Somebody Like You (Starlight Hill Series Book 2) (22 page)

“Always nice to hear.” Billy couldn’t put his finger on it but something about this man set him on edge. Made him stiffen like nails on a chalkboard.

“We’re anxious to taste your first vintage. You probably know Serrano’s won the label three years in a row— ”

George was stopped from tooting his own horn when Brooke appeared at Billy’s elbow, pulling at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but there are some people I want you to meet.”

He couldn’t help but notice the tension in the air, charged and amped the moment Brooke interrupted. George stiffened and looked like he’d swallowed poison. Something definitely going on. But he’d already long suspected that the two hadn’t parted well.

He caught himself enjoying the small display of PDA when Brooke perhaps unconsciously held on to his hand longer than necessary and pulled him in another direction.

Seemed like a hundred different directions. Other vintners, restaurant owners coming from San Francisco, most of the lamenting the price of a good wine. Other business owners in town, wishing him success.

Billy saw and heard Pop make his way around the party on his own, imparting wisdom as only he could do. Letting everyone who would listen know that he hadn’t needed his frenemy’s help after all, thank you very much. Singing to the grapes was the key to a good vintage.

All in all, it was a great turn-out. The room filled to capacity, Eric and the others pouring, selling at times by the case. Who knew people would be willing to pay so much for a bottle of wine?

Brooke Miller, that’s who.

This – their entire success – was due to her hard work. Early on he’d made the decision to cede control to her and he hadn’t regretted it for a moment. Thanks to her hard work, there was every possibility that they’d be out of the black soon and he wouldn’t be forced to take the sports casting job.

Maybe he could coach the local team, or open the pitching clinic he’d dreamed about one day. Gigi and all her talk of diminishing star power and returns be damned.

Brooke was right. This didn’t have to be an all or nothing proposition. 

He caught Brooke staring at him from across the room, engaged in a conversation with Ivey and Jeff. Those two were so in love they could hardly keep their hands off each other.

If it were up to him, that would be him and Brooke. He didn’t care what anyone thought. But he had to respect her wishes, and he understood why as a woman she wouldn’t want anyone thinking she’d done anything improper to get the job. Nothing like wrenching his heart out of his chest.

Nothing like that.

“Hey, so where’s a man to find his Scotch?”

Billy turned to see Wallace had arrived. The lone wolf again. No one understood why. Billy had watched, at times with a twinge of envy, the way Wallace turned female heads when he walked into a room.

“No Scotch tonight, bro. Drink up from the vine. Go on, the water’s fine.” Billy slapped his brother’s back.

“Yeah, yeah. Have you seen Scott? I’m going to make sure he doesn’t force me to drive him home tonight.”

Billy had, and he pointed in little brother’s direction. Currently Scott appeared to be hamming it up with Melinda, whom Billy hadn’t even seen come in.

Thankfully Scott had listened, and not brought Fallon. Billy had expressly told him not to. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to make Brooke feel uncomfortable tonight, or any night.

Genevieve approached with a tray of items Billy hoped he’d be eating in heaven if he ever got to walk through those pearly gates.

“Bacon puff?” She asked, more to Billy than Wallace.

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Billy took a bite of bacon-encrusted joy.

He wasn’t sure how Wallace, who had once eaten an entire pound of bacon by himself, could resist. But he was, barely glancing in Genevieve’s direction. She, for her part, was doing a great job of acting like she didn’t notice the tall man standing right next to her.

Yeah, definitely something going on there.

“Genevieve, would you marry me and cook this for me every morning?” Billy joked. Flirting felt safe, since Genevieve knew well that he and Brooke were an item.

“Oh, Billy!” She elbowed him and kept walking.

“All right, what was that about?” Billy asked when she’d walked a safe enough distance away.

Wallace scowled. “I’m going to renovate her bakery. I put a bid on it last month.”

“Great. That means you’ll be around for a while. But you don’t look happy about that.”

“Should take me about a month or two, but not the way she keeps changing her mind. Some people think they understand construction when they should stick to baking.”

“Careful, bro. That sounds a little caveman-like.” Billy pointed out.

“Does it? Well, hell. I can’t help it.” Wallace walked towards the bar and joined Scott, presumably to try some of the vintage.

Gigi was speaking animatedly with Brooke’s Mother. That had to be an interesting discussion, as he couldn’t imagine two more different women. Mom was still gazing starry-eyed at Giancarlo. Fine, someday he would get used to that.

Brooke flitted about, smiling, pouring from behind the bar when needed, and making him ache a little bit. He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to that feeling.

Eventually the crowd thinned, and Billy looked forward to the end of the evening. He wanted Brooke in his arms again like he wanted another one of those bacon puffs. All of these people would have to leave before that could happen. He’d kick them out personally, but that couldn’t be good for business.

Suddenly the young-looking woman he’d seen earlier, Chelsea he thought it was, stood at his elbow.

“I’m sorry Billy, I know I’m not supposed to bother you, but could I get an autograph? It’s for my dad.”

“Sure,” he took the piece of paper she’d pulled out of her purse. “How old are you, sweetheart?” She looked twenty if a day which made her engagement to George, who looked to be at least thirty-five, a little sketchy.

“Oh I’m older than I look,” she said without answering the question.

“Right.” He handed her the autograph. “I hope you and George enjoyed tonight.”

“We did.” George showed up behind Chelsea, who quickly stuffed the paper into her purse. “But I’m not sure you have a prayer of taking that ribbon away from us.”

“We’ll see,” Billy said.

“Well, hiring my former general manager won’t be enough. My family’s been in this business for decades.”

“Yeah. Well, we all have to start somewhere. Don’t we?” He gave Chelsea a lazy grin, to piss George off.

It worked. She blushed, and George grew red for a different reason. “Well, this isn’t the American baseball league. This is where the real men play, not long-haired jocks who never graduated from college. It must be nice to be a millionaire for throwing a ball around in a sandbox.”

“George! What are you doing?” Chelsea pulled on the jerk’s arm, and he pushed back so hard he nearly knocked her down.

She rocked a bit on her high heels, and Billy reached his arm out to steady her by the elbow.

“Be quiet. The men are talking,” George said.

Billy felt his gut tighten and his hands curl into fists. This was so not good. The guy was goading him, and he couldn’t let him win. Not like he hadn’t been in the scenario before. He’d learned the hard way to keep calm. Take deep breaths and remain professional.

He tried again, forcing a grin. “If you push that little girl again I might have to escort you out of here.”

“I barely touched her. I love Chelsea. She’s going to be my wife.” George put his arm around her. “She’s a sweet girl. Not like Brooke.”

“Excuse me?”

“Didn’t you know? Yeah, Brooke and me. We were together. Guess she has a thing for the boss. The girl gets around. Don’t think you’re special or anything.”

Later, he’d probably wonder how his arm worked independently of his brain. The arm he’d trained for years. The same one that pitched a ninety mile an hour ball and a curve ball that wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t listening to him now, but there was no time to reason with it. Like it belonged to a stranger, his arm found itself reaching for George’s collar.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

For the first time in decades, Brooke began to believe that the curse of The Holidays had been removed. Otherwise, how was it that everything tonight had run so smoothly?

The wine flowed plentiful, the appetizers were a huge hit, and they’d sold out of what would obviously be their most popular wine: the earthy nutty Merlot that slid down a person’s throat like liquid silk.

She’d kept George and Chelsea occupied, having had Ernesto take them for a long and bogus special invitation-only tour of the vineyard, the wine cellar and the bottling room.

Everyone seemed to enjoy the evening, and from the looks of it they’d sold a lot of wine. All in all she could say the evening was a resounding success. She’d kept her cool, kept her emotions in check, and controlled the outcome. Always the key.

Her first concern of the evening came when Brooke heard Gigi scream Billy’s name. The sound caused Brooke to turn in that direction and that’s when she saw Billy, dragging George outside by his shirt collar.

Gigi followed, waving her arms around, frantically trying to get Billy’s attention. “Stop!”

“Uh-oh,” Eric said from behind the bar. “This is bad.”

Brooke didn’t think, only ran towards them all. She didn’t make it before Wallace and Scott were out the door, their faces reflecting the appearance of soldiers headed to war.

Not good.

Brooke hurled her body out the door, feeling her breaths come out in short little desperate spurts.

Outside, Wallace and Scott flanked Billy, effectively blocking him from Brooke’s view.

Brooke heard Billy say, “I was about to teach this gentleman some manners.”

“Why can’t we all sit down and talk about this like civilized citizens of the world?” Gigi said.

“We could,” Billy said sounding gritty and rough, “But some people don’t know how to be civilized.”

Brooke managed to shove her way to the front of the melee. “What’s going on here?”

“George was leaving. Say goodnight.” Billy let George go with a slight shove.

George smoothed over his Italian suit, looking smug and self-righteous. .He glared in Brooke’s direction.

“You picked the wrong man, Brooke. If you wanted a jock you should have said so.” He turned to Billy. “You might pitch a ball at ninety miles an hour but let’s see you build up a winery from the ground up. Oh wait, guess you didn’t need to. You’re a millionaire. You hire away my help. But it won’t be enough.”

“He didn’t hire me away, I quit. Remember? You should leave now,” Brooke said through a shaky breath.

Billy moved forward but he was stopped on either side by Wallace and Scott. “Listen to her. A ball isn’t the only thing I can hit.”

George finally walked away, Chelsea running behind him.

“What was that all about?” Gigi demanded. “I want an explanation.”

Brooke was so afraid she knew exactly what it was all about. Billy hadn’t even looked at her for the past few minutes. He knew.

George had told Billy about the two of them, and who knew what else he’d said. Not that it would matter to Billy, because he had to know how she felt. It was different between them, special. She kept trying to meet his eyes.

“Does it matter?” Wallace interrupted. “If I know my brother, he didn’t do it without a damn good reason.”

“I sure hope so, because this calls for some damage control. We need to spin this and get ahead of it. I’ll make some calls.” Gigi turned and glared at Brooke, then walked back inside.

Brooke stared at Billy, who finally met her eyes. The eyes that told her so much were shut down now. She couldn’t hazard a guess as to what he was thinking or feeling. But her first guess? Not good.

Brooke’s heart shivered in her rib cage. The curse of The Holidays appeared and her stomach took the Christmas dive it remembered so well. 

Gigi turned. “Are you two coming? Let me rephrase that. Brooke and Billy, you two are coming with me.”

A few minutes later, they were both seated on the couch in Billy’s living room. It felt like there were one hundred feet, not just a few inches, between her and Billy.

“Are you okay?” It was the only thing she dared ask.

“Yeah.”

Funny, because he did not look okay. He looked the farthest from okay that she’d ever seen. Happy-go-lucky Billy, who loved everyone and had a ready smile at a moment’s notice. She’d ruined that. “Billy, I— ”

“Not now,” Billy said, then leaned back and took a deep breath, shoving a hand through that long hair.

She’d ruined everything again, her special talent during The Holidays. Disaster and ruination followed her at this time of the year. And even with her failed track record with men, she was about to lose the best one. Because she didn’t deserve him.

Gigi hung up the phone. “Disaster averted. At least no press was there when you lost your head. How many times have I told you to count to ten?”

“I counted to a hundred,” Billy said with a scowl. “He asked for it, believe me.”

“I believe you. That brings me to the two of you. Hate to say I told you so.”

“Then don’t,” Billy said. “This continues to be none of your business.”

“But— ” Gigi began.

Billy rose. “Sorry I lost my temper. Thanks for your help. Goodnight.”

With a hand on Gigi’s back he led her to the front door.

“We have so much to talk about. The offer from Fox Sports— ”

“Brooke and I have to talk and we need some privacy.”

For once, Brooke wished Gigi would argue more and stay a little longer. But she didn’t protest as she threw a pointed look at Brooke (because this was of course her fault).

Then she turned to Billy. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Billy shut the door and didn’t move for a long minute. Then he turned to her. “I want to know how you wound up with a man like George.”

Stupidity? Lack of options? Loneliness? She didn’t know which one to say first. “Tell me what he said to you.”

“No,” he moved towards her. “You tell me what’s true.”

“I did have a relationship with him for a while, it’s true. Because I was stupid and lonely. He was there.”

“So— convenient?”

“Yeah, I guess. And did I mention stupid?”

“Is that what this is? I’m convenient?”

“What? No Billy, you can’t honestly believe that. Nothing about you is convenient.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, you know what I mean. You’re a jock. What do we really have in common?” Other than for reasons she couldn’t quite understand everything in her world righted itself when she was in Billy’s arms, they were not exactly cut from the same cloth. They didn’t have a whole lot in common other than the fact that they both loved this town, and this vineyard. His family. Yes, she loved all those crazy people.

Billy sighed, reached for a hair tie and put his hair in a ponytail. “Do you know the last time I was in a fight over a girl?”

“I don’t know. High school?”

He met her eyes. “Try never.”

Never. As she suspected, she brought out the worst in him. Brooke Miller, angst instigator.

“Sorry,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Sounded like Gigi was kind of used to this.”

“I’ve lost my temper a handful of times with the press. Never over a girl.”

She stood up. “I’m sorry. You didn’t want to believe me, but I must be cursed. It’s The Holidays. I tried to warn you, but did you listen?”

He studied her. “How do you feel about me, Brooke?”

Was this a trick question? She didn’t quite know how to answer. If she told him the truth it could be a trap. It could be he sought some reassurance that she wasn’t making her way through all the vineyard owners in town. Hello, humiliation. Why oh why had she ever taken up with George?

“How do I feel about you?”

“You heard me. Is that a tough question?”

Why would he ask her this right now? “What did George tell you?”

“Is that going to help you answer my question?”

“No. But I want to know.”

“And I asked first.”

“Fine.” She took a shaky breath and smoothed the skirt of her dress. “I lo— ” the word love stuck in her throat. Love meant misery and disaster. Broken promises and hearts. She didn’t want to love him. “C’mon, you know how I feel.”

“I need to hear it.” He grinned and her heart broke open a little bit more. That’s what Billy managed to do her. She didn’t like it one bit. It was so out of control, and control was the only thing she had left.

To her horror, her eyes started leaking. Not possible, because Brooke Miller didn’t do tears. But even so they were flowing. Salty, big, wet and sloppy tears.

She caught one with her mouth, and wiped another one away with her hand. “I— I really— ”

“You can’t say it, can you?”

Of course not, because saying it out loud would make it true. Then she’d be sunk like the Titanic because loving him was the biggest risk she’d ever taken. And she’d hurt a lot worse than a few stitches, broken bones or concussions. You couldn’t heal a broken heart. She’d seen that first hand.

Then he was next to her, folding her into his arms. “I didn’t think you could cry, Bungee.”

“I can’t.” But dang if she wasn’t doing a bang-up imitation of it. She buried her face in his warm neck. He smelled so much like a man. Her man.

Her mascara had to be smearing, and she probably looked like a raccoon, but Billy lifted her chin, like he might actually appreciate the raccoon look. “Let me tell you how I feel about you, then.”

“Um, okay.” She hiccupped. How did women manage this crying thing?

“I don’t care about your past. We both have less than illustrious histories. All I care about is you. I know I let you down once before—”

“That was so long ago. No big deal.”

He tugged on a strand of her hair. “It is a big deal. I should have told you I wasn’t going instead of having you hear it from everyone else.”

“But you didn’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe not, but you were a friend. I could have done better. I’m trying to do that now. I never forgot that kiss I talked you into—”

“Oh please, you didn’t talk me into anything. I wanted it too.”

He grinned. “We were too immature. Not too young to realize we had a connection, but too young to understand it was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”

She was in so much trouble because she realized he was right. No one else had ever come close to her heart, which made it easy for so long to keep things light. No commitments, and no heartbreaks. She’d met the right man when she was seventeen years old but he hadn’t become a part of her life again until ten years later. A long time to wait, and she’d never been good at waiting.

“Being with you is the only time I feel like I can breathe. I used to live and breathe baseball twenty-four seven, and you’re right— I miss it. But when I’m with you none of that matters because you fill me up. I love you, Brooke. I want it all with you— marriage, babies. I wouldn’t mind getting you knocked up right now.” He kissed her in that bone melting way of his, reaching right into her heart.

She couldn’t help but arch her body into his kiss, while her thoughts ran wild.
Not this. I can’t do this forever love thing. It doesn’t work. He’s going to hate me before long. We’re too different. Besides, I’m not the marrying kind. Not the girl you take home to Mom. 

After a few moments, she put her hands up against his solid chest. She’d have to lie like a rug, but in the end it would be for the best. “Here’s the thing. I don’t love you. I wanted a good time, and that’s what we have. I don’t want anything else. Why do we have to ruin it by talking about a fantasy?”

He blinked his surprise. “A fantasy?”

“Love and marriage. You and I both know it doesn’t last. Look at your parents. When’s the last time you saw your Dad? Probably around the last time I saw mine. It’s been years. It’s crazy to get married. Half of all marriages end in divorce. Do you want to be part of that statistic?”

He shook his head, his smile gone. “That wouldn’t be us.”

“Don’t you think that’s what they all thought? Do you want to do that to a child? Force them to split their time between two parents who can’t stand each other anymore? Do you?”

“Brooke—”

“Can’t we just stay like we are? I like what we have, just the way it is.”

“That won’t be enough for me.” That green-eyed gaze assessed her. She didn’t see hurt in those eyes, but only a rock-steady assurance. He was so certain she loved him back.

That pissed her off. Stuck up jock. “It will have to be.”

He didn’t say another word, but walked towards his front door and opened it. “Goodnight, Brooke.”

“Goodnight?” But he couldn’t be kicking her out. Didn’t all guys want a no-strings relationship? Why did she have to fall for the one guy who didn’t?

“It’s been a long day, and we both need our rest.”

Yes, but usually they rested together. Her head in the crook of his neck, his left hand on the small of her back. She rubbed up against him. “I’m never that tired. Let’s go to bed and forget about all this.”