Margot hadn’t purposely rented a house within walking distance of the Barrel, but it was definitely an advantage. Especially since Sydney rarely let her pay for her drinks.
“He hired someone for the tasting room while I was gone. And you know my brother has a one-track mind when it comes to hiring—all he cares about is whether they can talk intelligently about wine in the way he wants them to. Yes, of course, people have to be passionate about wine and be able to represent our winery correctly. I care about that, too! But the tasting room jobs are customer service at their core; it’s also important for tasting room staff to be engaging, not to bore people about wine, not to be condescending. But Elliot doesn’t care about any of that. He didn’t want me to expand our tasting room in the first place, even though it’s been successful! And do you know who’s going to have to deal with the fallout if this William or whoever Elliot hired sucks?”
Sydney pushed a jar of breadsticks in front of her.
“You?” she asked.
“Me!” Margot said. She took a sip of wine and picked up a breadstick. “I need people who can sell wine, not just talk about it! Make people want to stay longer, join our wine club, all of that! What good will it do us if we have to get rid of whoever this is in the midst of the busy season, or if they quit and leave us in the lurch, or . . .”
Margot stopped herself, and looked at Sydney. Then they both burst out laughing.
“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Margot said.
Sydney nodded.
“You’re absolutely doing it again. I wasn’t going to say it, though.”
Not two weeks before, Margot had been sitting right here at the bar, and had told Sydney she was going to work on not letting the little things get to her, especially the little things about working with her brother. And now here she was, doing it again.
“You could have said it.” She waved a breadstick at Sydney. “You’re probably the only person who could, actually. Okay, you’re right—no more work talk out of me tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about my trip and what a success it was, but tonight, I’m just going to sit at the bar and keep you company and eat all of the snacks that chef of yours wants to send over to me.”
Just then, a plate of arancini landed in front of Margot, and she grinned, first at the waiter, then at Sydney.
“See? A sign.”
Sydney laughed.
“A sign indeed. And yes, definitely, no talking about work, but did anyone tell you about the local drama over the weekend while you were gone?”
Margot’s eyes widened as she picked up one of the cheese-filled fritters.
“No. This sounds juicy. Tell me.”
“Well . . .” Sydney looked over Margot’s shoulder. Margot saw her friend’s professional smile flash on.
“Welcome to the Barrel. Would you like to sit at the bar?”
She left Margot to go serve the couple who had just walked in, but that didn’t bother Margot. That’s what they did, these nights that she came in when Syd was behind the bar. They had snatches of gossip and catching up and laughter, whenever Sydney could spare time from serving people and putting out fires elsewhere in the restaurant.
Margot pulled her phone out as she sipped her wine and snacked. She should deal with some of these emails that had come in over the weekend, and get responses ready to go out on Monday morning. This was especially important since she’d have to spend her Monday—and much of the upcoming week—training two new staff members. If only her brother had checked with her schedule and . . . no. No, she wasn’t going to do that now, remember?
This was fine. It would be fine. She would just deal with these emails tonight and then this new person tomorrow and she would figure it all out. She hoped.
Sydney came back to take the drink order from someone who had just sat down next to Margot, and then poured more wine in Margot’s glass.
“You know what you need?” Sydney said. “You need a vacation.”
“I was just out of town for a week.”
Sydney shook her head.
“That wasn’t a vacation, you were working the whole time. You need a real sit on the beach, go out to dinner without it being a work dinner, wander around a city for fun, no checking your work emails at seven p.m. on Sunday night kind of vacation.”
“That sounds incredible,” Margot said. “But I don’t have time—or the mental energy—to actually plan a vacation. I just want to be on vacation, without having to deal with any of the decisions that go into that. What I need is someone else to plan it for me.”
“You would never let anyone else plan a vacation for you,” Sydney said. “Well, other than me, and I don’t have time for that, either.”
Margot thought about that.
“Maybe if they knew me well enough? If I trusted them enough?”
They looked at each other and laughed.
“Right,” Sydney said. “Never mind.”
Someone called Sydney’s name at the door, and she came out from behind the bar. Margot slid her phone into her jacket pocket and went to the bathroom. When she came out of the stall, she looked at herself in the mirror. Well, even though she was exhausted, at least her hair looked good today. That’s probably why she’d managed to keep her cool with her brother—she had special powers on good-hair days, she was almost positive. She touched up her lipstick and walked out of the bathroom.
On the way back to the bar, she poked her head into the kitchen to say hi to Charlie, the chef at the Barrel.
“Loved the arancini, Charlie,” Margot said.
“Thanks, Margot. And welcome back,” Charlie said.
Sydney stopped Margot outside of the kitchen.
“How much do you love me?” she asked.
Margot looked at her sideways. This meant either something very good or very bad.
“Very much. Why are you asking me this, here, right now?”
Sydney grinned at her. That grin meant it was very bad.
“Oh no. Don’t do this to me again,” Margot said.
Sydney’s grin got bigger.
“Oh yes. You didn’t even glance at him when he sat down, but that guy sitting next to you is adorable. And because you love me, you’ll take advantage of this.”
Sydney had been trying this for months now. Margot never took the bait.
“Are you going to just keep this up until I give in someday?”
She looked over at the bar and saw the guy Sydney was talking about. He was adorable, Sydney was right. Black, warm brown skin, a slightly scruffy beard, kind of dorky looking, but in a good way. However.
“Oh good Lord, my answer is definitely no. What is he, like twenty-six? Twenty-seven? Way too young for me! I’ll be thirty-five in a few months, Syd!”
Sydney rolled her eyes.
“Who cares how old he is? I’m just telling you to talk to the man, not have babies with him. You need some stress relief! Come on, it’ll be fun. If you do it, I’ll give you free wine.”
Margot laughed.
“You always give me free wine.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll give you free food,” Sydney said.
Margot just looked at her.
“Fine, fine,” Sydney said. “If you say hi to him—just hi, that’s all you have to do—I’ll let you pay for your wine.”
Oh wow. Sydney had never tried that one before.
Margot shook her head and walked back to her seat.
“Nice try,” she said over her shoulder.
As Margot shimmied up onto her barstool, she glanced at the guy next to her. He stared down at the menu with a small frown on his face. He let out a sigh and looked up at the bar; she could tell his mind wasn’t on the menu.
There was no reason for her to wonder where this man’s mind actually was, or what was bothering him, or why he was here at the Barrel tonight. He was far too young for her.
He pulled off his hoodie, seemingly for no other reason than to show off his biceps, right there next to Margot. But hey, they were very good biceps; if he wanted to show them off, Margot wouldn’t stop him.
Sydney caught her eye and grinned. She’d definitely seen Margot checking this guy out. Margot couldn’t help but grin back. Okay, fine, after the day she’d had, it was a nice break to ogle the guy sitting on the barstool next to her—she’d admit it.
Might as well make Sydney’s day. Plus, maybe if she did it, just this once, Sydney would get off her back.
“Hi,” she said as she picked up her wineglass. “I’m Margot.”
He turned to her, with a quick smile.
“Hi, Margot. I’m Luke.”
* * *
“HI, LUKE,” THE WOMAN sitting next to him said.
He’d noticed her right when he’d walked into the restaurant: She’d laughed at something the bartender had said, and her laugh had carried all the way to the front door. It was a deep, throaty, warm laugh, and it had made him look at her right away, and had made him particularly pleased that the seat next to her was empty. He’d eavesdropped a little on her conversation with the bartender after he’d sat down, but after she’d left to go to the bathroom, he’d gone back to staring down at the menu and wondering if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.
It was a relief to turn to her, to have someone else to talk to, to get out of his own head, if only for a few minutes.
“Are you new in town, or just visiting?” Margot asked him.