“Or of something else?”
Marco stared at me. I could tell he wasn’t going to say any more.
“He idolizes your father,” I said.
“He does.”
“And doesn’t think he’ll do as good of a job with Grado Valley as your parents?”
“Deep down, yes. I think you’re right.”
“Your brotherisscared,” I concluded. The wheels in my head spun to the point that I was sure steam was coming from my ears.
“No, Brooke, he’s not scared. He’s terrified. And I don’t blame him.”
Marco had all but admitted Cos needed me.
“And you think Cos is in love with me?” Heart hammering in my chest, I waited for his answer. It was the most important one I’d ever asked. It was crazy, what I was thinking. But some things were more important than a job. On the other hand, this also felt as right as moving here, making the change in my life that had been a long time coming.
“Without a doubt,” he finally answered, “yes.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
cosimo
Brooke was gone.
When she’d said she needed time off to move from the city, I hadn’t expected her to do it immediately. She’d told Marco she was taking the day off today. For all I knew, Brooke was already back in Manhattan, packing up her stuff.
Wandering from my office to the tasting room, I found Perry about to start a tasting with a group of women, not unlike Brooke and her friends the day we met. This group was smaller, just four of them, the ladies probably in their early to mid-thirties, but judging by their matching T-shirts, they were on a girls’ trip too.
Thinking about the shitty mood I’d been in the day Brooke first came, overwhelmed by all the things my mother would call “secondary” because they didn’t involve the most important part of Grado Valley Vineyards, the people, I told Perry I’d take care of them.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” I said, standing behind the bar. The light drizzle outside had driven them in, and I knew they were probably disappointed. I’d turn this ship around. “I’m Cosimo Grado, proprietor of Grado Valley Vineyards. Is this your first time here?”
Two of the ladies, likely the unmarried ones in the group, immediately perked up, making their amorous intentions toward me quite clear in their demeanor. One took a step toward me, tugging her collar down to expose more cleavage, and the other, a pretty blonde, smiled in a way that left little to the imagination. Ignoring their overtures, I listened to their chorus of nos and asked where they were from.
“I’m sorry about the rain,” I said. “But since we couldn’t order up some nice weather, I thought we’d take a quick tour of the barrel rooms after the tasting. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great,” the blonde said. “Looking forward to it.”
I smiled politely and continued with the tasting. By the time they’d finished their wines and I’d returned to take them on the tour, I’d looked down the hall toward Brooke’s office at least five times. Knowing she wasn’t there hadn’t stopped me.
“This is the back barrel room,” I said, surprised to see it set up for a party already since it was only Wednesday. I’d have to ask Marco, who’d taken over events from Min, about that. “As you can see, we use it for private parties.”
“Do you have weddings in here?” one of the women asked.
“Small ones,” I said, explaining the origin of the room and that the wine barrels along the walls were more than decoration. As I talked, my gaze kept returning to the bar. My mind, returning to that first kiss. I replayed it over and over until my chest actually ached.
I’d had girlfriends. And breakups. But never, not once in all my life, had the thought of being without a woman provoked the kind of pain I’d felt since she walked out of my office yesterday. When I tried to take a breath, it felt as if I couldn’t fully fill my lungs with air. I’d never had a panic attack before, but Marco had. It was scary as hell—at one point we’d actually thought that he was having a heart attack. While it had been terrible to experience, even secondhand, I’d learned to look for the signs and understood what was happening with me, and after taking a few deep breaths, I was fine. Today, the pain felt completely different. Just an emptiness I knew wouldn’t be filled until she returned.
“So I see you’re not married,” the blonde said as we made our way back upstairs.
One of her friends smiled knowingly, while the others pretended not to hear her question.
It was surprising, with so many women coming through Grado Valley’s tasting rooms, how few girlfriends I’d met this way. Usually, flirtations like this rolled off my back. They were here for a day, and nothing would come of it. If I were more like Marco, their advances might be more welcome. But I wasn’t. One-night stands were never really my thing, so I’d had to learn how to manage flirty customers without making them feel slighted.
But today I was off my game.