the steering wheel. “I don’t get it. The girls brought their A game today and everything. I’m wearing a dress with a neckline that would make a Kardashian blush.”
“Wife, then?”
“No, divorced. His ex is a dentist or orthodontist or something,” I said.
&
nbsp; “Please don’t tell me you’ve gone mad and are stalking him.”
“No. Memphis isn’t that big and the food and beverage industry is pretty small.”
“You need to get laid. You can’t expect me to believe he is the only hot guy in Memphis.”
“He’s not, but he’s just so lickable,” I said with an exaggerated whine.
“I know, I know. You keep telling me. Surely there are some other lickable men or is it all Elvis impersonators and guys in seersucker suits?”
“Feels like it. Date last week wore madras patchwork pants in an unironic way.” Even though Kenzie couldn’t see me, I made a disgusted face and shivered. “Men in their twenties shouldn’t dress like the rich kid extras from John Hughes movies.”
That earned a snicker. “Want me to visit next weekend? We can go out,” she said.
“No. You don’t need to do that. I’m not desperate.”
“Sweetie, if you aren’t desperate, then I’m not sure that word means what you think it means.”
Read Plus One - available on Amazon
Part of Kindle Unlimited
Acknowledgments
I always compare writing a novel to running a marathon. And even though I’ve only run 10K runs, I think the analogy holds well. Both writing novels and running marathons require working long hours before or after work, pushing yourself through darkness, perseverance through pain, and ignoring that little voice in your head that keeps asking if you should stop. I’m glad I didn’t give up.
For those who run with me - Lucy Score, Kate Canterbary, Claire Kingsley, Eli Carter, Melanie Moreland, B. Cranford, Hilaria Alexander, Zeia Jameson, Anne Conley, Maria Luis, Pippa Grant, Kathryn Nolan, Dylan Allen, Tess Woods (no relation, but I wish!), and my Indie AFers. Thank you for training with me on those long, pre-dawn runs.
For those who coached me - Julia Ganis, Becca Hensley Mysoor, Marla, Aerin, my first readers, and my beta readers. Thank you for believing in this book.
For those who kept me nourished, body and soul - My husband, my parents, my children, and my dog. Thank you for believing in me and for all of your patience while I was writing or dreaming up this story.
For those who cheer along the route, giving me support when I’m a hot, sweaty mess and unsure if I can take another step - The members of my reader group, Pig & Barley. Thank you for wanting this book. One day we’ll make Pig & Barley a real restaurant and find a real life Bert to tend bar.
For Candy, who read my first book and then emailed me to ask if I’d written another. Thank you for the push. It was the first encouragement from a stranger I’d gotten and it meant the world to me.
For you who are reading these words — Thank you for taking a chance on Crush. I hope it exceeded your expectations.
About the Author
Professional sassypants and novelist, Mae Wood has been a bookworm her entire life. She loves cheeses, complicated crafts that she'll start but never complete, and puns.
A while ago Mae decided that she needed to give up the fear that she couldn't write "great literature" and write what she wants to read. And she wants romance. And laughter. And real life.
Mae has a husband, two delightful children, and an old dog who likes to nap at her feet while she writes.
So, what do you want to know about Mae? Drop her an email, ask questions or share a recipe, and she’ll respond.
Join Mae’s Reader Group on Facebook
www.facebook.com/groups/pigandbarley
www.MaeWood.com
Also by Mae Wood
Crush is Mae Wood’s sixth novel and it is set in the same world as Risking Ruin, Borrowing Trouble, Plus One, and This Time Is Different. She’s also the author of Genealogy, a novel, a Top 100 Amazon bestseller.
This Time Is Different
Life can change in a flash.
Marriage and a baby wasn’t Amy Forsythe’s college plan. After a shotgun marriage glued together by her son, she’s convinced that love isn’t meant for her. Now nearing forty and single for the first time since her senior prom, her friends are pushing her to date. Her teenager isn’t thrilled by the idea and neither is Amy.
Silver fox Thomas Popov isn’t looking for The One. He found her decades ago. And fell apart when she died. At fifty-three with a new job, a new city, and an empty nest, he’s focused on climbing the corporate ladder.
When a softball accident lands Thomas in Amy’s dental chair, sparks fly.
Lightning doesn’t strike twice. But love might.
This time is different.
This Time Is Different is available in paperback, ebook, and audiobook.
Plus One
If you can stand the heat, there's a hot single dad in the kitchen.
At not-quite forty, Bert's going to be dining alone.
His restaurant's wine rep has a few ideas on how he might sate all of his appetites.
He hasn't been buying what Drennan has been selling, but she’s only in Memphis for a few months before moving back home to California.
Besides, it's not like he's going to fall in love for the first time in his life or anything crazy like that, right?
Plus One is available in ebook and paperback.
