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“I’ll pay for the damn plate, Marion. He’s coming, or I’m not.”
“You don’t have to get so crazy. I’ll add him to the list. We’ll love to meet this newboyfriendof yours.” The way she said boyfriend wasn’t lost on me.
“I’ll see you in two weeks.” I ended the call and let out a growl, throwing my phone back in my bag.
Laurent’s hand landed on my knee, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. “How about some wings?”
Vine Valley’s Main Street was as much home as the vineyard. I’d spent my teen years riding my BMX bike up and down the strip, getting a burger from Don’s, catching a movie at the three-screen theater, and spending an exorbitant amount of time in the General Store.
I glanced at Phoebe as I drove toward Don’s. She hadn’t said a word, but her straightened shoulders, the tick of her jaw, and the nonstop fidgeting of her hands spoke volumes.
She’d always had a complicated relationship with the woman who was now her stepmom, but I guess I had hoped she’d found some peace with the woman over the years. I met her once. When she had the nerve to show up at Phoebe’s mom’s funeral. Marion had argued she was supporting Phoebe and her dad, and even if that was her true intent, it was a misguided and poor choice.
I could still remember the way Phoebe stiffened beside me, her hold on my hand a death grip. I remembered how the air turned to pure ice. I had sworn icicles formed on the walls. From that moment on, I knew all I needed to know about that woman.
Don’s Bistro was in the middle of Main Street on the corner of Merchant Lane. It was in the middle of a strip of buildings. The brick separated it from the businesses it was connected to. Black shutters and green awnings framed the two windows on either side of the green door. Flower boxes sat beneath the windows and, in a few months, would be full of brightly colored blossoms.
I found a spot on the street and parallel parked between a rusted out pickup and a Volkswagen. Phoebe shouldered her bag and got out of the car without a word. I hurried out and met her on the sidewalk. “You okay?”
“Fine. Let’s eat.” She walked toward Don’s and stopped. “Here?” She pointed at the brick façade. I nodded. She flung the door open and held it for me. With her mood, I was grateful she didn’t let it slam in my face.
“Laurent, welcome!” Clyde called from his place behind the bar. He was pushing eighty, but still had a full head of white hair. His smile was as big as it had always been. The third-generation owner, he ran this bistro like he was inviting a friend into his own kitchen.
“Clyde, good to see you.” I approached the bar with Phoebe. The place was empty but only because most people were still at work and the kitchen didn’t technically open until four-thirty. “This is Phoebe. She works in corporate for Green Mountain Lodge.”
“Welcome to our small town,” Clyde said, reaching across the bar. Phoebe gave him her hand, and he kissed her knuckles. He was always a smooth talker. A forever bachelor who never married, though he had three kids and a load of grandkids.
“It’s a lovely place you have here, though I suspect I was here once before.” Phoebe glanced at me, and I nodded.
“The night before Thanksgiving, we came for wings and stayed for the brownie sundae.”
A smile touched her lips, and my shoulders relaxed. “I thought it looked familiar.”
“We’re going to grab a table. Can you send over a glass of Cabernet and a glass of?”
“I have to go back to work,” Phoebe said.
“I thought I was your last meeting of the day. Come on, live a little. Have a glass of wine at four in the afternoon.”
“You are a bad influence. A glass of Sauvignon Blanc if you have it.”
“Do I have it? Only the best in the state. Possibly the country.” Clyde picked up a bottle of Vine Valley and held it proudly. He raised his eyebrows twice.
Phoebe laughed. “I should have known. That’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Go sit. I’ll have Silvia bring this over to you and some menus, too.”
Silvia was in her fifties, a mom of two who had both gone off to college. She liked to come to the winery whenever we had live music. She also loved a glass of Pinot Grigio.
“Is here okay?” I pointed to a table by the back, knowing too close to the window would get drafty.
“Works for me.”
I pulled Phoebe’s chair out, and she smiled at me.
“Always the gentleman.”
“As you said, my parents and grandparents raised me right.”
