But I’d fucked up already…Would she forgive me if I apologized again?
Probably. That was the kind of person she was. But she might not be willing to take another chance on me without some assurance that I wasn’t going to keep doing this. And how the fuck could I offer her that kind of assurance when I had none of it myself?
All I could do was try harder, and as I rowed hard back toward the cabin, muscles aching, I vowed that I would.
• • •
The following day, I spent the morning at my father’s office, getting caught up on some files he’d assigned me, and the afternoon covering the front desk for Lorena, his assistant, who had to go pick up her sick child at school. My dad had offered to call in a temp, but I assured him I could handle the job. Mostly I spent the time thinking of things I could do for Skylar, ways I could make it up to her for being such a dick. I still hadn’t contacted her, but I had an idea in the back of my mind.
Around three, a couple came into the office that I’d never seen before. She was little but curvy, like Skylar, with a thick head of wavy light brown hair and a friendly smile. He was dark-haired and taller than his wife—they both wore rings, I noticed—but not really a tall guy. I wondered if she was pregnant, because as soon as they entered the lobby, she sank into a chair and put both hands over her stomach. “Oof,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Are you OK?” the guy asked, putting a hand beneath her chin. “I can run you home, Mia. You don’t have to be at this meeting.”
“I’m fine, just woozy. We’re already here so let’s get this done.”
He straightened up and approached me at the desk. “Hi. We have an appointment with Malcolm Pryce at three fifteen. Lucas Fournier.”
I noticed he had a slight accent. “Of course. I’ll let him know you’re here.” But after fumbling for a moment with the complicated phone on Lorena’s desk, trying to use the intercom, I gave up. “OK, forget this thing. I’ll just go back there and tell him.”
“Thanks.” He smiled, but quickly turned his attention back to his wife.
I went down the hall and knocked on Malcolm’s open door. “Your clients are here. Fournier?”
“Oh, right. Fuck. ” He pushed back from his desk, which was a mess. It drove me crazy how disorganized he was. How the hell could he find anything in this shit pile? “I need a few minutes. I’ll meet with them in the conference room. Can you show them in?”
“Sure.”
“Great, thanks.” He stood up and straightened his tie before stacking some paperwork together.
Back up front, I found Lucas Fournier seated next to his wife, her hand in his. “Malcolm will be right up,” I told them. “In the meantime, I’ll take you into the conference room. I’m Sebastian, Malcolm’s brother.”
“Nice to meet you.” Lucas got to his feet and shook my hand before helping his wife rise slowly from her chair. “This is my wife, Mia.”
“Hi.” She shook my hand as well. “Sorry I’m a little green in the face. This pregnancy is killing me.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Congratulations?” I tried.
She smiled. “Exactly.”
“This way, please.” I showed them to the conference room and got them each a water bottle from the fridge in the kitchen across the hall.
“Thank you,” Mia said gratefully, unscrewing the cap and chugging the water. “I’m so thirsty all the time.”
“It’s because you’re working too much,” scolded her husband. But he did it gently. “You need to hire someone to help you.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll get around to it. But I haven’t found anyone I trust yet, and I like things done a certain way.” She tipped back the water bottle again and probably didn’t see him roll his eyes.
“Yes, I know. But you said you’d hire someone by the end of the month, and if you don’t, I will.”
“What do you do?” I asked, mostly to be polite.
“We own Abelard Vineyards,” he answered, pulling out his wallet and handing me a business card.
“Oh, nice.” I studied the card, my mind clicking. “I’ve heard of it. You took over from another winery a few years ago, right?”
“Yes, and bought some property adjacent to it, which is why we’re here. There’s a dispute over the property line with a neighboring farm, and we’ve already planted the area in question.” Lucas glanced at his wife. “We’re also expanding our tasting room and events schedule this summer, which is why we need to hire more help now.”
She ignored him. “Can I use your bathroom please?”
“Sure.” I gestured behind me. “It’s just down the hall to the left.”
“Thanks.” She looked at Lucas. “Be right back.”
He watched her leave, shaking his head. “She just went at the doctor’s office. It’s insane.”
I had no fucking idea what to say to that. What possible appropriate comment was there to make about his wife’s bladder? Luckily, he saved me.
“This is our third, so you’d think I’d remember all this.”
“Wow. Three.” I’d never pictured myself with kids, and Diana hadn’t wanted any, so I couldn’t imagine life with one, let alone three.
“Yeah, that’s why she needs an assistant. But she’s so damn stubborn.” He shook his head.
“What sort of help does your wife need? I know someone who was the assistant tasting room manager at Rivard, but she’s looking to do a little more.”
“Really?” Lucas looked interested. “What’s she doing now?”
“She’s working at Coffee Darling currently. That’s her sister’s shop. But I know she’d like something else.”
He nodded. “I know that place. They have good croissants.” Pulling out his wallet again, he gave me another card. “This is Mia’s card. Pass this along to her, and have her give Mia a call to set up an interview.” He smiled wryly. “Although my wife’s so picky and so moody these days, I almost don’t want to send your friend into lion’s den.”
“She can handle moody,” I assured him. “And I think your wife would like Skylar—she’s beautiful and smart, and she works really hard.”
Lucas grinned. “Is her last name Pryce?”
“Ah. No.” The tips of my ears burned. “It’s Nixon.”
“Well, what are you waiting for, Pryce? Marry that girl.” His grin widened before he tipped up his water bottle again.
I rubbed the back of my neck, which suddenly felt hot too. “Yeah, it’s probably too soon for that. We’ve only been on one date.”
Mia came back in the room, and his eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Sometimes that’s all it takes,” he said.
The Saturday before Memorial day, which was also the day of the reunion, I got off work a little early and moved my things into my parents’ house.
Back in my old room, I plugged in my laptop and phone, shoved a few boxes under the bed, hung dresses, skirts, blouses, and coats in my closet, and stacked shoe boxes beneath them. Into the drawers of my old dresser went underwear, socks, pajamas, bottoms and tops, workout clothes and a couple bathing suits. I tried not to feel too depressed about having to live with my parents, but it was hard. Every noise I heard, from the slam of the dresser drawers to the squeak of my old bed springs, reminded me that I was right back where I’d started ten years ago. Even the smell of the house hadn’t changed—furniture polish and pie. There was always a pie in the oven because my mother sold them at the little farm stand on the road.
Once everything was moved and unpacked, I went back to the guest house and helped my mother give it a thorough cleaning. She praised everything I’d done with it, from paint colors to linens to small finishing touches like the bin pulls, and thanked me for my hard work. I could tell she suspected something was up with me, because she kept eyeing me strangely. It was the look she used to give us before checking to see if we had a fever as kids.