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“First year of law school,” Al said, the lingo coming naturally to her as well. “Columbia Law, class of 1992.”
“Stanford Law, 2004.”
“Won’t hold that against you,” Al said with a wink. Drink in hand, she rested back in her chair and crossed her legs under the table. Close enough CC could make the next move. “But let’s not talk about work. I don’t want to remember I have to go back to it tomorrow.”
“Were you out here for Thanksgiving?”
Al nodded. “My son’s family is in San Francisco, and my ex-husband owns a winery in Sonoma. His new husband is a chef, so he got the big cooking holiday.”
CC quirked a brow. “And all that was drama-free?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Al tapped the rim of her own glass with her fingertip. “Do you consider a four-year-old and two-year-old painting the walls with gravy drama?”
CC nearly spit out her drink. Hand clamped over her mouth, she managed to swallow, then gasped through her fingers with laughter. “For real?”
“For real.” Al set aside her glass and splayed her hands, remembering how her grandkids had done the same, so proud of their work. “Award-winning gravy, all over the tasting room.”
CC lowered her hand, and her face, relaxed with laughter, was breathtaking. So was her leg brushing against Al’s beneath the table and staying there. “At least you don’t own the place.”
“Oh, but I do. Fifty percent of it.”
“Just so you know”—CC leaned forward and lowered her voice, whispering conspiratorially—“you might not get your investment back. I do food and beverage law. The chance of winery success is slim.”
“I’ve been warned, and I’ve seen it as a real estate attorney too.” She matched CC’s posture, the shift an excuse to drag her leg along CC’s, the rough denim of her jeans firing all of Al’s senses—and CC’s too, judging by the beautiful blush that appeared at the collar of her sweater, creeping north. “But I owed him a midlife crisis, and at least this way one of us is close to the grandkids.”
“Also fair,” CC conceded with a sexy smile. “And you’ve got a vineyard and free wine whenever you want.”
Her easy, enticing grin reeled Al the rest of the way in. She finished her drink, leaned closer, and uncrossed her legs so she could use a knee to part CC’s beneath the table. She pressed her knee against CC’s inner thigh, intentions clear. “You know what else I might want?”
CC’s gaze flared with heat and didn’t waver as she used her manicured nails to fish the dark cherry out of her glass and pop it in her mouth. She scooted forward in her chair, and Al’s knee slid higher. “What’s that?”
An invitation to a bathroom stall was on the tip of Al’s tongue when her phone blared from her purse behind her. Her eyes slipped closed on a frustrated growl. “For my phone not to ring when I’m trying to pick up a beautiful woman at the bar.”
CC chuckled, the husky tone doing nothing for Al’s thwarted libido. “They make a vibrate and silent function for that.”
She opened her eyes again, meeting the dancing brown ones across from her. “Which I failed to use, and that ringtone is for the gravy monsters who are too cute at this age to ignore.”
“Go.” CC straightened, taking the heated contact and promise of more away. “I need to make a quick call before my flight too.”
Al climbed off the pub chair and extended a hand to the redhead that would get away. “It was a pleasure meeting you, CC.”
“Likewise.” This time it was CC who slowly dragged a thumb over the inside of Al’s wrist, and another bolt of lust arrowed right between Al’s thighs. “And thanks for the compliment.”
Al lifted the beauty’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Only wish I’d had the chance to give you more.”
Chapter Two
Al hated to be that person. The one the gate agent had to call over the loudspeaker and corral onto the plane. But once she profusely apologized and showed the agent, then the flight attendants the screenshots of Molly and Michael tangled in popcorn strings and tinsel, squaring off with dreidels for swords, in front of the Christmas tree decked out in blue and white lights, all was forgiven.
Besides, the plane door was still open, a member of the ground crew checking cockpit dials while the pilots ate their dinner. She wasn’t the cause of the delay, but the other first-class passengers didn’t seem to care about that reality. They all shot her nasty glares, which she returned with a flirty wave, making them frown harder.
Except for the person in the last row of first class who muffled a laugh. The attractive husky sound drew Al’s attention, then her smile, as she eyed the redhead who apparently hadn’t gotten away. And who was in the window seat next to the only vacant seat left in first class—Al’s.
She tucked her purse in the overhead bin and slid into her cushy seat next to CC’s. “You think they’d let me back off the plane to buy a lottery ticket?”
CC grinned. “That might be pushing it.”
“When we land in New Orleans, then. Because this”—she gestured between them—“is some good luck.”
