Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(10)

“Yeah, okay.” It was true. Felicia could sell a bottle of wine to just about anyone, and was full of phrases like “that particular region of France” and “long, lingering finish with notes of fresh snow and blackberry.” It sounded pretty ridiculous to Jess, but Felicia’s clients spent more, and that meant bigger tabs, which also meant bigger tips.

“Blue Heron Winery is having a class next week,” Hugo continued. “You went to school with Faith Holland, didn’t you? Want to go there?”

“I’d rather not take that one,” she said easily. “If that’s okay. Next week is a little packed.”

Hugo nodded. He’d hired her to bus tables when she was fifteen, promoted her to waitress and was now teaching her to bartend. He never asked why she didn’t go to college like all the other Manningsport kids, or enlist, or leave town to find something other than a waitressing job.

He knew why. He probably knew more than she wanted him to, including why she’d try to dodge a class at Blue Heron.

“Okay, kid,” he said with a nod. “I’ll see what else is around.”

“Thank you.” The words didn’t come easily to her, but she rubbed the top of his head, said, “Lucky bald spot,” and went back to work, stuffing down her feelings.

Manningsport was a moderately wealthy town. Full of vineyards and families that went back generations, like the Hollands, or wealthy transplants, like the Lyons, or families whose parents earned a lot of money, like the O’Rourkes.

And scattered in between, like weeds in a garden, were families who were poor, and had tussles with the law, and had drinking problems or drug problems and always, always had money problems. Families where the mother was milking the system, claiming a lifetime disability from a vague knee injury she got four days after being hired at the high school as a lunch lady. Families where the father couldn’t hold a job and had been driven home in a police car more times than a person could count.

Her family, in other words.

But she had Davey. If not for him, she would’ve left Manningsport the second she could drive, moved somewhere far away from anyone who knew why she was called Jessica Does. Maybe she’d live in Europe. Italy, where she’d fall in love and learn the language and become a clothing designer or something.

But there was her brother, and he was her responsibility and hers alone, so none of those thoughts were worth more than a few seconds. Davey made staying worthwhile and then some.

A week later, Hugo handed her some papers and walked away. “Don’t say no,” he said over his shoulder. “You can figure it out.”

The first page confirmed her enrollment in a day-long wine class at the Culinary Institute of America, down in Hyde Park, a good four hours’ drive.

The next page was a hotel reservation at the Hudson Riverview Hotel.

He was putting her up overnight.

Hands tingling, Jess went into the office, which was empty, and Googled the place.

It was beautiful. A four-star hotel overlooking the Hudson. Full complimentary breakfast and a welcome cocktail. The beds were king-size; Jess still slept in a twin in the room she shared with her brother. A huge tub and a fancy, glassed-in shower. A flower arrangement in the lobby the size of a small car.

She turned around and saw Hugo, smiling sheepishly. “I thought you might like to get out of town.”

“Hugo,” she began, but her words stopped there.

“Just promise you’ll go. I can even check in on your brother, okay? And don’t you cry! Are those tears in your eyes? Don’t you dare, or I’ll fire you.”

A few days later she kissed her brother, pried his arms from around her neck, told him Chico Two would take good care of him, warned her parents to stay sober, reminded her mother of the heating instructions for the casserole she’d cooked the night before and got in the car.

She was going to a hotel. The class would be fine, sure, but she was going to stay in a hotel.

The four-hour drive flew by, and as the miles passed, Jessica felt...light. Yes, she was worried about Davey, but she’d be back tomorrow afternoon. She fully intended to sleep late and eat that breakfast. But she would be staying in a gorgeous hotel near the Vanderbilt Mansion and the Culinary Institute of America. She planned to have dinner in the hotel dining room, and if there was a wedding there this weekend, she might peek in the ballroom—because her hotel had a ballroom! A bath in that tub, definitely. Her house didn’t have a tub, just a shower with mold growing on the caulk, no matter how much bleach she sprayed on it.

When she finally got to the hotel, it was even prettier than the internet pictures. Her heart pounded as she walked in. She should’ve brought a suitcase, rather than her backpack, but hey, it was fine. She looked casual, that was all.

“How are you today?” asked the older man behind the counter.

“I’m just fine,” she said. “Jessica Dunn.”

He clicked a few keys on his computer. “And I see all expenses are covered by a Hugo’s Restaurant?”

“Oh. Um, yes. My employer.”

“What do you do for them?”

For a second, she was tempted to say she was a manager, or the sommelier, not that Hugo had one, or the chef. “I’m on the waitstaff.”

He gave her a quick once-over, then handed her a key. “I’ve upgraded you to a junior suite,” he said. “Enjoy your stay with us. I’m off at seven. Perhaps I can buy you a drink.”