Chapter Six
They were the adult version of Hansel and Gretel. Except, instead of bread crumbs, they were leaving crumbles of Manchego in their wake. Somehow Julian wasn’t surprised by this turn of events. Of course he’d stumbled upon this captivating, lunatic woman who inspired him to make prank calls stealing cheese from a local establishment. What else would she be doing?
He couldn’t quite locate the wherewithal to be exasperated with her, however. Who could be upset over anything when she was smiling? Not him. Especially when two very prominent emotions were crowding everything else out.
Number one? He was pissed the hell off. Wanted to go back into UNCORKED and knock some teeth out of the manager’s head, which was unlike him in every way. He wasn’t a violent man. He’d been in a few scrapes as a teenager, but he’d never experienced that hot surge from his belly to his throat before, like he’d felt when he’d seen Hallie being yelled at through the window. Who could shout at this . . . human sunflower? None of my business, his head tried to tell him. But his gut compelled him to storm inside and stand between her and any sort of negativity. Not on my watch.
Number two? An encroaching sense of dread tightened his arm around the sack of groceries. Dusty-ass has-beens. Those words cycled from one corner of his brain to the other, back and forth, so unlike the phrasing he was used to hearing describe Vos Vineyard.
Institution. Legendary. A cornerstone of the industry.
They stopped at a trash can, where Hallie rid herself of countless cheese samples, though she stubbornly held on to the Parmesan. “Before I tell you anything,” she started, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath that did nothing to settle his nerves. “I want you to know that I, personally, do not share any negative opinions about your family’s vineyard. Case in point, I just knocked over that cringey wine nightclub because it’s stepping on the toes of my beloved old stomping grounds. I value tradition and history—those are both words I would use to describe Vos. It’s part of St. Helena. But it, um . . . well, in recent years, some might say . . .”
The dread deepened. “Don’t soften the blow, Hallie. Let’s have it.”
She nodded once. “The fire was a setback to a lot of established wineries. They tried to recover, but the pandemic came along and knocked them out. Now there is a flood of competition from the buyers of those turnkey wineries. They’ve come along and modernized their operations, found new ways to lure in the crowds. And Vos . . .” She wet her lips. “According to what I’ve heard, it’s still in recovery mode, while all the new kids are expanding, bringing in celebrity spokesmen, and conquering social media.”
Bolts twisted on either side of his jugular. He’d found his mother’s request that he attend the Wine Down Napa festival a little odd, but he didn’t anticipate this. How bad were things? And . . . was he still so unwanted in the family business that she wouldn’t even ask for his help in a desperate situation? Yes, his father had made it very clear he didn’t want Julian’s influence on the vineyard. But his mother? Maybe she had even less faith in him than he’d realized. After his humiliating behavior after the fire, could he blame her?
“My mother mentioned none of this,” he managed.
“I’m sorry.” Hallie offered him the Parmesan, lowering it back down to her side when he declined with a curt head shake.
"I’m more of a goat cheese type.”
She did a double take. “Okay, Satan.” She nudged him in the ribs to let him know she was joking, and he barely resisted catching her wrist, keeping her hand there. Near. “If it makes you feel any better, I got extremely drunk last night on a bottle of Vos Sauvignon Bl . . .”
She trailed off, her face losing some of its rosy color.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. Just how much had that scrawny manager upset her? “I’m going back in there,” he growled, wheeling back toward the shop.
“No!” She caught his elbow, stopping him. “I’m . . . I’m okay.”
Clearly that wasn’t true. “Too much Parmesan?”
“No, I just . . .” Suddenly she seemed unable to look him in the eye. “I just remembered I forgot to tip my Uber driver from last night. And he was really good. He even waited for me while I made a stop.”
Why did she sound almost winded by the oversight?
“You can tip after the fact.”
“Yes.” She looked right through him, glassy-eyed, her color high. “Yes. I can. I will.”
“Does this hangover have anything to do with the decision to burgle cheese?”
“No.” She visibly shook herself, but her color was slow to return, voice slightly unnatural. “Maybe a little. But it didn’t help matters when the Tweed Twit walked into Corked like an entitled troll and made off with two dozen wineglasses, claiming UNCORKED needed them more.”
“Ah.” Irritation snaked through him all over again. “I’m extra glad I didn’t give him a selfie.”
“Speaking of which.” They walked down the sidewalk while Hallie tried and failed to tuck the cheese block into the front pocket of her jeans. Honestly, she was a constant jumble. And he couldn’t seem to take his damn eyes off her nonetheless. “What alien documentary?”
“It’s nothing,” he responded briskly.
“No way it’s nothing.” She laughed, and he was relieved to see her looking less pale than a moment ago. “Also, you promised an explanation, Vos. I demand satisfaction.”
A corner of his lips tugged. “Yes, I’m aware. I just don’t like to talk about it.”
“You just caught me committing a robbery. Give me something.”
He grew momentarily fascinated by her cajoling smile. Hungover or not, she still had her glow, didn’t she? Her brand of discombobulated beauty. And a lot like the first two times he’d been in the presence of Hallie, the pressure of his schedule seemed to have receded. But it tried to roar back into focus now, demanding he regroup. His watch became heavier on his wrist, minutes flying by without being accounted for. “Right, I’ll explain. But I have writing to do . . .”
She blinked at him, and he nearly leaned in to get a better look at the black circle around her irises. Is that what made their color so . . . distracting? He could take half an hour, couldn’t he?
Might as well face facts. Hallie was a stick of dynamite to his peace of mind, and he couldn’t seem to adhere to his plans when she was around. Especially when she tilted her head one way and squint-smiled up at him, the sun basking in that crease in the middle of her bottom lip. And the fact that he was noticing these details in lieu of the ticking clock meant something was seriously wrong with him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“I was just thinking the morning could have turned out a lot different,” she said. “If you hadn’t intervened, that is. Thank you. That was pretty heroic.”
What was the odd feeling in his middle? Heroic he was not. Yet he couldn’t help but covet Hallie thinking of him that way. To have this woman smile at him was some sort of celestial reward he didn’t know he’d been missing. When was he going to get enough of it? Soon, hopefully. This couldn’t very well be sustained. “No one should ever yell at you.”
She blinked. Was she breathing faster now? He wanted to know. Wanted to get close and study her and mentally file away the patterns of her behavior. The pathways to her Hallie Smiles.
“Th-thank you,” she responded, finally. Quietly. As if she couldn’t get the breath for much more—and it was little wonder why after her altercation with the manager.
He should really go back in there.
Would have. If she didn’t beam a grin at him and turn in the direction of the path that would lead to Vos Vineyard. The path he would have already gone down if this unruly woman hadn’t dragged him from his routines in such an adorable—no, criminal—way.
“I still want to know about the alien documentary.”
“I suspected as much,” he muttered, ignoring his watch. “A few years ago, I was asked to be part of an untitled documentary film. A student film. I assumed it was a semester project, something they would be turning in for a grade, so I didn’t read the fine print on the release form.” He shook his head over such uncharacteristic negligence on his part. “They asked me to speak on camera about the timekeeping methods of the ancient Egyptians. I was not aware that my theories would, in a roundabout way, support their belief that aliens are responsible for influencing certain time-measuring devices. They got a B minus on the film, but somehow it was picked up by Netflix, and now I’m an unwitting participant in an alien documentary. My students find it all very amusing.”
“And you clearly do not.”
“Correct.” Reluctantly, he added, “It’s called Time Martians On.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth, then let it drop, giving him a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but that’s extremely clever.”
“I suppose it is,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, I was not. And now I’m on film talking about a very important subject and they’ve edited it in such a way that I appear to be . . . very passionate about the existence of aliens.”
Looking ahead, she said something under her breath. It sounded like How did I not know about this? He must have heard her wrong. And then he got distracted by the way a dimple appeared in her cheek when she tried to bury a smile. It was adorable, really, and he had the insane impulse to fit his thumb into it.
“You’re lucky I don’t have Netflix or I’d be watching that sucker tonight with a bowl of popcorn.”
“Don’t have Netflix?” He couldn’t hide his shock. “Their documentary section alone is worth the membership, Time Martians On notwithstanding.”
“Oh no,” she deadpanned. “I can’t believe I’m missing out on all that excitement.” Whatever his expression—he guessed it was affronted—it made her giggle, the sound making him swallow thickly. “Oh, come on. There are worse things to be passionate about,” she said. “At least it wasn’t a Bigfoot biopic.”
The giggling was over, then? “That’s the only silver lining.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Amusement spread across her face, and a corresponding ripple went straight through him. “It was kind of nice watching Tweed Twit get starstruck in the midst of his tirade against me.”
They’d reached the beginning of the trail leading to the vineyard. He needed to wish her a good rest of the weekend and be on his damn merry way. But he hesitated. The full half an hour hadn’t passed yet. Changing his plan of action twice in one morning would throw him off even more, wouldn’t it? Yes. So he might as well keep talking to her. And ignore the relief sinking into his gut.
“Where did you go to high school?” He asked the question without thinking about it. Because he was genuinely curious, not just making the necessary small talk as he tended to do with women. He needed to know where a woman like Hallie sprang from.
A few beats of silence dragged out. Very briefly, her smile dimmed, and his stomach dropped with it. “Napa High,” she said, continuing on without giving him a chance to process that bombshell information. “You would have been three years ahead of me, I believe. A cool senior.” Her shoulder jerked. “I’m sure our paths didn’t cross very often.”
But they obviously had.
And he’d forgotten? How?
Who wouldn’t remember every detail of Hallie?
This was why she’d been disappointed in him the first time they’d met. Now he’d made the blunder twice. He’d be terrible at the job of full-time provider of smiles for this woman.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Stop.” Cheeks red, she waved off the apology. “It’s fine!”
Uh-oh. Not fine. Definitely not fine. He needed to get that smile back on her face by the time they parted ways, or he wouldn’t sleep tonight.
“Let me guess,” he said, equally determined to find out more about her. For reasons that couldn’t possibly be wise. “You were in drama club.”
“Yes. But only for a week. Then I tried playing the trombone in the marching band. For a month. Then I got a pair of nonprescription horn-rim glasses and joined the newspaper. And that was only sophomore year.” She looked into the distance at the rows of grapes on his family’s property, the sun bathing the earth in gold. Bathing her in gold. Her cheeks, her nose, the wild ringlets buried among the bigger curls on her head. “By junior year, my grandmother had gotten ahold of me. Helped me settle down.”
“I can’t imagine you ever settling down, Hallie.”
Her eyes shot to his. Probably because of the way he said her name. Like they were in bed together, tangled up in damp sheets. He could visualize them there so easily. Could feel himself liking what they did there. Loving it. To such a point that coming back down would be difficult. His reaction to her was flat-out difficult. It was too much.
“Um . . .” She wet her lips. “Well, she had a way of reining me in. Or maybe I just felt at home with her and I could relax. Focus. I’m a little untethered without her around. If she was there this morning for the cheese show, she would have said something like, ‘Hallie, all that glitters is not gold’ or ‘an empty vessel makes much noise,’ and I would have sighed or maybe even argued with her, because not every situation can be summed up with a proverb. But I probably wouldn’t have felt the need to steal cheese in the name of justice, either. Maybe I’ve been wrong all along and those proverbs are golden. Or at least a way of saving bail money.” She took a much-needed breath. Interested as he was in what she was saying, he’d actually started to get worried. “It’s terrible how you only realize these things when it’s too late.”
“It is. My father . . . he hasn’t passed or anything and God knows our relationship was never perfect. But I often find myself discovering meaning in something he told me, right out of the blue. It’ll just be relevant.” He went on speaking without considering his words. Odd behavior for him. Normally everything he said out loud was weighed and measured beforehand. “Your grandmother sounds like someone worth missing.”
He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing regularly until a smile formed on her mouth again. Again, he had the sudden urge to touch, to stroke her cheek, so he slipped his hand into the pocket of his shorts.
“Thank you. I like that. And she is.”
They just kind of looked at each other, her face turned up to the sun in deference of his height. Maybe he should stoop down slightly so she didn’t get a crick in her neck?
“She never quite pushed me as far as she’d hoped. Or she left before she could. The library . . . you know the town library? They’d been asking her to landscape their courtyard for years. She kept saying no. She asked me to do it, instead. It would be the biggest project I’ve ever taken on. The one that required the most commitment. I think . . . I don’t know, she wanted me to realize my potential to knuckle down and nurture something. The topper on her master-plan cake.” She shook herself as if embarrassed she’d been speaking for so long. As if he wasn’t praying she’d continue. “Wow, I’ve definitely taken up enough of your time. You came into town for a quick stop at the store and ended up sympathizing with a burglar.” Abruptly, she held out her hand to him for a shake. “Friends, Julian?” When he didn’t take her hand right away, she shifted right to left. “I appreciate what you did for me this morning, but wow . . . it really did make it obvious that we should probably be the kind of acquaintances that wave at each other in the store, right?”
Yes. That was true. Totally true. That didn’t mean he enjoyed parting ways with her. Didn’t like it last time, either. But if it had to be done—and since it did—he definitely preferred it happening as friends. Unfortunately, she was a friend he suspected he’d be thinking about to the point of distraction for a long time. “Right . . .”
Finally, he took her hand.
“Would it make you smile if I gave you my Netflix login?” He was actually saying this out loud. “So you could watch Time Martians On with popcorn?”
The slow grin that spread across her face made the entire world feel brighter.
“I think that would elevate you from friend to hero. Twice in one day.”
How in God’s name did he forget being in the same place at the same time as her?
She must have been dressed up for Halloween at the time. Or been wearing a potato sack that covered her head to toe. Those were the only explanations he could muster.
“Then I’ll text it to you,” he said, shaking her hand. “Enjoy.”
Hands dropping to their sides, they hesitated a moment, then turned and walked away. And Julian continued down the path, not glancing at his watch even once. He was too busy (a) texting Hallie his login and password, double- and triple-checking his punctuation and briefly considering a flower emoji, because it reminded him of her. And (b) replaying the last hour of his life and trying to figure out how the whole Hallie business had been so completely peculiar and off-beat, while also . . . dangerously exhilarating.
However, when he saw the white envelope sticking out of a tree stump ahead—an envelope with his name looping across the front—he had a feeling the day was about to get even more peculiar.
And he was right.
* * *
“Oh Jesus!” Hallie cried into the phone. “Oh Jesus. You’re not going to believe this.”
“Quiet down. Someone has stabbed me through the fuckin’ eye with a high heel,” Lavinia screeched back, clearly neck-deep in her own hangover. “What has you in a state?”
“Lavinia, I want to die.”
“Me too, currently.” Her friend’s voice was now muffled by a pillow. “I’m suspecting for a different reason. State your business or I’m hanging up.”
“I wrote the letter,” Hallie scream-whispered into the phone, just as she reached her truck. She threw herself inside and slammed the door, her pulse frenetic, stomach roiling. “I wrote Julian a secret admirer letter last night after dinner and I left it for him to find. I wrote it in the back of an Uber. I’m pretty sure I even asked the driver for advice and he said don’t do it. Don’t do it, crazy passenger. But I did. I left it for him on the jogging path, and unless it blew away, he’s in the process of finding it right now.”
“I can’t believe you did that. You swore you wouldn’t.”
“I can’t be expected to make promises under the influence of pasta and wine!”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have trusted your word.” A couch groaned in the background. Lavinia’s voice was clearer when she spoke again. “There’s no way to do damage control?”
“No. I mean, I didn’t sign my name, obviously. I think, anyway?”
“That would seriously defeat the purpose of a secret admirer letter.”
Her phone dinged to signal a text message. Julian’s Netflix login.
He’d saved her from a troll in tweed, rekindled her belief in good deeds and noble men, made her heart beat like it had finally remembered how, and given her his Netflix password—which was “calendar,” by the way—and in return, she’d word-vomited her admiration of him in a torrent of compulsiveness.
“I can’t even remember what I wrote!” Hallie dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel. “Please tell me the morning dew blurred the ink or the whole thing blew away. Please tell me that’s possible and Julian Vos isn’t reading my drunken ramblings right now.”
Lavinia’s pause lasted a beat too long. “I’m sure it blew away, babe.”
“No way I’m that lucky, huh?”
“Doubt it.” There was a muffled voice in the background. “Got to go. Jerome needs help with the rush. Keep me posted, Shakespeare!”
Hallie took a deep breath and let the disconnected phone drop to her lap, staring into a void. What was she going to do?
Nothing. That’s what. Sit tight and hope. That if the letter didn’t get caught in the wind, nothing she said in those paragraphs could identify her. For all she remembered, she might have actually labeled the envelope with her home address. God.
Okay. Tomorrow she was scheduled to be back at the Vos guesthouse to do some planting. She’d just have to remain in the dark until then—and then she’d either be granted a reprieve. Or her feelings for Julian would no longer be her innocent little secret.