Ani tapped to read it.
Hey girl! So I’m having my first wedding dress try-on this Friday at Belle Bridal. Would loooooooove if you could come and give me your expert advice. I trust you more than Mom and Galia tbh. You know what I mean! Can you come? Pleeeeease? At noon. xx
Ani stared at the last letters of the text. Ex. Ex.That’s exactly right, Kami, she thought angrily.I am your ex. Only once over, but thanks for the reminder. Kami was inviting her to something as personal as wedding dress shopping? This felt wrong. So wrong.
And yet Ani could not resist the pull of Kami, even after so long. Part of her wanted to see Kami again, to bask in the warmth of her attention, to feel that rush of being the person Kami trusted most. But another part of her—the part that had spent months,years, untangling herself from the aftermath of their breakup—knew better. This was a terrible idea.
Not to mention the family factor. Would Kami’s mom even want her there? They always got along, and she adored Kami’s sister, Galia, especially, but how utterly awkward. She could already picture the polite but strained smiles.
She sighed, her thumb hovering over the screen. She knew she should say no. But she was the wedding planner—the wedding planner who desperately had to keep her clients happy. And her bride, ex or no ex, needed her.
Sure, I’ll be there, she typed.
When she pulled away from the winery, she spotted Raffi at the doors of the villa. He raised his hand in a small wave, and Ani felt a strange tug at the bottom of her stomach as she remembered the weight of his coat and the charged air between them not an hour ago. Then she waved back.
6
Raffi
Raffi was athome—a town house that was a recent build, modern and sleek inside—after a fabulous lie-in until ten. He was about to brew his first cup of sourj for the day to cure himself of the hellish hangover he’d gotten after a night out with Chris and way, way too many martinis. It was a few days after Ani and Sanan had come to the winery, and he and his father had gotten into one of their famous rows after his dad tripped but luckily caught himself—although Raffi had suggested, again that his father get a cane.
His dad must have been in a foul mood from something else because he lost it on Raffi, threatening to take back the winery and revoke his inheritance, blah blah blah. Raffi, not feeling like backing down, told his dad he didn’t need any inheritance, could make it on his own, and as for the winery, he was running it beautifully, thank you very much.
The truth was, the wine itself was good, maybe even great, but no one had heard about Ô. They were too new, there was too much competition, and Raffi was having trouble sellingbottles. Every trick he’d picked up from his MBA courses fell flat. All the retailers seemed to have their relationships with suppliers set. People said they’d look into it and call him back but never did. Raffi was, actually, panicking.
Thank God for the wedding, even if it was Kami’s, Raffi thought as he scooped the finely ground Armenian coffee into the jezveh. He had enough runway that he could wait for the wedding to happen and hope for the PR to work its magic.
But he still wanted to do something else in the meantime. One of the main skills he’d picked up in his MBA program was how to party, although he had already been a dab hand at it. Still, his fellow business-degree earners loved to organize and throw parties of all themes. He should do that at Ô. Invite them all, his book club, too, of course, plus the more rager-y types who would guarantee the function wouldn’t be a bore—and buy bottle after bottle. He resolved to get a date on the calendar and contact them.
As he watched the coffee begin to bubble, he remembered Ani saying something about picking out stone tile for the flooring.
He gave the wedding planner a call.
“Ani jan,” he said, suddenly in a good mood, although he hadn’t had his first sip of coffee yet.
He heard her voice over the phone’s speaker.
“Raffi, what’s up?”
The sound of her reminded him of the shed. The two of them locked in together, Ani shivering to herself, pretending she wasn’t freezing her ass off. She’d been so shocked when he put his coat on her; it was like no one had ever done somethingnice for her in her life. That, or she thought so little of him that she couldn’t believe he’d give up his warmth for her.
When she had handed his coat back, he picked up the faintest scent of orange blossoms. For some reason, long after she left, he kept catching the phantom scent of it.
“Today’s stone-picking day, right?” he asked.
“Something like that, yes.”
The coffee foamed, threatening to boil over. Perfect. Raffi lifted it off the burner, turned the stove off, and began to pour.
“You know I’m coming with you.”
“Raffi, I am well qualified to select stone tile on my own.”
“Ani jan,” he said, privately reveling in adding thatjan, that little appendage of admiration to her name, “I told you I need to approve every last nail, plant, and piece of tape that gets put up at my winery. I’m coming.”
There was silence on the other end, and he wondered if he had pushed too far, reminding her of their first unfortunate interaction. He took the moment to sip his sourj. It was excellent, just the right amount of sweetness.
“Fine. I was going to go to a place near SF, but since you’re coming, too, there’s an even better warehouse just outside Napa. Richland Tile Company.”
