Drunk on Love(81)

Margot shook her head.

“No. I’m sure Elliot would think that I pounced on our employee as soon as he was out the door. Or worse.” To be fair, Luke had technically done the pouncing, but she’d basically dragged him into her house when he’d shown up at her door. “I’ll have to tell him eventually.”

Sydney shrugged.

“How often do you tell your brother about guys you’re just sleeping with, anyway? This thing between you and Luke is no big deal, right?”

Margot didn’t say anything, and Sydney grinned at her.

“Unless you’re not just sleeping with him? You didn’t answer that other question I asked. Your current . . . what, exactly?”

Margot could feel that smile on her face again.

“I . . . We haven’t exactly put a title on that, but fine, I’m not just sleeping with him.”

Sydney cackled.

“Finally, she admits it! What happened to ‘I don’t know if I can trust him’ and ‘It’s not serious,’ hmmmm?”

“Well, that was all bullshit, but you knew that already,” Margot said. “It’s only been a few weeks, though. I shouldn’t get in too deep. But . . .”

Sydney threw an arm around Margot.

“But you did anyway. You’re happy. I’m glad. Just as long as he knows that if he hurts you, I’ll destroy him.”

Margot laughed.

“Oh, don’t worry, he knows.” She turned Sydney back toward the winery building. “Come on, let’s go get more wineglasses.”





Twenty


MARGOT TOLD LUKE NOT to stay over the night before the party. She knew she wanted to be up and at the winery super early that morning. She’d set her alarm for six, but she woke up at five and decided to just go with it. She was the first person at the winery that day, for maybe the first time ever. Either even Elliot usually wasn’t there before six a.m., or he didn’t care enough about the party to get there early.

She walked in and started the coffeemaker in the kitchen, and then, with a full cup of coffee in her hand and her coziest sweater on, she stared at her conspiracy wall. Maybe if she looked at it hard enough, all of her plans would work out just as she wanted them to.

She felt silly for being so obsessive, so stressed, about this party. Lots of wineries did parties like this for their anniversaries, for their wine clubs, etc. Some people she’d talked to seemed so casual about them—oh yeah, there was food, people came, drank some wine, no big deal.

But this was the first time that Noble Family Vineyards had ever thrown itself a party, and it had to be perfect.

Thank God she’d put make coffee on her to-do list. It felt good to check something off by six a.m.

From there, she took a deep breath and started going. She checked for any last-minute RSVPs, made sure the spreadsheet had autopopulated with them like it was supposed to, and made sign-in sheets for the people who would just show up. She’d counted the linens and glasses and chairs three times the day before to make sure they had the right number. She didn’t need to double-check on the wine. Did she? No, no, they’d all gotten it ready and waiting over in the temperature-controlled area of the barn the day before.

Five minutes later, on her way out of the winery building, she ran, almost literally, into Elliot.

“Oh! Hi, good morning,” she said. “I was just . . .”

He smiled at her.

“Going to double-check on something? The tables? The chairs? The wine? The in-case-of-rain tents?”

She laughed.

“I did not rent in-case-of-rain tents, even I wasn’t that pessimistic—or, I guess, depending on your thoughts on the drought, optimistic. Those are umbrellas for shade, Elliot! It’s going to be in the nineties today!”

He fell into step next to her.

“So?”

She sighed.

“Fine, yes, I was going to check the wine. Just to make sure we have enough of each kind—I don’t want to make anyone have to go running around to get it during the party! Plus, I couldn’t remember if I’d increased the amount of rosé we should have on hand—it’s going to be hot, you know everyone wants rosé when it’s hot.”

He put his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not going to stop you from double-checking. But I was there last night, too, remember. You consulted that list like a drill sergeant as we got all of the wine in the right locations, and I absolutely heard you tell Taylor you’d upped the amount of rosé to put in the fridges. I’ll come with you to check, but have a muffin first? You’ve probably had a lot of coffee already; you need something else in your system.”

He took a muffin out of the shoebox he was carrying and handed it to her.

“It’s still warm,” she said. “Where did you get these?”

She took a bite, and sighed.

“Oh, this is so good. So many blueberries. And is that a little lemon? Just like—”

He smiled.

“Yeah, just like those old muffins of Mom’s. I got her to dig up the recipe. I made them this morning.”

Margot almost dropped the muffin.

“You made these? Since when do you bake?”

He laughed.

“Since this morning, that’s when.” He shrugged. “Or, okay, since a few days ago—I had to make a test batch just so I didn’t ruin these, which was a good idea, since I did indeed mess up the first batch. These are pretty good, I think. You like them?”