Chapter Twelve
Hallie loved crowds.
Being able to hear everyone speaking at once but not make out a single word. The fact that all these people had dressed up and driven to the same location, all at once, for a special purpose. Crowds were a celebration of movement and color and trying new things.
For the second year in a row, she’d agreed to help Lavinia and Jerome behind the counter at Wine Down Napa. Convincing the festival committee to agree to allow a donut shop to display at the event had taken some fancy footwork, but the gooey baked goods were a huge hit the year prior, leading to a lot of stuffy connoisseurs walking around the massive tent with chocolate wings extending out from the corners of their mouths. Looking around the buzzing aisles of vendors, Hallie was pleased to see an even more eclectic mix this year.
Most of the displays were for local vineyards, and they were elaborate. Tasteful. Wine Down Napa didn’t have the feeling of a typical indoor market. In true Napa style, the booths were constructed of polished wood. There was a step and repeat behind each one splashed with the vineyard’s logo. Romantic lighting had been angled throughout the tent to create a dreamlike atmosphere, fairy lights twinkling on the ceiling, turning wineglasses into enchanted goblets. But in addition to Fudge Judy breaching the boundaries of wine world, there was an exhibit for gourmet dog treats and another for CBD gummies. They’d cast a wide net.
Ticket holders were beginning to arrive, journalists in press badges snapping pictures of people enjoying their first glasses of wine, angling the shots to capture the sprawling courtyard of the Meadowood hotel in the background. The air was sultry; orchestra music drifted down the mountain and through the tent on a light June breeze. And she couldn’t help but remember her grandmother roaming the aisles slowly last year, saying hello to old friends and new, accepting pamphlets for vineyard tours to be polite.
Lavinia came up beside Hallie and gave her a gentle hip bump. “After weeks of designing the new, ultrarefined Merlot cruller, the Lucky Charms donut holes will probably be our biggest seller. Not even wine snobs can resist an artificially flavored marshmallow.”
Hallie dropped her head to Lavinia’s shoulder. “Especially when the CBD kicks in and they relax. Hopefully not enough to mistake the dog biscuits for donuts.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could be entertaining.”
They laughed, watching more and more people arrive in the tent, various levels of VIP access displayed around their necks. “So,” Lavinia prompted. “We were in such a mad rush to get set up, I haven’t had a chance to ask. What is the latest with our illustrious professor?”
Hallie blew out a breath, her gaze drifting over to the Vos Vineyard booth. No one had arrived yet, though they’d most likely tapped their in-house sommelier to represent them tonight. And even if Corinne Vos made an appearance, Julian definitely wouldn’t be there. She’d assured herself of that for the last two days and still couldn’t prevent the low sink of disappointment in her belly. “Oh, um . . .” She adjusted her Fudge Judy apron, heat creeping up the sides of her face. “The latest isn’t really up for discussion. Not in polite company.”
Lavinia reared back with raised eyebrows. “Good thing I’m not polite.”
Hallie threw a pointed look at Jerome. “Later.”
“Oh, come on, we both know I’m going to tell him, anyway.”
“Good to know.” They stopped to smile at two guests who wandered past looking down their noses at the donuts. They would definitely come crawling back after a few glasses of wine, though. “There might have been some . . . further intimacy. Not the whole enchilada. More like, I don’t know, jalapeño poppers.”
“You are speaking to a British woman in Mexican food terminology. Does not translate.”
“Sorry. It’s just that . . . honestly, I’m not really sure what happened in Julian’s kitchen.” She only knew her entire body started to tingle thinking about it. His breath on her neck, their mouths interlocked and panting. “Or if it was a-a . . . normal thing to do?”
Lavinia was agog. “Fuck off. He tried anal?”
“No!” Her cheeks were hot enough now to be fresh from the oven. “Not that.”
“Oh, thank God.” Lavinia briefly doubled over. “I was going to need a cigarette for this.”
“It was more like . . .” Hallie looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “The internet calls it mutual masturbation.”
“Bloody hell, I do need that cigarette.” Lavinia stared at her for a beat. “What?”
“I know.”
Jerome approached his wife from behind, his default suspicious expression in full swing. “What’s going on here?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Lavinia said quickly. “But in brief: it involves wanking.” Without missing a beat, Jerome turned and moseyed to the other side of the booth. Lavinia shrugged defensively in the face of Hallie’s sputtering shock. “I had to get rid of him so I can hear the rest of it, didn’t I?”
Hallie slumped. “There is no rest of it. This time I’m really, really sure it was the last occasion we . . . do something both confusing and . . .” She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry, thanks to the sensual memories bombarding her. The way he’d ground his hardness there, the movements of his hand speeding up, his grunt of her name. “. . . arousing. Together.”
“Yes, yes,” Lavinia said, peering at her thoughtfully. “I can see you are definitely capable of saying no. Your nips aren’t hard or anything.”
“What?” Hallie looked down and saw the apron was definitely low enough to make out the outline of her nipples—and they were indeed bullet-shaped. Had they been anything but puckered and uncomfortable for the last two days? With a hasty yank, she tugged up the neck of the apron to cover the evidence. “No, really.” She hesitated a moment, then blurted, “I wrote him a second secret admirer letter. Sober this time.”
Lavinia rocked back on her heels. “No. You didn’t.”
“Lavinia, note my track record of complicating things. You know I did.” She bit her lip. “And they were right there, in plain view in his Food Network–worthy kitchen. He quoted them at me, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I’m the author.”
Her best friend crossed herself. “Only God can save you now, Hallie Welch.”
“That’s a little dramatic.” Nervous energy snapped in her veins. “Right?”
“What’s a little dramatic?”
They both turned to find Owen standing at the front of the booth. At first, Hallie wondered if maybe the man was an evil twin. Or a doppelgänger. Since she’d only ever seen Owen in jeans and a T-shirt. Or shorts and gardening shoes. But tonight he wore pressed slacks and a tucked-in polo shirt, hair styled. And was that cologne?
“Owen. Darling.” Lavinia recovered from the interruption first, leaning across the table to kiss Owen on both cheeks. “You look fabulous.”
“Thanks.” Rather adorably, he scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Same to you.” His attention drifted to Hallie and stuck. “You look great tonight, too, Hallie. Really great.”
She looked down at her outfit of choice, most of which was covered by the apron. Probably a good thing, considering she’d found it impossible to settle on an ensemble, so she’d ended up with a low-cut floral shirt tucked into a plaid, high-waisted skirt. At least her hair was in order tonight, curls tamed and loose around her shoulders. “Thanks, Owen—”
Her words cut themselves off. Because when she glanced up from her schizophrenic getup, there he was, directly over Owen’s shoulder.
Julian Vos had entered the tent.
It was shocking to find out that she’d almost slightly gotten used to his presence—but only when it was just the two of them. In public like this? He was a Van Gogh in a gallery of children’s finger paintings. He was quite simply incomparable. Tall and intense and handsome and attention-grabbing. Kind of impatient-looking, on top of it all. Every head turned at his arrival, as if they’d sensed a shift in the atmospheric balance.
He wore a starched white shirt totally devoid of wrinkles and navy blue slacks. A burgundy tie. Cuff links. He looked like the type of man who would wear those old-fashioned sock garters below the knee. And she’d touched herself in front of him. He’d done the same. They’d been completely weak in front of each other while the storm rampaged outside, and seeing him now, so composed and in charge, made the whole thing feel like a dream.
“Bet you’d have done anal,” Lavinia said out of the corner of her mouth.
Thankfully, Jerome and Owen were engaged in a conversation about golf and didn’t overhear. “Could you please never bring that up again?” Hallie implored.
“He’ll be the one bringing it up, if you catch my meaning.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I do. You’re as subtle as a chain saw.”
Hallie ordered herself to stop staring at Julian, who was now crossing the tent with his mother and sister. And she failed. Everyone in the tent did. Vos Vineyard might be in need of an upgrade, but the first family of St. Helena moved like royalty and looked the part, too. Meanwhile here she stood in mixed patterns talking about butt sex.
She wouldn’t change a thing. But the contrast only brought it home how utterly unalike they were.
None of that seemed to matter when Julian glanced over sharply, slowing to a stop when he saw her behind the Fudge Judy counter. Oh my God, her heart was going to beat right out of her body. It was magic, having this gallant, thoughtful man notice her from across a crowded room and stop dead in the middle of it all. Those times she’d opened up to him about her grief and one-third life crisis, she’d felt so utterly safe sharing with him. Did she imagine that bond?
No. She couldn’t have.
In addition to the magic of being pinned by those whiskey eyes across the tent . . . was now lust. The urgent, frustrating kind she’d never experienced with anyone else. The kind she’d only half understood while mooning at him on YouTube, before his return to St. Helena. Beneath those lusty layers, though, was the wistfulness of regret.
Every time they connected, the disconnect between their personalities became a little more obvious, and what could be done about that?
“Hallie?”
Owen laid a hand on her arm, and she caught the barest change in Julian’s expression. It clouded over, a groove fashioning itself between his brows. A muscle had begun to tick in his jaw when she finally managed to wrestle her attention away from Julian and focus on Owen. Who, apparently, had been addressing her to no avail for quite some time.
“I’m sorry. All this excitement . . .” Her laugh sounded strained. “I think I have wine envy.”
Owen quickly set down the donut he’d picked up with the provided pair of silver tongs. “I’ll get you a glass. What are you in the mood for?”
She could not let this man run around fetching her a drink when she was remembering how Julian’s abdomen felt flexing against hers. “No, that’s really okay, Owen—”
He was already off like a shot.
Hallie traded a guilty look with Lavinia, but they didn’t have time to talk. The tent was quickly filling up and people wanted donuts. Mainly because, unlike last year, a lot of guests seemed to have brought their children. In the past, no one under the age of twenty-one had been admitted to wine-tasting events in Napa, but since the fire that damaged so much of the region, followed by the economic wrecking ball of the pandemic, St. Helena had slowly adopted more of a family-friendly image in the hopes of appealing to new visitors.
Apparently kids were the newest caveat.
And, in the case of Wine Down, the pitfalls of that decision quickly became obvious.
Children ran figure eights around the older clientele, their mothers receiving more than their fair share of judgment. The hosts of the event might have allowed children, but being that the beverage of choice was alcohol, there was nothing for the youngsters to drink or eat.
Except for the donuts.
That’s how Hallie became the official babysitter of Wine Down Napa.
It started off with a single offer to watch the toddler of an overstressed mother while she went off and indulged in a glass of wine. Then a second family approached, inquiring about the professional childcare services, to which Hallie saluted them with her wineglass—and they left their child, anyway. Although Lavinia needed Hallie as an extra set of hands, the parents were buying donuts in gratitude, so they took the trade-off and booted Hallie in favor of the extra sales. Half an hour later, she had a football team of kids under the age of eight playing red rover on the field outside the tent and chomping on chocolate crullers.
She actually lost track of which one had eaten what. Or how many.
Now that, out of everything, turned out to be the biggest mistake.
Hopped up on an obscene amount of sugar, the kids decided they were thirsty.
“I want water!” announced one of the dinosaur-obsessed twins while picking a wedgie.
What was his name? Shiloh?
“Oh, okay,” Hallie said, looking back toward the tent. There had to be water in there somewhere, right? “Um, everyone hold hands and let’s go inside quietly and check—”
“MOM!” Shiloh screamed, running toward the tent, barreling through the flap—followed by the rest of the children, all shouting for their mothers.
“Wait. Guys, wait.”
Hallie hurried after them with two empty donut boxes under her arms—whoa, empty?—but it was too late to prevent what happened next. She entered the tent just in time to watch the sugar-hyped kids fly around like pinballs. Wineglasses sloshed in the hands of VIP guests, and in two cases, tables were bumped, glass shattering and the hum of conversation grinding to a halt. Hallie stood just inside the entrance in a sort of trance, her gaze moving unerringly to Julian, who stood on the other side of the flabbergasted crowd, a glass of wine poised halfway to his mouth.
She could practically hear his thoughts out loud, they were so plain on his face.
Here was Hallie, once again proving herself a purveyor of chaos.
Barely fit to be among adults. And patently incapable of managing children.
Destruction in the flesh—now available for parties.
Julian lowered his glass, set it down, and just managed to steady a row of wine flutes on the Vos Vineyard display before they were knocked over.
Hallie winced and began chasing the wayward children. She was quickly joined by Owen, who gave her a sympathetic smile, which was a lot more comforting than Julian’s steely-eyed judgment.
Like most times she was faced with an unpleasant truth about herself, she dodged it—and what else could that look in Julian’s eyes mean except for exasperation?
Forget about him and fix your mess.