by Nancy Warren
While they drank coffee, the first frat boy staggered in. Behind him was the rest of the sorry crew.
Ted eyed them in distaste. “I’ll be lucky if last night’s bar tab doesn’t ruin me.”
“Oh, Ted,” his wife said. “We’ve got plenty of money. And they certainly look well punished this morning. Good morning, boys,” she called out.
“Morning,” they all mumbled. Those who weren’t up to mumbling nodded.
“Breakfast?” the cheerful hostess asked them.
“Coffee,” Willy groaned.
She saw Willy and a couple of other guys glance at her curiously, then at the empty seats on either side of her. She said, “Good morning,” and went back to her coffee.
As they were being seated at a table close by, Jackson strode in.
His timing couldn’t be worse, for now they had an audience of people to witness them seeing each other for the first time since he’d left her room at six this morning.
His hair was wet and he was wearing sweats. He’d clearly been working out in the hotel pool or the gym or somewhere. Compared to the frat boys, Jackson was a poster boy for clean living. If she hadn’t known absolutely, positively that he hadn’t slept all night, she never would have believed it from looking at him. His blue eyes were clear and bright, and he carried himself with energy.
He greeted everyone generally. His gaze skimmed over her and she willed every cell in her body to stay calm and not to even think about making her blush.
She did not want to feel fluttery. Jackson was an entitled twit who was completely full of himself and did everything he could to make himself a chick magnet. She’d always prided herself on being immune to him.
Now, thanks to a stupid prank, she’d ended up naked in bed with the man and nature had taken its course. Maybe if they hadn’t been at a luxurious hotel and alcohol had not been consumed and they hadn’t found themselves all but naked in the same bed, nature would have left them well enough alone.
However, what had happened, had happened. She had no regrets. If anything, last night had reminded her that she was a woman who really liked sex and that she’d gone way too long without it.
Why, it had been rather nice of Jackson to come along and give her such a thoroughly satisfying wake-up call to her own needs. Now she could go on with her life and meet someone who would not only give her great sex but also wouldn’t make her want to gag with his annoying personality.
She knew that, hungover as they were, the frat boys were still watching her and Jackson closely.
It gave her immense satisfaction to see that Jackson looked and acted exactly the same as he always did. And, to her relief, she could tell that she neither blushed nor squirmed.
Good thing they couldn’t see inside her, where everything was aflutter. So long as the frat boys didn’t check her pulse, they’d never know how successful their little trick had been.
“How are the heads this morning, boys?” Jackson asked, giving Rip a good-natured slug on the arm.
“The shooters may have been a mistake,” a chubby guy named Chad admitted.
Seth walked in at that moment, followed by a faintly blushing Amy. The distraction was exactly what Lauren needed. Now all eyes were on the newlyweds.
“Morning, everybody,” Seth said, looking heavy eyed and pleased with himself.
Jackson was preparing to sit with the frat boys, but Seth stopped him. “Come on, bro, keep the wedding party together one last time.”
Lauren felt his hesitation. He wanted to sit at the same table with her as much as she wanted him there. Which was to say, she’d rather go out front and eat sand right off the beach.
But with Ted and June, plus Natalie and Lance, joining in, encouraging him to sit with them, there wasn’t much he could do. “Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”
There were seats on either side of Lauren, and one in the corner beside Ted.
He squeezed past June and Ted and took the empty seat that was as far from Lauren as he could get.
Oh, she could do better than that. With a big smile, she said, “I don’t want to split up the bride and groom. I’ll move so you two can sit together.” And she moved in the opposite direction to Jackson, taking the seat as far away from him as the table allowed.
Amy settled herself beside Lauren, and as Seth made to join them, he glanced at his school buddies and said, “Toilet paper in the bridal suite? Really, guys?”
“At least one of our pranks worked,” Rip muttered, too hungover to keep his voice down.
Her gaze went immediately to Jackson, who glanced at her at the same moment. His face never changed expression, but he sent her the ghost of a wink.
While Seth, with his excellent manners, thanked both sets of parents for the fantastic wedding, Amy leaned in to Lauren and in a very low voice said, “That was the best night of my whole life.”
She looked so blissed out that Lauren couldn’t help smiling. “It’s not like it was your first time,” she reminded her best friend.
“I know, but being married made it so much more special. Every time he touched me, I thought, ‘This is my husband,’ and when he kissed me and looked right into my eyes I felt like he was looking into my soul.”
As happy as she was for her friend, Lauren experienced a pang of worry. Amy sounded almost too happy. She’d always been such a romantic that Lauren feared she was going to be disappointed when the real world intruded on her fantasy.
Then she mentally smacked herself. She was cynical about marriage for a lot of reasons that had nothing to do with Amy or with marriage. She should be happy that Amy was the kind of person who believed that perfect love existed. Maybe she’d even been lucky enough to find it.
So, Lauren put away her cynicism for a minute and squeezed Amy’s hand. “I am really happy for you.”
“I hope one day you find a man like Seth. I really do.”
She smiled, but knew that a man like Seth would never do for her. He was a nice guy, in his way, but, like Amy, he’d never been tested by life. He’d grown up rich, healthy and sheltered. He didn’t seem like a person who thought deep thoughts or had big dreams. He’d work in his family’s business, as he’d been born and bred to do, and he and Amy would have a few kids and join the right country club. She hoped they’d continue to be as happy as they were today, or at least manage to enjoy the future that she could see rolling ahead like a movie of the week she’d already seen.
“You were such a beautiful bride,” she said, because she’d rather talk about Amy’s wedding than the likelihood that she would ever end up with someone like Seth.
“You were such a great maid of honor. You’re the sister I never had.”
“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she replied.
It was true. The odds that she and Amy would have ended up best friends were insanely low. She’d only met Amy because after her parents divorced, her mom had rented a former pool house on the property next door to Amy’s parents.
Since they were the same age, they’d played together all summer and in the fall, when she’d started school, Amy had already been her best friend.
Lauren’s mom worked long hours as a nurse and Amy’s mom, wonderful woman that she was, had opened her home and her arms to the lonely child. She’d often gone over to Amy’s after school and had so many sleepovers at her friend’s place that she’d started leaving extra clothes and a toothbrush over there.
Her mom had done her best, but she’d always been tired from work and bitter over the divorce. She’d been only too happy to let someone else help rear her only child.
Lauren’s dad had married again soon after the divorce and she’d overheard more than one telephone argument between her parents as her mom complained that he didn’t take Lauren often enough.
As her father went on to have a second family, she’d seen less and less of him. The pain had softened, but she knew herself well enough to know that she would always bear the emotional scars.
Her mother
had remarried not too long ago, to a radiologist she’d met at work. Her mom finally had the big house she’d always wanted and she’d cut her work hours way back. They tried to be close, she and her mom, but deep down she knew it was an effort for both of them.
“Excited about the honeymoon?” she asked.
“I can’t wait. Remember when you and I went to Venice? I always thought it was the most romantic place in the world. I picture us eating wonderful food, and seeing all the sights. And having fantastic sex every single night.” She shivered. “I love being married.”
Lauren had decided on eggs Benedict for breakfast, but when the waitress took their order, to her annoyance, Jackson ordered eggs Benedict. She decided to change her order to something else, then mentally chided herself. If she wanted eggs Benny, then that was what she’d order. So she did. Like Jackson, she also ordered freshly squeezed orange juice. Because she wanted it.
After breakfast, she packed up, freshened up once more and then headed down with her travel case. She dropped off her key and was waiting in the main foyer for Amy’s parents when Jackson came toward her with his own overnighter. She knew the second he caught sight of her. His steps faltered and she could see him debating whether to duck off into one of the hallways or face being alone with her.
After an infinitesimal pause, he continued toward her.
She was pretty sure that, in his shoes, she’d have ducked down another hallway.
When he got close to her, she saw that he had a newspaper tucked under his arm and a take-out coffee. He stood close but not too close. Nodded.
She checked her watch. Eleven on the dot. Where the hell was everyone?
“Well, we got through it okay,” he said.
“Yes. We did.”
She did not want to have a conversation with this man. She wanted to be far away from his annoying presence and the hot, hot memories it evoked.
He clearly felt the same. He moved a step away and flipped open his newspaper.
Not to be outdone, she pulled out her cell phone and checked her email.
Not that there was much email on a Sunday. She had an invitation to submit a piece to a curated exhibit, which was flattering. A note from a supplier that the copper oxide she’d ordered was going to be delayed, which didn’t please her at all.
Since she didn’t want anyone thinking she was the kind of loser who got only two work-related emails on a summer weekend, she took her time replying to both of them. By the time she was finished, Amy and Seth had arrived with both sets of parents in tow.
Amy and Seth were driving their own car and heading to the airport. Seth’s folks were driving back to their home, and she was riding with June and Ted to their house where she’d left her car.
Since they were all heading to the same ferry back to the mainland, they saved the hugs and final goodbyes.
The Ruehls’ Lincoln pulled up in front and the valet attendant flipped the trunk and helped load their luggage.
“Jackson,” June Ruehl said, “can we offer you a lift back to the city?”
“No, thanks, June,” he said. “I’m catching a ride back with Willy.”
“All right, dear. We’ll see you soon.”
When they were all settled in the car, Lauren in the backseat, June gazed out the window at Jackson, who was throwing his case in the back of Willy’s Mustang. “That Jackson is such a lovely young man,” June said. “I wish he could find a nice girl.”
5
THE TROUBLE WITH being an artisan, Lauren decided as she picked up her soldering gun and prepared to turn chunks of colored glass into art, was that it gave her too much time alone with her thoughts. Sure, she could join an artisans’ co-op, share a warehouse with painters and sculptors and potters, but she’d never wanted to. She created alone.
However, that meant there was no easy way to distract herself from her thoughts and her memories.
Those memories were hotter than the metal liquefying under her solder iron. She knew exactly how it felt. For the curated show, she’d decided to make a window that paid homage to the impressionists. She always liked the music in her studio to reflect what she was working on so she had Debussy playing in the background.
When she was in the midst of designing, nothing got in her way. Her mind was completely focused. But once she got to the semi-mechanical state of production, it was too easy to drift. And for some insane reason, her thoughts inevitably found their way to That Night.
How was it possible that a guy she couldn’t stand could be the one to have brought her so much intense pleasure? It didn’t make any sense. And, even worse, every time she thought of that night, her body grew restless and wanted more.
She was going to have to make time to get out more. Start dating.
Guys were always hitting on her in the tasting room at the winery. She always turned them down, but maybe she should start being more open. Why not?
She wished Amy were here. This was what a BFF was for. Times like this when you were stuck in your own head and something wild and crazy had happened. Who else could she talk to?
But Amy had left on her honeymoon. She’d received a short email from her telling her that Italy was fantastic and that she was having the best time ever. She’d ended her post with “ciao” and a happy face.
Which was great. But Lauren had to accept that now that Amy was married, she wasn’t going to be as available for everything from girls’ nights out to Saturday morning brunches and shopping expeditions.
Life as she’d always known it was changing.
She glanced at her watch and then began putting away her tools. She was on shift at two o’clock and it was almost one.
She didn’t make a huge amount of money pouring wine in the tasting room, but her meager wage came with a cottage on the property. She’d also wheedled the use of one of the outbuildings as a studio for her stained-glass work. The winery was family owned and run, and since she liked the owners as well as the wine, she enjoyed her job. Besides, having to get out there and interact with people stopped her from getting so caught up in her craft that she became a weird recluse, something that Amy insisted would happen to her if she didn’t work out a better balance in her life.
Whatever.
Back in her cottage, she showered, quickly put a few curls in her hair with the curling iron, slapped on some makeup and slipped into jeans and a crisp white polo shirt with the Leonato logo on the pocket. The only reason her work shirts were crisp and always gleaming was that they were sent out for cleaning and pressing.
She strode up the gravel road, enjoying the sight of all those green grapes fattening on the vines. The sun was warm and her work was going well.
If she could get rid of the constant buzz beneath the surface of her skin when she thought of That Night, she’d be having a really great day. A week had passed—when was she going to stop waking at night, hot and restless, reliving the hours of bliss? This had to stop soon.
She let herself into the back of the low, wooden building that housed the offices and the front tasting room. The Leonato family had come from Sicily and a tradition of wine growing. The same varieties of grapes did well in Napa and the business had grown.
She heard the buzz out front that suggested quite a few people had decided to tour wineries on this sunny June Saturday afternoon. She hurried through to the front and immediately got busy.
She’d been doing this job for three years now, ever since she’d finished art college. Naturally, artists didn’t generally make a living wage, but she’d been lucky in finding both a job and a place to live. The Leonatos had commissioned her to create a showpiece window in this very tasting room and even carried some of her creations, so long as they were wine-related.
She’d come up with a line of stained-glass wine holders, each one unique, that sold pretty well during the holiday season.
After three years, she was adept at reading the people who came in. She could identify the tourists who could barely tell red wine from
white, and the wine snobs who liked to discuss varietals and soil and the weather of each particular vintage. Some of them were big spenders, others time wasters.
Usually, they started visitors on the simpler, cheaper wines. If they showed real interest or knowledge or were obviously planning to buy something, she would move them on to taste the premium wines.
Usually, everybody had a good time. Including her.
Today was typical. When she walked in, Sharon Leonato was pouring samples for a well-dressed couple she seemed to know.
She nodded when Lauren walked in. They’d catch up when they had a break.
Lauren checked stock, opened a new bottle of the standard Shiraz, wiped down the counter. A guy in his thirties strolled in with a woman he was clearly trying to impress. Lauren offered the guests the regular spiel that went with each wine, but the man soon took over from her, giving his date more in-depth knowledge than she probably cared for. He waved away the first-tier wines and went straight for the premium. Since Lauren had a strong suspicion he was going to continue trying to impress his date by buying an expensive bottle or three, she happily obliged.
Two couples came in, well dressed and obviously enjoying each other’s company. As she served them, it turned out that one of the couples was from London and, while visiting their friends in California, were planning to cook a gourmet meal. They’d come to the winery to purchase the wine for dinner. After an hour of tasting, they bought a case of wine to take with them. She rang up the sale with a pleasant feeling of accomplishment. She hadn’t been pushy, but she had a way of encouraging people she knew could afford it to splurge a little. Why not? Both her livelihood and that of the Leonatos depended on it.
As they were leaving, the British woman caught sight of her wine coolers and raved about them so much—even picking one up and carrying it to the window so she could see how the sun streamed through the panes of colored glass—that her husband gave in and pulled out his credit card.
Sharon caught sight of the transaction and walked over to tell them that Lauren was the artist. Of course they raved some more and the woman even asked Lauren to autograph the little card that went with the cooler.