Cal was pushing seventy-five. He had a bad knee, and navigating the cellar stairs wasn’t easy for him anymore.
I flipped the switch for the cellar light and jogged downstairs in search of the bottle for Jeremy Hartwell.
It was strange he was at Bella’s. He had been the town’s most successful and famous product. Newton Hills’ golden boy. He had everything. Money. Wealthy family business. Killer smile. A delicious body. A full baseball scholarship, and then a contract for the major leagues. I’d never thought about how many years it had been until he mentioned it. Did twelve years really go by that quickly?
I peeked around the corner and realized I had left the light on in my office. Office was a generous term. My dad let me claim a corner spot in the cellar. I had hung a few heavy draperies from the wooden beams overhead to section it off for privacy. There was enough space for a small couch I hauled down the stairs, a writing desk, an old lamp, and my laptop. It was my escape spot in between shifts and sometimes after work when the restaurant was quiet.
I found the bottle of red and wiped it clean with my apron before running back to the bar.
Cal eyed me. “You know this is a special bottle.”
“Just please open it for me.” I smiled. “We have a special customer. That’s Jeremy Hartwell over there.”
I didn’t feel like I could keep Jeremy waiting. I looked at him over my shoulder. He was scrolling through his phone.
“Here you go, sugar.” Cal placed the bottle and a glass on a tray for me.
“Thank you.” I grinned at the bald bartender.
Jeremy barely glanced up when I poured the deep rich wine. “Do you want anything else? Maybe some appetizers? Or a salad?”
He shook his head. His blue eyes were dark enough to be mistaken for black diamonds.
“I just want to drink, Evie.”
“All right. Let me know if you need something.”
I turned from the booth.
3
Jeremy
It was smooth. Maybe the smoothest wine I had ever tasted. But like any alcohol, by the time I was on my fourth glass, I couldn’t tell you if I was drinking nectar or tequila. My tongue was numb and I was sufficiently buzzed. It was good shit.
I turned my phone to silent. I’d declined all incoming calls, including several from my mother. As far as she knew I had left town and wouldn’t return for another twelve years. I certainly wasn’t returning with the wife I had been tasked to knock up.
I huffed. It was fucking insane. A nightmare.
She had always been complicit in my father’s wishes. She had stood by his side no matter what the deal. What the contract. Even demanding control of his only son’s life. I wasn’t answering her calls. She might as well be as dead as my father.
The restaurant was busier now. I wasn’t the only customer. Evie had a few other tables. I watched her from the corner.
We didn’t run in the same circles in high school. She was a nice girl. The kind who didn’t have a reputation. Good for her. She stayed out of trouble. As I watched her work, I couldn’t say I remembered her being this pretty back then.
Her auburn hair was pulled back. And even that tiny waitress apron couldn’t disguise the amazing body she had. I took another gulp of wine. Yeah, Evie Rossi was a late bloomer, and hell she was one incredible looking flower now.
I straightened up and tried to appear slightly less drunk when she walked over. She checked on my table every few minutes.
“Are you sure you don’t want to order dinner? You have to be hungry. I could at least bring you a basket of bread straight from the oven. What’s better than hot bread on a snowy afternoon?” she asked.
“If you’re worried I’m taking one of your tables for the night, I promise I’ll tip well. More than all the other tips. I swear.” Fuck. Was I already slurring my words? This wine was knocking me on my ass. The
Italians knew what they were doing with this bottle.
She shook her head. “No. Jeremy, I would never even say that. You’re a friend. You can stay as long as you want. I just know how hard that wine can hit without some food in your stomach.”
“Am I?”