by Jen Carter
Nico answered with a chuckle. “That worked out,” he said.
I had talked to Nico on the phone nearly every day for over a year, and every time I heard his voice, I still got excited. We met last summer in Italy when my sisters and I took a trip to celebrate our parents by retracing the steps of their honeymoon. Nico was an American who moved to Italy a couple years before with his wife. Once there, she promptly found an Italian stallion to run away with, leaving Nico to fend for himself. By the time we D’Angelo sisters showed up in the little Italian village where he was living, he was divorced and running a cute little wine shop. He helped us out of some unexpected jams, and in the process, well, I sort of fell in love with him.
Luckily, he felt the same. He’d visited out here twice since then, and I’d been back to Italy once. And I know it sounds crazy, but in about a week, he’ll be moving out here permanently.
I know, I know. Why would he do that? You’ve never spent more than a week together at once. Do you really even know this guy? Don’t you think it’s a lot to ask of a guy to move back to the States for you?
Yeah, yeah. From the outside, it sounded ridiculous. But not once have I doubted this decision. He’s that great.
Even opinionated Stella didn’t protest with a list of concerns when she heard he was thinking of moving. My entire family liked him, and that had to count for something.
“How was your day?” I asked. I turned left onto Via del Corso toward my friend Jules’ bakery and stayed left on the sidewalk as two visitors passed by, marveling at the beautiful Tuscan architecture throughout OV. What beautiful brickwork everywhere, they were saying, though the comment barely registered as I waited for Nico to respond.
“I have some bad news,” he said. “Moving has been pushed back a week. There was a problem with the paperwork for selling the wine shop. I have to stick around a little longer.”
I stopped, stunned.
“Really?” I don’t think I hid the disappointment in my voice very well. Regaining control of my legs, I shuffled to a bench in the courtyard next to the winery and sat down. I pictured Nico on the other end of the line with his dark, buzzed hair, hazel eyes, and easy smile—though after hearing his news, I imagined his easy smile was gone.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I tried to find a way around this.”
“Not your fault. I was just looking forward to seeing you in a week.”
I kicked at a tuft of grass and reminded myself that I was nearly thirty years old. I shouldn’t pout like a six-year-old. What was one week in the grand scheme of things?
A flash of color caught my eye, and I looked up. The Berke sisters, owners of Snapdragon Inn, were crossing the street toward me. Katia was pointing in my direction, and Carolina had her hands on her hips. Both of them wore long, flowing skirts patterned with bright swirls of color, each whipping around their legs angrily as they marched closer.
“Hey Nico, I’m sorry—I think someone needs me. Can I call you back later? Or tomorrow?”
“Sure. Everything okay?”
I glanced up at the scowling faces nearing me. “I’m not sure. But it will be, probably. I’ll call you back.” We said goodbye, and I disconnected the call just as the sisters approached the bench. They towered over me, not giving me enough space to stand so that we could have a face-to-face conversation.
I craned my neck upward to see them. From the outside, the sisters seemed like hippies from the seventies. They both had long, gray hair, parted in the middle, though Carolina normally wore it down while Katia liked tying hers back with big, gaudy, homemade clips. I rarely saw them wearing anything but long colorful skirts, peasant blouses, and lots of beads. I thought Carolina was older, but they were close enough in age that I couldn’t really tell. In front of Otto Viti visitors, the sisters were all peace, love, and happiness—all smiles and laughter and stories. But those of us who worked here saw them behind the scenes and knew better.
“Hi Katia. Hi Carolina. How are you?” I squinted up at them, shifting slightly so that Katia’s head blocked the sun from my eyes.
“Why did you tell that hateful group of people to come here?” Katia asked. “We are not made for a bachelorette party, Miss D’Angelo.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t tell them to come here. This wasn’t my idea.”
“They are terrorizing Otto Viti,” Carolina said. “Those women staying at the Inn—do you know how many noise complaints we got from other guests last night? And that’s not all. We already talked to Artie down at Checkmate and Bradley down at Chocolat. That whole group is bothering everyone. Did you know that they nearly broke an antique chess set in Checkmate? Why they went into that store in the first place, I don’t know—Artie doesn’t sell wine or food, and that seems to be all they care about. Then they were banging on Bradley’s door this morning before he opened the shop to demand some coffee, which he doesn’t even sell.”
My eyes grew. “All of them? The guys and the girls?” That was a lot of people to be in a chess store at once, especially if wine had already been consumed. I remembered how many of them were stumbling around by the time they got to D’Angelo for the tour.
The sisters looked at each other, their eyes also growing wider.
“You mean there’s more than just the women?” Katia asked.
Oh. The Berkes didn’t know that the bachelor party was in OV as well. Yikes. I weighed my options. If I told them the truth, they were going to get more upset. If I played dumb, they’d find out later and come back to haunt me.
“Well, yeah,” I said slowly. “It sounds like you’re housing the bachelorette party, but the bachelor party is also here. I don’t know where they’re staying. I guess somewhere else.”
The sisters looked like they were going to faint. Katia clutched Carolina’s arm.
“Jill D’Angelo, you have to get them out of here,” Carolina said. “You brought them here, you get them out. They’re hurting business.” She angled her head toward the street where they had crossed just moments before. “They’re at Circe Winery right now, most certainly wreaking havoc all over poor Athena’s tasting room. You can hear them all the way from here.”
“Look, I didn’t bring them to Otto Viti. I don’t even know the bride.” I stood up, forcing the sisters to take a step back. “I don’t know what you think I can do.”
“We heard that you were connected to them,” Katia said.
Who would have told them that? This was ridiculous. How was a bad boyfriend from six years ago managing to ruin my day? I felt my patience running out.
“I used to know the groom. Years ago. Not any more.”
Carolina pointed at me. “You figure it out. Take care of it. I can’t handle another night like last night with all that noise and raucousness. If you don’t take care of it, we will.”
The sisters turned and walked away arm in arm. Carolina’s long hair swayed behind her, somehow seeming to echo her anger. Katia’s stayed secured in place by one of her chopstick, feather, rhinestone clips—a fashion statement wrought with identity crisis, but not anger.
I wanted to call after them, if you’re willing to take care of it, why’d you come yell at me? But I didn’t. I wasn’t brave enough for that.
I sat back down and tried to absorb what had just happened. Very few people in OV knew I had any connection to Shane in the first place—and I didn’t think any of my friends or family would have told the Burke sisters. Before I could ponder the issue further, shrill laughter filled the air. The bachelors and bachelorettes were spilling out of Circe’s tasting room across the street. More of them were staggering erratically than had been at our winery. The guy who had yanked my ponytail picked up one of the girls and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She pounded on his back through a fit of laughter. Another fella—one I didn’t remember from the tour—tripped and nearly knocked over Angelia’s mom. The bride and groom-to-be brought up the rear and seemed to have more control over their faculties than the res
t of their group. They both spotted me. Shane gave me a sheepish grin while Angelia gave me a big smile followed by a blank look, just like she had during the tour earlier.
The group headed east down Via del Corso, presumably in search of more tasting rooms or food. For their sake, I hoped they were getting food to soak up the alcohol, though that wouldn’t bode well for me since one of their options going east was Jules’ bakery—and I definitely didn’t want to run into them.
I stood up and walked back toward our family’s tasting room. I’d text Jules to warn her that some drunk bachelors and bachelorettes could be heading her way. And I’d just see her later on to find out what happened and try her new baked goodies.
FOUR
“So you were engaged to the groom?” Jules asked.
It was later that evening, about eight o’clock, after most shops and tasting rooms had closed. Once a month, we had a girls’ night out for the ladies who worked in OV, and tonight was the night. There was an open invitation to any female who worked in town, but normally only the ones without kids came—except for Stella who had two young sons, and I was pretty sure she only came because Jason made her. He knew that she needed to relax sometimes, even when she didn’t know it.
We were all sitting in the backroom of Deseo, the Argentinian restaurant at the west end of the strip. The front of the restaurant was still filled with diners, but we could barely hear them from where we were. Not surprisingly, most of our conversation thus far had centered on the bachelor-bachelorette exploits of the day.
I looked across the table at Jules while sipping my beer and then nodded. “Yeah, we were engaged. A long time ago. A long, long time ago.”
Jules shook her head and sighed. She pushed her dark blonde hair behind her ears and thinned her eyes. Just as she was about to speak again, Livy said what I can only imagine Jules was thinking.
“I don’t understand why they would come here for a bachelor and bachelorette party. Isn’t that pretty poor judgment?”
I turned my attention to Livy. She ran Mortar and Pestle, a little shop not far from Jules’ bakery where she made and sold organic skin care products and remedies for minor aches and pains. The two of them were my best friends in Otto Viti, and neither of them minced words.
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Holly said. She walked up behind us and put a plate of empanadas on the table. She was helping Elita—the grown daughter of Deseo’s owner—bring in the appetizers. “And you should have seen them this afternoon. They asked for a tour of the winery, and then they cut it short because they were bored. And the moms complained the whole time.”
“The moms?” Livy and Jules said at the same time. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my sister Stella and her best friend Amy exchanging glances. They probably were exclaiming “the moms?” in their minds, but they managed to keep their thoughts to themselves.
“Shane’s mom wasn’t there. His parents moved to the east coast years ago, and his mom is too prim-and-proper for a bachelorette party anyway. I think it was just Angelia’s mom and another lady who seemed to be her friend.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Holly said as she and Elita sat down at the table. “Marlo the mom, and Janelle the sidekick.” She reached for an empanada in the middle of the table. “And get this. Shane’s little brother just turned twenty-one, and so they were celebrating his birthday this weekend, too.”
It only took a second for everyone to react. Livy laughed and Jules’ choked on her beer. Livy whacked Jules on the back until she stopped coughing.
“So,” Amy said, dropping her elbow onto the table and holding up one finger as though about to count off a number of points. “First, we’ve got a joint bachelor-bachelorette party going on in OV, the quietest and quaintest place in Temecula’s wine country. Second, the groom is Jill’s ex-fiancé. Third, the bride’s mom and sidekick are here, too, and the party is still wreaking havoc over at Snapdragon. And fourth, they’re also celebrating a twenty-first birthday.” Holding up four fingers, she wiggled them at me.
I forced a smile at her. I always thought of her slightly-untamed, curly blonde hair as a symbol of her day-dreamy, head-in-the-clouds personality, but when she put together an assessment like that, I was reminded why she and Stella were such good friends. She was sharp.
“Yep,” I said.
“Where are the guys staying?” Elita asked.
“Vendemmia—all the way at the other end of the strip. As far away from Snapdragon as they could get,” Holly said. “I heard them talking about it earlier today.”
I grabbed an empanada and ate half in one bite. Chewing, I considered whether I should say what had been niggling at the back of my mind most of the afternoon. I knew it was silly, but I decided to go ahead and say it anyway.
“I don’t think Angelia likes me. Twice today she gave me a big smile followed by a weird blank stare—and then she turned and walked off. It was strange.”
“Of course she doesn’t like you,” Livy said. She angled her head downward, eyeing me, and her newly-cut bangs fell into her eyes. She swept them away and continued, “You were going to marry her fiancé.”
“Like six years ago,” I said. “And I don’t think our paths have even crossed by accident in the last two or three years. I don’t know him anymore.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Stella said. She stirred her water with a straw absent-mindedly. “A lot of women would still see you as a threat.”
“Then why come here?” I asked. “Why have a bachelorette party here?”
No one answered.
“We may never know,” Livy said. “But I’ll tell you this. They came into the shop this afternoon—the ladies did—and they cleaned me out of bath bombs. And they knocked over two displays in the process. Katia and Carolina Berke are pains, but I agree with them. That group is obnoxious.”
“Oooh, which bath bombs?” Elita asked.
“The pink and blue ones,” Livy said. “Vanilla Swirl.”
“Those are my favorite,” Elita said. “They make the bathwater all pretty but don’t smell funny like your other ones.”
I watched Livy and Jules stare across the table at Elita for a moment. Sometimes it was hard to find a response to Elita’s backhanded compliments. As I did at least once a day, I had to marvel at her. Before Livy opened shop, Elita had the frizziest, most belligerent hair I had ever seen. Livy came along, made Elita special products to tame her crazy hair, and since then, Elita has looked like a Latin Goddess—and yet, she still managed to put down Livy’s work. Sheesh.
Jules recovered first and opted to ignore Elita. “The girls came into the bakery and bought ten loaves of sourdough,” she said. “They didn’t knock over anything, so I guess I’m lucky.”
“They haven’t come around my shop,” Amy said. “Not for books or for coffee.”
Holly looked across the table and pointed at Amy. “Just wait. I heard they were banging on Chocolat’s door this morning to find coffee. Now that they know Chocolat doesn’t do coffee, they’ll show up on your doorstep tomorrow morning with hangovers wanting triple espresso shots.”
“They haven’t been down to Deseo or—” Elita began, but she was cut off by a crash outside. We all stopped and looked toward the noise. It was followed by a woman yelling.
Stella was the first to the window, quickly followed by the rest of us. Elita raised the blinds just a couple inches. Holly, Livy, and I crouched down to see through the exposed sliver of window. The other girls gathered at either end and peeked through the sides of the blinds.
“Who’s that?” Livy muttered.
“Marlo and Janelle,” Holly said. “Mother of the bride and sidekick.”
Behind Deseo was an open grassy area that extended the length of the entire street. Beyond the grass was my grandfather’s vineyard, which, as the only vineyard in OV, went on for a couple acres up the side of the hill. I wasn’t sure what Marlo and Janelle could have crashed into, but shopping bags were scattered all aroun
d them on the grass. Janelle gathered them up while Marlo stood in the middle of the mess, screaming into the phone.
“What do you want from me?” she cried. “I’ve stayed away, haven’t I? Have you seen me at all? No! I made sure to follow your instructions, just like you asked. What else do you want?”
Janelle finished collecting the shopping bags and grabbed Marlo’s arm.
“C’mon,” she said. “Don’t keep talking to him. He’s just going to get you more upset. Hang up and come with me back to the hotel.”
“Goodbye, Alex,” Marlo said into the phone. “I’ve heard enough of your demands. I’m not going to obey them anymore. This is over!” She dropped the phone into her sparkly green purse and let Janelle lead her around the restaurant toward Via del Corso. “My damn daughter,” she said, still loud enough for us to hear her. “Always siding with him, too. I’m so tired of those two ganging up on me.”
As we watched them disappear around the building, Elita asked, “What were they doing behind my family’s restaurant?”
“Chicas,” a musical voice called behind us, “who’s ready for—”
All of us whipped around. Elita’s mother stood in the doorway, a large platter in each hand. I’m sure she stopped mid sentence upon seeing us peeking out the window. I stood up and smiled sheepishly. Glancing at Livy, I saw she had the same sheepish smile—and I bet we all did, actually.
Senora Salizar placed the two platters of grilled meats on the table with a raised eyebrow. She was a round woman with a penchant for practical jokes—and always on alert for practical jokes coming her way. “Everything okay here, chicas?”
Elita dropped the blinds as we moved from the window back to the table. “Of course, Mama. Some people had too much wine today and ended up behind the restaurant. They’ve left.”
Senora Salizar put her hands on her hips and studied us. Then she nodded toward the food on the table and said buen provecho before leaving.