Page 60 of Wild Abandon

“Yes. The Eastman School of Music at the University of Rochester.”

“Have you ever considered the symphony? I have friends at the San Francisco Symphony. If you’d like, I could get you an audition.”

“Thanks, but I have worked for the symphony, and it’s not for me.” I cross my legs and let the silky material of my plum-colored dress creep up my leg. I start to tilt my head to the side and then remember Nate teasing me about my move.

I tilt my head anyway and let my straightened hair fall to the side. “So, what do you do?”

He smirks, as if I should know. “Montavale Estates. Have you heard of it?”

I shake my head.

Brent gives me his thoroughbred smile. “I don’t know if I should be relieved or offended. Montavale should be in your local liquor store.”

“I wasn’t much of a wine drinker before I moved to Napa,” I say. Then, I look at the expensive bottle of wine he ordered.

“Why didn’t you say something? What would you like?”

“No, it’s fine. This is delicious, really. Continue.”

“My family has been in the wine business for fifty years. We have a winery and vineyard in Sonoma. I’d love to show it to you sometime.”

“I’d like that.” And I mean it.

We spend the next hour chatting. We mostly talk about him, as I tend to ask a lot of questions. He tells me about his winery and vineyard, explaining everything from harvesting to the bottling process. I find it fascinating that most of the work seems to be done by large machines. It sounds similar to what Jeremy says he does at Gallo. It’s a far cry from anything Big Ed would have going on at Russet Ranch, a place Brent says he’s never heard of. Makes sense. There are hundreds of wineries in the valley. A small mom-and-pop place must be far off the radar for a vineyard and winery the size of Montavale. According to Brent, they grow and harvest their own grapes on site, something many wineries do not do.

The business side of winemaking is intricate. When he starts talking about barrel fees and ratios, I am immersed in the conversation—so much so that, when the check comes, I’m pleasantly surprised I haven’t regretted forgoing the usual first date drink-only rule.

The date, however, wasn’t magical enough for me to want to kiss him. So, when he walks me to my car at the end of the night, I offer him my cheek. Standing under the twinkling lights of the nearby trees, Brent’s cheeks rise, his smile closed but rounded up, as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“I’d like to see you again.” It’s a statement. Not an invitation.

So, I just stand, squinting my eyes at him, waiting for him to properly ask. There is a short moment of silence as I wait, and I cannot hide my smirk.

He gets the hint and eventually asks, “Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday night?”

“No,” I deadpan. Then, I smile to let him know I am joking. “There’s a band that plays on Saturday nights at Henley’s Pub in Downtown Napa. I’ll be there to see them play.”

Brent smiles a beautiful full-teeth smile and nods his head. “Good to know.”

I bid him good night and get in my car, proud of myself for making it to the end of the date.

He’s a little intimidating. He reminds me of Bruce Wayne–wealthy, utter-determination and intelligence.

He seemed really nice though. We’ll see if he shows up on Saturday.

He’s shown up.

It’s Saturday night. The Barge Poppers are playing onstage. The bar is filled with people and smells like bourbon. I’ve been here for an hour, sitting at a table, not far from the bar.

Laurie slid my stout on the table before I ordered it. Today, it’s a blueberry ale. Thankfully, no carb-loaded appetizers were sent my way this time.

When I walked through the door, Nate didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I thought it was because he didn’t see me walk in, but when the drink was brought to my table, I looked up and saw him glance my way really quick before continuing to busy himself behind the bar.

I was content, sitting here by myself, listening to music, when the front door opened, and in came Brent.

His brown hair is slicked back, styled just right to the side and back. His brown eyes are framed with long dark lashes, and his dark skin makes his teeth gleam extra pearly white when he smiles at the sight of me.

Okay, I’m a little excited that he showed. I know I acted aloof the other night, but there’s something about him. Maybe, tonight, he’ll loosen up a little more, and I can get to know more about him, other than the vineyard his family owns, which was all he spoke about at dinner.