1.2

“You do,” I agreed.

Her face fell without me saying a word. “You’ve got way too much on your plate, Boston. I do know that. Hiring someone would be as much a help for you as for me.”

She wasn’t wrong. Since Dad had died suddenly last year, I’d been running the family business and helping Mom launch her fledgling winery. And it was a lot.

“I’m okay, Mom. And we’ll get you some help. It’ll all be fine.” I’d been telling myself that all year. If we could get a Cracker Jack salesperson in to handle some of Mom’s needs, maybe even help out at West Wine Distributors, then maybe I could take a day off.

“Go have some fun, Boston,” Mom said, putting on her I’m-a- professional expression. “I’ve got this covered. I won’t leave the table again.”

I turned and looked around the scene.

It was a perfect day. The sun shone, the grass glistened at our feet, and a cool breeze was trundling in intermittent wisps over the green hills in the distance, carried off the Pacific by a generous breeze. The event was in full swing, and every boutique winery in Solano Valley had a table set up. My job was to taste the wines and offer distribution to the very best, taking a cut when I managed to sell their wines into the high-end restaurants around the Bay Area.

“‘Sup bro?” My little brother Dalton stepped near, grinning at me and then winking at our mother.

“You know, just working,” I told him, emphasizing the “w” word. “You work too much,” Dalton said.

“I just told him that,” Mom agreed.

“Who works too much?” Lincoln appeared from nowhere, taking up a spot on my other side.

“Oh, you guys,” Mom’s voice went high and warbly and her hand went to her chest as she smiled at us. “Seeing you all together here like this. It just makes me miss your dad so much. And Dillon too. I wish they were both here.”

Dalton pulled his phone out of his pocket, and within seconds had his twin brother Dillon on screen. “Mom misses you,” he shouted at the phone over the escalating noise of the festival.

“Dillon, honey!” Mom shrieked. “When are you coming home?”

We couldn’t hear what Dillon said, but the answer was undoubtedly the same as always—soon. But Dillon hadn’t gotten the family-business gene, evidently. He’d moved down to San Diego and stayed there despite Mom’s constant efforts to bring him back.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and preparing to extricate myself from the usual Cunningham family chaos. “I really do need to get to work.”

“Hey,” Lincoln said, dropping a big hand on my shoulder. “Who’s Chad with? Doesn’t that girl work for us?”

I followed Lincoln’s gaze across the crowd to the dance floor, catching sight of Chad twirling someone around the space, wearing his trademark girl-getting grin. It was hard to get a good look at the girl’s face since Chad kept turning her around, but I could see that she had a fantastic body— curves for miles. As they finally stopped spinning, her arms reached up to his shoulders, no doubt to stop herself toppling over from dizziness, and my heart leapt into my mouth as I figured out who it was.

El. She definitely did work for us. Her full name was Isabel, and she worked in accounting at West Wine. She was an excellent accountant. And she was hot in a carefree and spontaneous way that drew me to her for no explicable reason. I was organized and polished—you had to be in sales. And yet, there was something about El that had me running totally unnecessary trips into the accounting office, dropping off empty folders and delivering pointless messages just so I had an excuse to walk by her desk. Her always messy, totally haphazard and scattered desk.

“She does work for us,” I confirmed. I’d stepped away from Mom’s table, moving nearer to where Chad had El in his arms, and I was marveling at the strange uncomfortable feeling rolling around inside me as I watched them together. El was smiling that wide happy smile that I’d seen many times before, the one that made me feel like maybe she knew something about the world I hadn’t figured out yet.

“She’s about to get Chadwicked,” Lincoln observed.

My stomach turned over at the thought and I regretted that last tiny glass of Chenin blanc. I didn’t like thinking of her with Chad. He was too slick for her, too much of a player. El was a nice girl. Kind of a crazy mess, but a nice girl.

I knew she didn’t think I was very nice at all, unfortunately.

“Could you just help Mom?” I asked him, turning away from him and from the dance floor as unwanted memories of my most recent interaction with El flew to the front of my mind.

She’d interviewed for a sales position, and since I was the director of sales now that Dad was gone, I’d been the one she had to talk to. I didn’t understand why she’d want to be in sales in the first place. She was genuine and sweet, the kind of person who lived her life right out in the open, messy bits and all. To be a good salesperson, you had to be buttoned up, pulled together. And you had to keep whatever insanity was boiling over inside you covered up, tucked away. Sales was about appearances.

So when I had tried to explain to El why I didn’t think she’d be a good fit in sales, I’d managed to insult her multiple times in the process, which was not what I’d hoped to do.

I’d actually thought maybe I could convince her what an amazing accountant she was and tell her how much we needed her to stay there. And then I’d thought maybe I would ask her to coffee or something. But by the time she was leaving my office, I was pretty certain she hated me.

No, beautiful carefree El Watson and I would not be having coffee together. Not now, not ever.