The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(10)

Mom laid her hand on Junie’s. There was a plea in her voice when she said, “Come to Portland with me. There’re jobs, great food, culture, men. . . .”

“One thing about being a server, I’ll never starve. And there are plenty of men in Clarkston. . . .”

The bell on the door signaled the arrival of a quartet of bearded lumbersexuals wearing colorful plaid shirts and skinny jeans. Bringing up the rear was an out-of-place, clean-shaven Hercules whose deltoids strained at the seams of his neatly pressed oxford shirt. He’d lost the navy blazer somewhere along the way, but Junie would have recognized him anywhere. When Manolo spotted her, he broke out in a spontaneous grin and scrubbed the top of his head, leaving his layered hair endearingly spiked. He angled his body in her direction.

Her heart stopped.

Then something spooked him, gave him pause. Maybe it was Sam and Heath’s polite but guarded waves. The next thing she knew, Poppy had lassoed Manolo in with the others and led them toward a table on the other side of the café.

Only Keval peeled off from the group. But then, Keval had always been a maverick. In the words of Red McDonald, voted Clarkston’s best therapist two years in a row, poor Keval had been “born without the ability to ascertain the emotional temperature of a room.”

“Hello, ladies! Sam thought we could use some coffee—considering he got us all day drunk. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Junie. And Dr. Hart! Don’t you look precious? Love those glasses with your face shape.”

“Hi, Kev.” Junie sighed with a combination of relief and disappointment that he had been the one to come over instead of Manolo.

“Thank you, Keval. But now, if you’ll excuse us, Junie and I are in the midst of an important discussion.”

“Oops!” Keval’s fingertips flew to his lips. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he whispered loudly, tiptoeing backward. “Pretend I wasn’t even here!”

“I meant eligible men,” Mom said when Keval was out of hearing range.

Unlike Keval, Junie was apparently cursed with an overdeveloped emotional barometer. The electricity that had been arcing between her and Manolo from the moment he’d entered her tasting room was stronger than ever, making the hair on her arms stand on end. It took all she had not to look over at him, to stay focused on the conversation at hand.

“Mom. I know what cities are like. When I was at college, I hung out in San Francisco more weekends than I can count.”

“Even if we put the house and vineyard on the market right away, it will take a while to sell. But, Junie, the movers will be here first thing tomorrow morning for my things. I could ask them to take yours while they’re there.”

“Mom! I’ve moved seven times in my life—eleven, if you count each year of college! I’m sick of moving. I want Clarkston to be my forever home. Wait—tomorrow?”

Across the room, five heads jerked up in unison. Manolo caught her eye over the top of his menu. His face remained carefully blank.

Mom putting a date on her move somehow made it real. Junie felt her face threaten to crumble. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “I’m meeting a guy about the porch at noon. Besides, tomorrow’s Saturday. A good day for tourists.”

Her mom sank back in her chair with a pitying look. Then she drained her teacup and intoned, “There’s something else.”

Now what?

“I’ve met someone, Junie.”

Another one?

Just then, Poppy brought the check. She glanced at Junie’s gaping mouth and the half-eaten sticky bun, sitting forlornly on her plate. “Chin up, sweetie,” she whispered, bending down to give her a tight squeeze. “I’ll call you.”





Chapter Five


“Touch-y!” Keval slid into the booth next to Manolo. “I love Dr. Hart. But watch out when she’s in a mood.”

Sam sipped his coffee without looking up. “Those two going at it again?”

“Who knows?” Keval picked up his menu. “Something about how the jobs and the food and the men are all better in Portland. Well, duh. Poor Junie looked like she was ready to burst into tears.”

“It’ll be interesting to see who gets the prize for most bullheaded in the end,” said Sam.

“No one ever said making a living off the land was easy,” said Rory, flexing his meaty hands. Manolo noted that they were already work-stiffened, the hands of a forty-year-old on a thirty-year-old’s body.

“Preach it,” Heath grunted in accord, ripping the top off a pack of sugar with his teeth and dumping it into his own cup o’ joe. “My old man’s been growing nursery stock all his life. Takes its toll on you.”

The server they called Poppy appeared and took their orders. Before she scurried off again, Sam sent a subtle glance in the direction of Junie’s booth. “What’re you hearing over there?” he asked her under his breath.

That’s a small town for you. Everyone up in everyone else’s business. City neighborhoods were the same way. Manolo’s folks knew everyone within ten blocks of the restaurant. He was glad he wasn’t stuck in that cloistered life anymore.

“Oh, the usual. Junie’s mom’s talking about moving, Junie doesn’t want to.”

“Move? When?” Somehow, Manolo found himself sucked into the gossip mill.