by Mary Blayney
Oh no. Gary. Or Larry. Or whoever the heck he was today. “See what?”
He got up and approached the ferns, using one hand to part them and look into their depths. I put the glass down on the table and rose, moving slowly behind him. What would I do if Larry showed himself to Cooper? I couldn’t decide if that would be a good thing or bad. If Larry was real, then there was some very weird stuff going on in the world. But if he wasn’t, I was most likely going nuts.
I moved closer to Cooper, close enough to note the way his hair looked glossy even in the evening light, to be able to reach out and touch his lean back if I wanted, to tuck my fingers into his jeans pockets and feel the hardness of his — he straightened abruptly and I jerked back.
“Probably just that animal you saw earlier.” He turned around. I took another step back but not far enough, because he reached out to grab me as if I might fall.
“Oh!” The word was startled out of me.
“Sorry,” he said. “I seem determined to run into you tonight.”
“No, no, it’s me,” I protested, as mortified as if he could read my mind.
I tried to take another step away but he didn’t let go.
I looked up.
Chapter Seven
Cooper looked down at me. His hands were warm on my upper arms.
I remembered that time, six years ago, when he’d been here with his parents. When he’d kissed me, and I’d been imprinted like a baby duck with the knowledge that this man was the one I wanted. The only one.
Could he possibly feel the same?
A breeze kicked up and palm trees swayed around us. The smell of honeysuckle made me feel drunk. Or maybe it was the bottle of wine. Duh.
“My mother—,” Coop began.
I frowned. They weren’t exactly the words I was expecting, nor what you wanted to hear when a man held you.
He solved that by dropping his hands.
“She thinks I should go out with Prin.” He swallowed; I watched his adam’s apple go up and down. “She said you all agreed, like she was meant for me or something.”
Sweat prickled under my arms, along my hairline.
“Do you agree with that?” he asked, his eyes penetrating.
What had Hazel told him? Had we talked about it? I couldn’t remember.
“I – I did. I thought that at first, when she first arrived.”
He nodded, pressing his lips together, dimples deepening despite there being no smile.
I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Did he want me to say I didn’t want him to belong to her? That I wanted him for myself? Or was he hoping I’d tell him to go for it?
I needed to know, without his being swayed by any emotion coming from me, what he thought of her, if he wanted her. If he was attracted to her, then he should be with her, but I knew him well enough to know that if he knew it would hurt my feelings he wouldn’t do it. He’d sacrifice himself first.
And let’s face it, I’m not exactly a cipher when it comes to concealing my feelings. He probably knew how I felt about him.
“Cooper, are you asking me if you should go out with Prin?” Incredibly, my voice was steady as I asked this.
His pulse moved a vein in his neck. I forced myself to meet his eyes again, and to be strong no matter what his answer was.
“I guess I am.” He spoke slowly. “I’m asking you if you think I should be with her.”
He trusted me. He trusted my opinions, my honesty. It was like the wine tasting – if I tasted cloves, he knew it had elements of clove and not orange rind.
Suddenly I knew what it felt like to walk the plank.
“I do think…,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “that she is perfect for you. I thought it the moment she walked through the door that first day. And I thought it again this evening, when I saw you two together right here.” I made a vague gesture toward the mosaic table.
“Really.” His gaze was relentless, as if he could peer right into my brain and read my thoughts.
I nodded. “Really. But—”
“Then why—” We’d spoken at the same time. And he’d lifted a hand toward me, as if to touch my cheek. But why? To console? Or something else?
I would not find out. Because at that moment Hazel huffed into the clearing and burst, “There you are. For God’s sake, Cooper. You too, Kim. I’ve been looking for you both all over! William Walker is here. Prin is serving him in the bar because Roger is nowhere to be found. And you two are out here —” Her eye caught on the two open bottles on the table. “Drinking?”
“I’ll come,” Cooper said, moving away from me.
Hazel brushed him back with a hand. “No, now that I think about it I need Kim. I want to show the depth of wine knowledge in our staff. She can back Prin up talking to William Walker at his level. Come with me, dear.” The request was non–negotiable.
I glanced at Cooper, thinking he’d take that personally, but found him looking inscrutably at me. “I can go,” I said to him, “unless there was more you wanted to say – I mean something you needed to tell me.”
“You can talk later,” Hazel snapped. Her eyes went from one to the other of us, oblivious to the moment she had interrupted.
He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.
I turned to Hazel, tearing myself from his sphere with no small effort.
“What is she serving him?” I asked as Hazel marched ahead, confident of my obedience.
“He wanted an Australian pinot noir,” she threw back over her shoulder, “for perspective, he said.”
“The Vicar’s,” I responded automatically, every nerve ending in my body reaching back for Cooper. What had he been going to say? Where had that conversation been leading? Had he really wanted permission to date Prin? Or had he been reaching for me for some other reason…?
A moment later I heard his footfalls behind me, and it was a testament to his pace that I heard him at all on the soft dirt of the path. “Did she serve him the Vicar’s?” Cooper asked. He flashed me a look I could not interpret.
“I don’t know, Coop, maybe,” Hazel said, not turning around. “If you’d been there, you know. But come along now and see for yourself, if you’re suddenly interested in running this business.”
He expelled a breath and without looking at him I knew he rolled his eyes.
Hazel was tense, there was no question about it. And why wouldn’t she be? The contest she’d been planning for months was to begin tomorrow and the most renowned wine critic in the country was sitting in her bar. Meanwhile two of her top three employees were MIA along with her co–owner.
We arrived at the bar to find it bustling. Roger had reappeared and was helping the lone waitress take orders at the tables while Prin poured behind the bar. She looked, in a word, gorgeous. Her long dark hair was in a braid over one shoulder, revealing elaborate gold earrings that danced along her slim neck. Her eyes were smoky, her smile mysterious, and William Walker was obviously entranced. I could tell even from the back of his snow–white head. His body was canted forward, his forearms on the bar, his head at an attentive angle.
Hazel stopped and waited for us to catch up. “It looks like she has it under control, but I’d like you nearby, Kim, in case she needs anything. And you…” She turned to Cooper. “You might want to make yourself known to one of the most important and influential people in our business.”
Cooper stopped, took her forearms gently in his hands, and with a firm look in the eye said, “I’ve got this, Mom. Stop worrying. And stop being a pain in the ass.”
He moved once again toward the bar. Following him, I shot an apologetic look at Hazel only to find her laughing and looking relieved. He did know his mother well.
Prin had just pulled the cork from a bottle I didn’t recognize. The label was white, with some kind of cartoonish characters cavorting on it. I hoped it wasn’t Californian or it would most likely be in the competition. But surely Prin knew that.
“What’s she pouring?
” I asked Cooper quietly as we approached. “Is that one of the Australian ones we were going to taste tomorrow?”
We had planned to have a tasting in the barrel room of non–competing pinots from areas like France, Australia, Austria, even Oregon, for the public while the judges were sampling the finalists in our all–California contest.
“Huh,” was all he said, but his pace picked up.
Hazel stayed on the customer side of the bar and slid into the seat next to William Walker, saying something confidentially to him with an ingratiating smile as we went to the other side. Cooper rounded the bar swiftly, one hand on the end to keep from careening into the space, his eyes on the bottle.
Prin poured a small dram into one of the bar glasses to taste it – as we always did, to make sure the wine wasn’t corked – an empty bordeaux glass waiting in front of her.
“What have you got there, Prin?” Hazel asked.
Prin swallowed her taste, put the glass down below and poured the near scarlet–colored wine into the empty glass for William Walker.
“It’s —” Prin began, reaching for the bottle, but Cooper talked over her as he grabbed it with one hand.
“Mr. Walker, how do you do?” He held out his other hand, with that nobody–dislikes–me smile on his face. “I’m Cooper, Hazel’s son and co–owner of the Vineyard Inn.”
William Walker’s face was kind, I was happy to see, with many laugh lines around his eyes and along his cheeks. His blue eyes were sharp and he held out a hand with gnarled knuckles. “Bill Walker. Good to meet you,” he said, in a gravelly voice. “As I told your mother, I’m happy to see that little has changed here at the Vineyard Inn. I haven’t been here for quite some time, but it has a special place in my memory. I got engaged to my wife of thirty–five years here.”
“Did you really?” Cooper turned to me. “Did your parents own the place back then?”
Walker turned those penetrating eyes to me. “Are you one of the founding Thomases?” As I started to shake my head he added, “One of the O’Sheas who came after them, then?”
I held out my hand, blushing for no reason. I had never developed the outgoing persona that was needed for occasions like this. It was one reason I was happy to manage our retail shop as opposed to doing the sommelier work that Prin was so good at. “Yes. Kim O’Shea.”
“I remember your parents well. Lovely couple, really knew their wine. In fact I believe they’re the ones who put this place on the map. One of the best wine lists in the country back before that sort of thing was important to most restaurants. So you stayed on after your parents sold?”
I was astonished he knew so much about us, but then the inn had had a fine reputation when my parents had bought it and they had turned it into an oenologist’s dream destination as the California wine business had grown up.
“I was raised here,” I explained. “It’s home. And Cooper and his mother were generous enough to offer me a position managing the shop after the sale, so I was happy to stay on.”
The fingers of one age–spotted hand pulled the wine Prin had just poured toward himself. With a wink at her, he lifted it toward Cooper and me, then Hazel, beside him. “Join me?”
Prin pulled down three more glasses.
“Oh no, I insist you have one too, Ms. Bella,” he said. “I think we should all have a go at this one.”
Cooper seemed to be struggling with a facial expression – suppressing a smile? Or preventing nervous laughter? – but Hazel was frowning. Her eyes tried to look around Cooper’s hand on the bottle. “I’m not sure this is one of the—”
“Oh no.” Walker held a hand up to her. “I’m interested to taste this one. Your sommelier recommended it.” He inclined his head toward Prin.
I glanced again at the bottle. I couldn’t make out the label either.
Prin poured tastes all around. I lifted the glass and took a whiff. Then I glanced uncomfortably at Cooper. It smelled like Hawaiian Punch. Could this possibly have been in our cellars? I knew it wasn’t from the shop because I hadn’t ordered it.
“Where is this from?” I craned my neck to see the bottle, but Cooper’s grip around the neck only increased, and he twisted the label even more toward his body.
“Let’s taste this blind.” He smiled wryly at William Walker.
“Cooper.” Hazel’s tone was warning.
“Prin here is the newest addition to our team,” Cooper continued to Walker. “She’s done a wonderful job managing the restaurant and bar for the last week or so.”
“Ah. I see. Good for you, Ms. Bella.”
William Walker pulled his nose from the glass and glanced at me.
I sipped the wine – and the moment it hit my tongue I knew something was terribly wrong. With William Walker’s gaze on me, I made an effort to swallow it without grimacing, but I’m afraid I failed. It wasn’t corked. It had not, strictly speaking, gone bad. The problem was it had started out bad. It was young, bitter, unbalanced, mass–produced swill. The kind of stuff high school kids buy because it’s cheap, tastes a lot like grape juice, and gets the job done. And it was hot; I bet it had twenty percent alcohol.
“Well done!” Walker cheered, laughing at me and my efforts.
“Oh absolutely,” Prin agreed, but she was looking at her glass and not me. “The cherry comes through immediately, but it has good acidity and a lovely nose, don’t you think? A very well done wine. In a way it’s a shame the Australians aren’t invited to our little contest tomorrow, isn’t it, Mr. Walker?”
She turned a beatific smile on our guest, while the rest of us gaped at her in shock. She wasn’t kidding, that much was clear.
Roger slid a tray onto the bar and headed for the cash register.
“Young man!” Walker raised a hand and motioned Roger over genially. “Come here. Come taste this … this wine we’ve got here. We have a blind taste going on and we’d love your opinion.”
I ventured a glance at Cooper. He looked down at me, as poker–faced as I’d ever seen him.
Prin poured a taste for Roger with smiling expectation as he smelled it.
“Huh, cough syrup,” he blurted, then realized who he was talking to and cleared his throat, taking a quick swallow of the wine. He choked, put the glass down, and pushed it away. “I’m more of a beer guy myself,” he explained to Walker.
Walker chuckled. “I would be too, if this were the only other option.”
Roger looked at him, unsure if he were being mocked, then jerked his head in the direction of the tables and added, “I gotta ring those people out. ‘Scuse me.”
Prin laughed her musical laugh. “Oh, don’t mind him. He doesn’t know good wine when it’s handed to him. I think it’s delicious. Well done, just as you said, Mr. Walker.” She raised her glass and took another sip.
Cooper and Hazel exchanged a significant look, and I saw in that moment the balance of power shift. Hazel had hired her, she was a disaster, and Cooper’s sins of the evening were beyond forgotten, they were trumped by the massive embarrassment of having a sommelier who didn’t know good wine from turpentine.
Chapter Eight
Hazel sent Prin to the dining room to help the restaurant patrons, and I knew why she did it. Prin could get into much less trouble choosing wines that were on our wine list than she could exposing her ignorance any further to the most renowned wine critic in the country.
Then Cooper broke out some of our best pinots from Australia and Oregon, burgundies from France, and even a couple of Austrian wines, and the four of us, Hazel, Coop, William “Call Me Bill” Walker, and me, sat at the bar and talked wine. It was one of the most fun, stimulating evenings I’d had in a long time. And I don’t know if it was the wine, or the confidence of knowing what I was talking about, but my tongue loosened up and I was able to be a pretty involved participant in the conversation.
At one point “Bill” and Cooper shook their heads in wonder when I pulled out a descriptive word for a nearly obscured element in one of the
wines and, I have to admit it, I laughed with a feeling of triumph.
It was two o’clock in the morning when I vacuum–corked the partial bottles and wheeled two racks of clean glasses back to the barrel room for the next day’s public tasting. I was sliding the glasses one by one into the overhead racks when I heard the gate creak. I looked up, startled, to see Cooper messing with the foot of the grate, trying to get the peg in the hole that keeps it open.
“You scared me,” I said. “I thought someone was locking me in.” I resumed shelving the glasses, my heart beating a bit faster.
“I’d never do that,” he said. “You’d enjoy being locked in a room with full barrels of wine too much.” He grinned.
I was pleasantly buzzed by both the wine and, I’m ashamed to admit, Prin’s dramatic fall from grace. Not that I wished her ill – I liked her – but my inferiority complex had mushroomed with her arrival. At least now I’d regained some confidence in my abilities.
Which reminded me…
“Hey, remember when Prin identified the wineries in that tasting?” The glass in my hand slid neatly into the rack. I picked up two more and turned to Cooper. “How could she pull that off and not know bad plonk when she tastes it? And she did it more than once, according to Rog–er...”
My voice trailed off. Roger.
Cooper tilted his head. “You guessed it. My mother thought of the same thing and called Roger to the carpet. He admitted he’d helped her, both during that supposedly blind tasting we did and afterwards, when he told us she’d done it again.”
Roger … lying. So baldly, so extravagantly. He was always a cynical pain in the ass, but I didn’t ever think he was unethical.
“But why?” Aggravation made my heart accelerate. His complicity had made it so easy for me to feel bad about myself – had that been his intent? But that wasn’t the worst part. “He not only messed with us, making us believe she was something she wasn’t, and causing Hazel to put her into a position of responsibility for which she was clearly not qualified, but he messed with the inn.”