“Let me look through my contacts.”
I set my phone down and switched to speaker so I could enjoy my bagel without chewing in Melissa’s ear. I wondered what Shane was eating for breakfast. Did he have food? There was no power in the damned showroom, so he wouldn’t have milk. Might have butter since the weather wasn’t melting-hot yet?—
“Liz Campbell-Waite,” Melissa said. “Friend of a friend, but I have a note she’s highly recommended by them. I’ll send you her contacts.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“You’re not ditching us down here for the small-town life?” The teasing words didn’t hide a hint of concern in Melissa’s tone. I was a regular client and I’d made her a fair bit of money over the years.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing.”Boy, am I not sure.“I inherited some property up this way and it’s turned into a bigger mess than I expected.”
“Oh, of course.” She sounded more relieved than she should’ve been, but then that was a very edited version of the truth. “Good luck straightening your inheritance out. Let me know when you’re ready to look around for the next Lafontaine special.”
“Will do. Thanks for everything. I’ll look forward to your emails.”
I finished my breakfast in silence, gazing out at the sunny back yard. This room was a nice temperate seventy degrees. I wore a T-shirt and boxers, my hair damp from my morning shower. Back in the wine-tasting venue, Shane would be shivering, maybe. The outdoor thermometer in my window said it was fifty-one today. He’d be wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, probably a jacket over them, maybe he’d have slept in all that to stay warm.
Shane had laughed at my pajama pants folded on the dresser, when we’d gotten to the bedroom last night.“You pick out the Rudolph reindeers by yourself?”
I’d told him they were a joke gift a couple years back, and he said he hadn’t owned pajamas since he was ten and outgrew his Batman suit. Then he’d shoved me down on the bed and sucked my brains out through my dick, before I drove him and Mimsy back to the venue through the dark streets.
I could buy him a pair of pajamas. As a joke, of course. But they wouldn’t be as warm as what he wore now. A pair of sweats, maybe… but he’d made it crystal clear he didn’t want me to buy him things.“You can suck my dick any time, but no gifts, right? No bribes. Don’t go slinging your money around.”
After cleaning up the kitchen, I changed into jeans and a shirt for the day. Now that Shane had seen my house and I’d confessed… well, some things… I could wear my favorite pair of Iron Heart jeans that hugged my ass just right and a tailored shirt with the sleeves rolled up under my leather bomber. Rob had taught me to dress in styles that looked great while staying casual. I wanted Shane to see me at my best, even if he just caught sight of me picking up groceries or whatever I was doing that morning. Going back to the venue less than twelve hours after I dropped him off would look needy. I had errands— surely, some kind of errands— to do first.
Except the wine venue called to me as I backed the Tesla out of the driveway, and I stopped pretending I was going anywhere else. Two weeks ago, I’d have said I wouldn’t be caught dead in there, except to burn it down, and now Shane had turned the damned place into a magnet. I didn’t have to stay inside long, of course. I could offer Shane a ride to wherever he needed to be. That was as good a reason as any to stop by.
But I found, as I pulled the side door open, that I’d discounted, in the fun of hanging out with Shane, how much the venue still loomed over my past. Stepping into the hallway reminded me, like a smack to the face, making me shiver. In the dusty unused smell filling my nose, I imagined I could pick up the tang of wine and my stomach turned. A scuff of my foot on the floor turned into Grand-père’s heavy tread. My mouth went dry.
Instead of calling out to Shane, I wandered toward the back, blinking at the empty, cobwebby space, lit only by thin shafts of sunlight through the glass blocks set high in the wall. Here, in the big wine storage room, there’d been half a dozen giant coolers, each set at the precise temperatures to store and serve the varietals in question. I could see scuff marks on the concrete where someone had hauled them away, leaving this echoing void.
When I was eight, Grand-père used to walk me past the coolers and snap out, “Chardonnay. Temperature?” I was supposed to respond with, “Thirteen to sixteen for storage. Nine for serving.” In Celsius, of course, not Fahrenheit, because we were French, not uncultured Americans.“Syrah?”“Seventeen.” “Pinot noir?” “Thirteen.”He’d vary the order and not match the cooler we stood by, so I had to listen carefully and couldn’t just repeat a sequence. If I failed, I got a blast of disapproval, a list of my failings as a Lafontaine in his most vicious tones…
Something touched my elbow. “What?” I jumped and whirled around.
Shane stepped back, his hands raised. “Hey. I said your name.”
“I didn’t hear you. Sorry.”
“You looked like you were seeing ghosts.”
Something like that.“I stopped by to see if you needed a ride anywhere.”
“And couldn’t help wandering around?” He pirouetted across the concrete floor, arms out. “What do you think this open part was for? Dancing while holding your wine glass?”
“I guess they had to store the wine somewhere?” Making that a question wasn’t a lie, exactly.
“Oh, yeah. Makes sense.” He stopped in front of me. “You seriously want to drive me somewhere?”
“Sure. My business is still stalled out.”Because I can’t get my head around what I should do next.
“Cool. Maybe you can give me a ride to Arthur’s place. He said he’d have more work for me. It’s been several days. Probably all those dogs managed to shit a bunch more.”
“If that’s what you want. Or we could go for a drive, see the coast.”
Shane hesitated. “Nah, sounds good, but I need to make some money. Groceries don’t buy themselves, you know. And I’m saving for a phone.”
I’d buy you a phone.I gritted my teeth and took a breath. “Sure. I’d love to be able to text you when I’m coming over, so you don’t give me a heart attack.”
