Drunk on Love(4)

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.

He tried to figure out how to answer that.

“Neither,” he said. “I grew up here, and I just moved back, but only for a little while. Three months, max. Probably less.” That was probably way more information than she’d wanted. “But how could you tell? That I’m not a local, I mean.”

“Oh.” She swirled the wine in her glass and grinned at him. “Your clothes.”

He frowned at her and looked down at himself.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

She laughed that throaty laugh again.

“Nothing is wrong with your clothes. They’re just tourist clothes.” She looked him up and down. “Your jeans are too clean—and expensive, your shoes are way too expensive, your T-shirt is perfectly fine but probably too new. And if I was a betting woman, I’d bet that hoodie over the back of your seat has the name of a tech company on it.”

Damn. She’d pegged him well. He silently picked up his hoodie and turned it around so she could see the logo of his former company.

This time, they both laughed.

“I’m so used to wearing this that I forgot what was on it,” he said. “I quit this job, a few weeks ago.”

Why had he even told her that? He knew what she’d say. Why would you do something like that? It was so prestigious! You were making so much money! And you didn’t have a new job waiting for you? Never quit a job without another job! He’d said it all to himself, and it all made him feel like shit. He didn’t want to hear it from this attractive woman drinking wine next to him. He didn’t want to talk about that job, and whether he should have quit, and whether it meant he’d failed, and what the hell he was going to do now.

“You obviously need a new favorite hoodie,” she said, instead of asking him any of the questions he was dreading. He looked up at her and smiled.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “But wait, does all of that mean you thought I was a tourist? As someone who grew up here, I’m appalled.”

She grinned at that.

“Actually, no, I didn’t quite think you were a tourist, because tourists are usually gone by this time Sunday night, at least at this time of year. And second, even if they are still here, tourists are rarely up in the valley by themselves. A single man? Sitting at the bar at the Barrel on a Sunday night? I was sure there was a story there.”

She was definitely right about that.

“Are you the Napa Valley answer to Sherlock Holmes?” he asked her. “I’m scared of what else you’ve managed to figure out about me.”

She grinned over her wineglass at him.

“No need to be afraid. I’m just observant, that’s all.”

He glanced down at the menu again.

“Okay, so I’m presuming that you are a local, which hopefully means you can tell me what on this menu I should order. I’ve had a long day and I’m starving.”

He’d finished moving into his new apartment, after two days of helping his best friend Avery move into her new, post-breakup apartment. He’d planned to just get pizza for dinner, but instead he’d obeyed his sudden impulse to go to the place right down the street. He was glad he had.