From the Moment We Met

by Adair, Marina

  Shit.

  “So why don’t you go put on clothes that aren’t soaking wet and I’ll get dinner?”

  “Thanks,” Tanner mumbled, suddenly feeling exhausted. The high he’d been riding since kissing Abby was gone. Five minutes with his dad and—poof—the excited giddiness of knowing she wanted him was all replaced by an overwhelming heaviness that went bone deep. “I’ll be back down in a few. To eat my chow fun. In the kitchen. Which is where you will all be eating.”

  Tanner headed toward his bedroom. Wreck hopped down and loped behind him, licking the floor as he went.

  When he’d bought this house he may have indulged himself a bit. To say his hilltop estate was sprawling would be an understatement. His Tuscan villa was big and badass, and had plasma, Sub-Zero, and state-of-the-art bling up the wazoo. It was everything a broke kid living in wine country dreamed of owning when he made it big.

  And Jack “Hard Hammer” Tanner had made it more than big. First in the NFL, then in construction. He had more money, more toys, and more respect than he knew what to do with. The only thing he didn’t have was the one person he’d worked so hard to impress.

  Abby DeLuca.

  And tonight while sitting in that lemon of a fixer-upper with her, he realized that no matter how big his house was, how many toys he filled it with, it still felt empty.

  By the time he took a quick shower and threw on a pair of workout shorts and a tee and made his way to the kitchen, it was light on people and to-go boxes.

  With a frown, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, took a long pull, and made his way to the family room, where an empty noodle box and Colin sat. Gus was gone.

  “He went to bed.” Colin handed Tanner a half-eaten box of Mongolian beef. “Seemed pretty tired, so I made up some lame excuse about how I had to talk to you in private about business and helped him to his bedroom.”

  “Thanks,” Tanner said, looking at his friend, who was looking back and about as worried as Tanner was. “Just thinking of what could have gone wrong makes me sick.”

  “Well, if it helps, I think he scared the shit out of himself driving to the bar. Must have been hard working the clutch and the brakes down the mountain and through town with one good leg.”

  Tanner sat back and shoveled some food into his mouth. Good, but not noodles.

  “I have no idea what to do. He refuses to do his physical therapy. He canceled his last two appointments without telling me. The other day I found him facedown on the bathroom floor.” That had been a wake-up call. “I guess he got tired and sat there so long that his legs buckled when he tried to stand. He said he’d only been there for a few minutes, but I’m guessing it was more like a few hours.”

  “Jesus, I had no idea it was so bad.”

  “Yeah. Pride or not, I’m going to have to get him a nurse. Or at least someone who will stay with him while I’m at work. I just don’t know who I can hire that he wouldn’t scare off.”

  “Then don’t hire anyone, just bring him to work with you,” Colin said. “Put him in charge of something simple, something that doesn’t require power tools or his feet leaving the ground.”

  “You don’t think that would be a problem?” Tanner asked, and it was like someone had just lifted the three-hundred-pound lineman he’d been carting around for eight weeks right off his chest. “You think I could get away with bringing Dad to the worksite?”

  “To the DeLuca cave site, no. There is too much going on there, it would be a huge liability.” Colin at least had the decency to look apologetic. “But to the Pungent Barrel, you bet. It’s a remodel, so no demolition. Plus, it will be a smaller crew. Not to mention it would give Babs someone to dote on.”

  Babs loved to dote. Another in a long list of reasons she had a hard time keeping crews around for long—she was more interested in feeding them lunch than making a concrete decision. Plus, Gus needed a little doting. Maybe being smothered by Betty Crocker would be just what the doctor ordered.

  “This might work,” Tanner said.

  “Yup, and with you there to watch out for him,” Colin added and took a chopstick full from Tanner’s box. “Everyone wins.”

  “Oh, no.” No longer hungry, Tanner handed his food to Colin, who went to town. “Don’t do this to me.”

  Because everyone involved would win except for him. And Abby. God, it would look like he’d been in on this from the beginning and had something to do with her not getting hired. Worse, it would look like he was one more overimportant male inserting himself into her life. And he wouldn’t blame her.

  “Think about it,” Colin went on as though Tanner’s life wasn’t rapidly spiraling. “Babs is busy on her project, Ferris is happy, your dad is out of the house and in a safe environment feeling useful and alive, and we get to focus on blowing up the side of a mountain and building a state-of-the-art golf club.”

  “You,” Tanner slid him a look. “You get to focus on blowing up the side of a mountain. I get to babysit the elderly while building a wine and cheese shop. Which, in case you forgot, I hate wine.” He left out the part that lactose tore him up, because that was just too pussy to admit.

  “I’ll handle the preliminary inspections, getting bids for supplies, and the remaining permits, all the crap you hate anyway. So when the shop is done, you get to jump right into the good part. Blowing stuff up and driving bulldozers around.”

  Tanner knew from experience that gutting a mountain to build a wine cave took a lot of preparation and a whole hell of a lot of skill. Between Gus, Colin’s house being unlivable, and the DeLuca project, Tanner already felt there were so many balls in the air that one more could send them all crashing down.

  Now Colin was talking about him taking on two more projects. His head hurt just thinking about it. “How did it go with Ferris?”

  Just like that, Colin’s face went hard. “Good at first. I explained you had an urgent family emergency, which worked until your dad showed up. I didn’t know you were walking out on the biggest meeting of this whole goddamned thing to get all hot and heavy with Abby.”

  “How do you know I was with Abby?”

  “How the fuck do you think I know? Nora Kincaid took a picture of you two all wet and looking mighty cozy on Abby’s porch and posted it on Facebook.”

  That was not what he wanted to hear. He was finally making progress; he didn’t need Nosy Nora giving Abby one more reason to back off. She already had a boatload of reasons stored up. “She had some plumbing issues.”

  “Yeah, well, tell that to Brandi, who showed up looking for you. Seems you had a date.”

  “Shit.”

  Brandi Thomas was a bombshell who spent her days teaching Zumba at the gym and her nights training to be this season’s newest Gold Rush Girl for the Niners. They’d met several months back at a Niners benefit dinner in San Francisco, shared a few laughs, then breakfast—at her place. They’d exchanged some pretty steamy texts and she’d mentioned she might be up his way in the next few weeks. They may have even set a date, he couldn’t remember. But he was guessing it was tonight.

  “Yeah, she came over all pissed, flashing her cell phone, asking if you were dating Abby. In front of her brothers, who went ballistic, by the way, when they saw the photo. Turns out their loyalty to Tanner Construction doesn’t go as deeply as you originally thought.”

  They both knew Colin was talking about a whole lot more than Tanner Construction. The DeLucas were more than just his biggest clients; Tanner considered them friends. But being good enough to watch a game with and good enough for their sister were two distinctly different things. He hoped they thought he was fit for both positions.

  He guessed that over the next few weeks he’d find out just how far their relationship went. Because he wasn’t backing off with Abby. He’d waited long enough to see where they could go, and finally their timing had lined up.

  Something
he was more than determined to take advantage of.

  This definitely was not how Abby saw her Friday morning going.

  When Mrs. Hampton had finally returned her call late last night, agreeing to meet at the bottling plant, Abby had nearly fainted with relief. She put everything she had into the new designs. Using the architecture of the original plant as a foundation, she took the fabric swatches from Valley Textiles and built around those, being conscious to make sure Babs’s taste meshed organically with the architectural integrity of the building.

  The end result was stunning, the perfect solution for the unique space. She knew it.

  Only there she was, in the back of the bottlery, sitting across a long wooden table from the gatekeeper and her devil dog—who was showing Abby just how big his teeth were. Her designs were spread out between them like a dividing line, one that could only be surpassed by her brothers, who were still managing to screw her out of a fresh start with their overwhelming famiglia love. Or at least the kind of fresh start that Abby had envisioned.

  “What kind of ‘arrangement’ did my brothers offer?” Abby asked, shoving down a ball of frustration.

  “Well, I was already more than impressed when the funds you wired landed in my account yesterday morning. Not everyone would have righted a wrong that costly when the law isn’t forcing them to. It made me look at you a little harder, rethink my stance and wonder just what other strengths you’re hiding.”

  The Duke’s ears perked up at her last word and, tail wagging, eyes alert, he ducked under the table.

  “Like I explained when you called—”

  Hot breath singed her knees and Abby pulled her legs up under her and went on as though the dog wasn’t contemplating gnawing her kneecap off. “I wish I could have paid you back in full, but I wanted to make sure all of the investors got the pro-rata share of repayment, and there just wasn’t enough to pay back everyone completely.”

  There had been enough money in Richard’s estate to pay back 90 percent of each shareholder’s original investment. Not including her family’s. That would take her a lifetime.

  “But I am working on a plan with my accountant to make sure every penny invested is returned. It might take me a few years, but I promise you it will happen.”

  “Which was why I was confused.” Babs folded her hands on the table, and her gold bangle bracelets clanked against the metal top. The hot breath under the table stopped, only to be replaced by a wet nose pushing at her foot. “A transfer in the sum of the entire amount plus ten percent landed in my account this morning.”

  Abby felt all of the blood leave her head and the oxygen whoosh out of her lungs. “Who wired it?”

  She already knew the answer, already knew her brothers hadn’t trusted her enough to handle her mess. But that didn’t mean the pain was any less debilitating when Babs said, “It seems you did. The money came from a DeLuca Wines account.”

  She was going to be sick. Her brothers had paid back Babs with the family’s money. Money she had been more than clear would not be used to right her wrongs. And they had done it behind her back, without even consulting her.

  Granted, her brothers wouldn’t have liked her suggestion of exactly where they could stick their money and their unwanted help. But still. It was her marriage, her mess, her problem—so why couldn’t they let it be her solution?

  Plus, they’d recently sunk an enormous amount of the family’s money into the Italian villa she’d refurbished earlier that year. They couldn’t afford to keep bailing her out.

  “I take it by the look on your face you didn’t know.” Babs reached across the table and patted Abby’s hand.

  “No, I didn’t, and,” oh God, this is going to suck, “I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to return the money.”

  “I see.”

  Teeth. She felt the distinct sensation of very sharp, very pointy teeth slowly sinking into her right shoe. Which hurt almost as much as the sharp pain shooting through her chest.

  She shook her foot, but the dog wouldn’t let go. So she shook harder and heard a muffled snap. “I understand if this ends our interview.” Especially since they hadn’t even arrived at the presentation portion of the morning.

  “I see,” the older woman repeated.

  That was it. That was all she said. Babs didn’t try to comfort her, didn’t apologize that it wouldn’t work out. She didn’t even look through the designs on the table. Designs Abby had poured her entire heart into. She just looked at Abby, as though this were some test and she’d just had a big red F Sharpied onto her forehead.

  “Yes, well thank you for your time,” Abby said, proud her hands didn’t shake too badly when she gathered up her things. “And thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Again. I hope you find the right designer and that maybe in the future we can work together.”

  “I have already found my designer.” Babs stroked The Duke’s head—who was suddenly by her side, a familiar black heel dangling from his jowls. “I only hope you can start right away.”

  Abby struggled to read the woman’s lips, because with all of the blood pumping through her ears, she must have misunderstood. “Are you saying I’m hired?”

  Babs smiled. “If you can start in a timely fashion.”

  “Absolutely,” Abby said, her hands shaking from excitement this time. And her grin was so big she could barely contain it. “I can start today, if that works. Right now, even.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Babs said, not an ounce of wonder in her tone. And her smile was more reluctant than real. “Because I am afraid we are also short a general contractor. The inspector warned me last time that if we don’t have one here by Wednesday for the sign-off on plumbing and electrical, he will have to reschedule, and that means postponing our Historical Preservation Council application. Again.”

  “Again?” Abby asked, because the woman had practically whispered the last part. “Are you saying we haven’t submitted to the HPC yet?”

  Babs gave a guilty shrug. “Between all the turnover, we haven’t even gotten on the waitlist to submit our application.”

  Not what Abby wanted to hear. The Historical Preservation Council of St. Helena was a town-appointed council enlisted with the responsibility of preserving the historical integrity of the community. They took the responsibility seriously and, as such, adopted a zero-tolerance stance on big business, fast food franchises, and palm trees. They also took their sweet-ass time making decisions.

  The waitlist to present to the HPC’s board was booked out months in advance—time Abby didn’t have if she hoped to make the grand opening happen before her nieces went off to college. The Jackson Bottlery was originally part of the Jackson Olive Plantation built in 1898, well before the town’s official hundred-year marker. It was a historically protected building, meaning all renovations, cosmetic or otherwise, fell under the intense scrutiny and jurisdiction of the HPC.

  No stamp of HPC approval meant no cheese shop. Period.

  They were so screwed.

  “How close is the plumbing and electrical to being complete?”

  With the few minor additions she had in mind for turning the basement into a drinking cellar, and given how long the project had already been in progress, Abby didn’t imagine Wednesday being a problem for the inspection.

  Except, Babs looked as though it was going to be a problem. A big problem. The Duke, however, just looked smug, using the heel of her pump as a toothpick.

  “You know, I don’t know, dear. When Brandon left, I forgot to ask.”

  “Brandon from DuPont Developers?”

  “Yes, nice boy, but no vision. Said he didn’t want to be steering the ship when it hit the iceberg. Such pessimism these days.”

  Abby’s stomach plummeted. Brandon was on her short list of general contractors to call. They had gone to school together and he was the contractor Abby had h
ired when building her first big project, Ryo Wines.

  “We-can attitudes are so much more exciting to work with.”

  We-can attitude in full effect, Abby slid a copy of her designs across the table. “Why don’t you take home my preliminary mock-ups and see what you like, what you don’t, so we can get to work and have all of the structural changes, including fixtures and appliances, finalized by Monday.”

  “By Monday?”

  “I’ll go down to the planning department and see if we can get them to move the inspection to Friday. But that still puts us on a tight schedule, so every day matters. We have to have the new blueprints ready to go for the crew as soon as they show up for work.”

  The older woman clapped her hands, practically tittering with excitement. “I knew you were the perfect person for this job. Such drive and ambition. Just draws people in, makes them want to believe! I can see why Richard married you.”

  Choosing to focus on the “drive and ambition” portion of her statement, Abby gathered her things and stood, a burst of confidence humming through her veins. “If you could send over a list of who you have already worked with, I will compare it to mine and come up with a group of vetted general contractors by Monday. The Historical Preservation Council meets every second Tuesday of the month, which gives us a little over a week to prepare, and I want to be ready. To get on the waitlist, we have to pass that inspection first.” A difficult task with a building built before electricity and indoor plumbing were invented, but not impossible.

  It would mean being on the site at all times, getting dirty with the crew, pulling all-nighters, and working side by side with the GC. But Abby was willing to do all that and more. She was even willing to move into the bottlery if it meant making this a reality.

  This was her big chance, her way to turn things around—for everyone. All of Babs’s indecision and 180s and those sporadic whims, which changed with The Duke’s mood, had turned into Abby’s opportunity. Now all she had to do was remain patient and see this through.

  “I think it would be easier if I just gave you a list of who I haven’t worked with yet,” Babs said quietly, and The Duke whimpered. If Abby didn’t know better, she’d say the woman looked embarrassed.