Page 21 of Wild Abandon

A mop? “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Walking away from me, he says, “If we’re gonna open her back up, we’d better make these floors shine.”

My voice comes out in a huff. “I wasn’t hired to clean. I was hired to play the cello.” Wasn’t I?

With his back still to me, he says, “Can’t play if they won’t come to this mess.”

And he walks out the door.

I blow out a puff of air and look at the stupid mop. I feel like this is some kind of Karate Kid moment. Maybe I’ll learn some awesome winetasting skill based on the movement of mopping the floor.

Yeah, I know. Not likely.

It’s been two weeks since I stepped off the plane. In two weeks, I’ve gone on three bad dates, had eight days of employment where I’ve cleaned an old barn turned winery—like I belong to the Merry Maids—and had several lessons on the art of wine by a man whom I can’t say no to for some reason. Something about Big Ed makes me want to hug him, but I wouldn’t dare because he’d probably ask me if I were on acid before he walked out of the room.

The way I hear him humming old show tunes makes me smile. Earlier today, I was reorganizing the bar area—which I have learned is where the wine tastings will occur—and sorting through the cabinets. I was making piles of old wine bottles and cork, coming up with craft ideas I could do with them, when I heard him whistling while walking through the room. It took me a moment to decipher the song. I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

And then he started to sing in a very low voice to himself, “I feel pretty. Oh, so pretty…”

Silencing my chuckle, I placed my hand over my mouth and hid on the floor behind the bar, hoping he wouldn’t see me. When he was safely out of the room, I let out a laugh and went back to work.

And here I am, at a restaurant, contemplating the contradiction that is Ed Martin.

“What do you know about Big Ed?” I ask Naomi, who is sitting across from me at ZuZu, a tapas restaurant in Downtown Napa.

“Nothing. Scarlet and I were driving around, looking for boutique wineries and places off the beaten path. Did you know there are over four hundred wineries in Napa Valley, and ninety-five of those are family owned? There are a ton of these smaller wineries that produce fewer than five thousand cases of wine annually. Those are the ones I want to work with.

“Scar and I were driving around, and I almost missed that old beat-up sign outside. We didn’t leave until he agreed to work with us.” She stuffs a piece of braised pork cheek in her mouth.

“What made you think I’d want to work there?”

Naomi finishes her bite. “I don’t know. There’s something about that place. Like it needed a fresh start. It reminded me of you.”

I nod in agreement and take a bite of the pan-roasted brussels sprouts. I’d like to think I’m not as beat-up and neglected as Russet Ranch, but I get what she means.

“So, any new hot dates coming up?” she asks.

The waiter delivers three new dishes to our table—mussels, chili-pepper rockfish, and lamb chops.

“Wow, this looks delicious.” My mouth waters as I start forking food onto my plate. I purposely avoid having to relive the two dates I had last week at Henley’s.

The first was Colton on Monday. Things were going well until I noticed the outline of a wedding ring on his finger. I mean, we met on MatchDateLove, not Ashley Madison.

On Thursday I went out with Jake, who was really funny. Too funny. The kind of funny where his laugh was really loud, and he put his hand to his chest and gasped for breaths, making him sound like a barking seal. At one point, I thought he was choking but, no, he was laughing. And he laughed a lot. I could have tried to overlook the cackle if he didn’t try to put his hand up my skirt mid date.

As soon as the dates were over, I left the pub without a look to the bar.

Okay, fine, I peeked.

And he was always there.

Watching.

Naomi raises her hand and makes a grabbing motion. “Give me your phone.”

I raise a brow. “Why?”

Her fingers are wiggling in the air. “I’m picking your next date.”