Wild Abandon (12 page)

Jeremy gives his attention back to me. “All I heard about was her wild friend Crystal. I couldn’t wait to meet you, and you were a riot. We went to clubs, and you would dance on the speakers. One time, we were walking down Broadway, and these street performers were there. You just jumped in and started break-dancing with them. So full of energy and life. Impulsive like I’ve never known. And then you went to Europe.”

Jeremy seems unsure about where to go from there, so Naomi finishes for him, “You were never the same after Steven.”

“Well, duh, he broke my heart.”

Naomi looks like she is about to say something but doesn’t.

When she opens her mouth again, Jeremy interrupts, “I think what Naomi wants to say is, you’ve closed yourself off a bit since Steven.”

“Closed off? I have done nothing but put myself out there. I even moved across the country, trying something new.”

“With only two suitcases,” Scarlet chimes in.

“I take it, this is a conversation the three of you have been having behind my back.”

“No. I’m just really observant,” Scarlet says. “And I heard them talking.”

Naomi defends herself, “How serious could you be about meeting someone here if you packed like you were coming here for a vacation?”

“I quit my job.”

“You were fired.”

“My teaching job.”

“Your best friend is your boss. You can have your spot back in a heartbeat. And you sublet your apartment. It’s yours again if you want it.” Naomi has been putting some serious thought into her hypothesis.

“All we’re saying is, you tend to close yourself off when things get serious. You’re scared, and that’s completely normal after everything you went through.” Jeremy says.

Naomi starts to chime in, but Jeremy holds his hand up to her in a hush motion. “I want to set you up with someone.”

“Oh God, no.” It’s bad enough that I’ve been scouring the Internet for a date. But a setup by a friend is always so awkward. If I don’t like the guy, I can’t just end the date. It would make Jeremy look bad. I’d have to see this one through. “Thank you, but no.”

“Just think about it. You say the word, and the date is yours.”

I sit up straighter in my seat and give them both a smile. “Thank you very much for your concern, but I assure you, I have a good feeling about Napa.”

Naomi leans forward, her face softer and her smile slightly lopsided. “I love you, Crystal. I want to see you with someone who makes you happy. That’s all.”

“I love you, too, Naomi.”

“Are you two going lesbian on me? Because I’m okay with it, under one condition—”

“Jeremy!” My hands are crushing poor Scarlet’s head.

After dinner, the four of us play a game of Scrabble. Scarlet is winning because, even though she doesn’t know what the words mean, she’s memorized the list of two-letter words, and she racks up a bazillion points.

It’s adorable, watching Jeremy and Naomi interact. They tease each other and pretend to fight, but they’re always touching each other in some way. Jeremy skims his thumb on her lower back, or Naomi puts her hand on his knee. I can’t say there’s an infatuating mad, passionate love affair between them, but there is something deep and true.

When I first met them, they would make out everywhere they went. That was different. That was lust. This, here…this is deep love. This is finding your partner in life and holding hands through the ups and downs. This is paying bills and raising a child. This is renting movies on Friday nights. This is roast chicken for dinner and leftovers on a Tuesday.

This is good wine.

This is real.

chapter SEVEN

Dressed in a short skirt and knee-high boots, I take a seat at a table at Henley’s Pub in anticipation of Salvatore. Yes, isn’t the name sexy?

Name: Salvatore Latrone

About Me: In my mind, I sing like Frank Sinatra.

Age: 32

Occupation: Quality Food Manager, The Sipping Room

Interests: Politics, food, travel, theater

Dressed in dark jeans and a button-down, Salvatore has a full head of rich black hair and dull-looking brown eyes. His nose is wide, and his lips are thin, but for what he lacks in the looks department, he certainly makes up for in the personality department.

Apparently, Nate’s new profile for me is attracting a new caliber of gentlemen.

Believe it or not, Salvatore actually read my profile. Hallelujah!

It’s Wednesday night, band night, so the bar will soon be packed when the show goes on. Until then, Salvatore and I have a chance to talk.

“What kind of music do you play?” He swirls his merlot around in his glass.

Laurie brought me over a Guinness, but I sent it back and asked for a glass of the merlot as well.

I let the hem of my skirt ride up my leg, revealing the right amount of thigh. My long-sleeved top is snug with a plunging neckline and a dangling necklace that falls at just the right spot to accentuate the positives.

Sweeping my hair to the side, I showcase my neck. “Contemporary mostly. I’ve played with the symphony but only in the winter months. Year-round, I am a wedding performer, so I tend to stick to a proposed set list.”

“A romantic.” He leans into my side of the table, his glass in hand hovering near his mouth. He is coming off a little too strong, but I am allowing it. “Tell me, Crystal Reid, what is your favorite way to spend a Saturday?”

Good first-date question. “Well”—I skim my bottom lip with the tip of my tongue—“I like to sleep in.”

“Yes, lazy mornings in bed. I agree. What else?”

“A late breakfast. Maybe a good book.”

“And wine?” He takes a long sip, leaning in even further.

His eyes hold steady on mine and then roam down to my mouth and onto my chest. I am suddenly wondering if I took things from zero to sixty way too fast.

“Yes. Wine.” I take my own unladylike large gulp of wine and sit back into my seat. “So, um, what kinds of things really make you laugh?”

Salvatore tilts his head and wets his mouth in a move that’s more sloppy than sexy. “A good woman. A fine wine. You.”

That answer makes no sense. I feel the V of my brows form. I look down at the wood table and wonder if this guy has his own go-to moves as well. I’m guessing they are all about leaning in and talking wine.

“You are like a fine wine, Crystal. You only get better with age.”

This guy is so smooth that he almost doesn’t notice the tense being who has just approached our table. Standing upright, towering over a seated Salvatore, Nate is intimidating in a black T-shirt and a black baseball cap.

His arms crossed, he stares down at Salvatore until finally getting his attention. “Beat it.”

What are we? In tenth grade?

I open my mouth to argue, but Salvatore speaks up first, “I’m sorry, but the lady and I are having a conversation.”

“And, I’m telling you, it’s over.”

Salvatore gets an uncomfortable look in his eyes. He puts his hands up in the air and pushes his chair away from the table with his feet. “If you two are involved, I don’t need to get in the middle.”

“We are not involved.”

“We’re very involved.”

I clench my jaw and shoot daggers at Nate. “Salvatore, I think we should move our date somewhere else.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Salvatore step away from our table.

“I was just looking for a good time. You two do”—he looks back and forth between the two of us—“whatever it is you do.” And like a mouse, Salvatore scurries out the door. If he were a superhero, he’d be The Flash.

Before the door is closed, Nate takes Salvatore’s empty chair, spins it around, and takes a seat.

“What did you do that for?” I stomp my four-inch heel on the ground.

“He compared you to wine,” he answers matter-of-factly.

“Yes, it was cliché but not worth ending my date over.” I fold my arms over my chest with a huff.

“It was a cheap line and incredibly inaccurate.” He looks up from his seat, all rugged and hot in the black-on-black thing he’s got going on tonight. “Most wines do not age well. After a year, they start to smell like mushrooms. Do you really want to be with a guy who says you’re like a rotten fungus?”

I turn my head to the side and scratch the back of it, trying to find a rebuttal. To be honest, no, I do not want to be with a guy who compares me to mushrooms. I want a guy who knows exactly what vintage I am.

“The wines that do age well are often terrible for several years.” Nate raises his arm and motions in the air to get Laurie’s attention.

She catches it and gives him a wink.

He turns back to me as I stare, dumbfounded. “If he were being honest, he’d say women were like wine for three reasons.” He lifts a finger with each point. “There are too many to choose from, the good ones are taken, and they all cost an arm and a leg.” He has a smug grin on his face with that last statement.

I raise my middle finger at him in response.

Laurie appears with two stouts, two shot glasses, and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

“Is this your signature cocktail?” I ask.

He takes the two unfinished wine glasses on the table and hands them to Laurie.

“I wasn’t done with that!” I say.

“Why were you drinking wine? To impress that jerk?”

“I happen to like wine. And I was trying to be cordial.”

“What’s up with that hair thing?”

I run my fingers through my long strands that have loose curls at the end, cascading down my right shoulder—the way I always perfect it for dates. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“You do this thing when you’re on dates.” Nate sways his head in a circle and then lowers his chin in show. “It’s your sexy move.”

He’s making fun of me, but instead of being offended, I turn the tables. “Aw, Nate. Are you upset I haven’t done my move for you?” I mockingly bat my lashes.

“No,” he answers with a pout. He raises the dark ale to his mouth and looks away.

I strum my nails along the glass. “Do you have a move?”

“Don’t need one.”

“Come on. Everybody has a move.”

Resting an elbow on the table, Nate cups his face, rubbing his pointer finger back and forth along the skin in between his chin and lower lip. “You can’t handle my move.”

“Try me,” I dare.

He smiles, showing off perfect white teeth and, if I’m not mistaken, a chipped tooth in the lower front. Perfectly flawed. “Maybe some other time.”

“Now that you’ve scared off my date for the third time—”

“I had nothing to do with Carb Freak.”

“He wouldn’t have gone all meathead on me if you hadn’t sent over food,” I say.

Nate is looking at me with an unamused expression.

“Okay, fine. He would have but at least not so fast. So, now that I am dateless once again, you, sir, have to be my date.” I see the wariness in his eyes and the back tilt of his head. Before he can speak, I put him at ease. “Calm your panties. I know.” I lower my voice an octave, quoting him. “I don’t do dates.” He half-laughs at that comment, so I say, “Just pity me.”

Nate puts his hand on his thigh, the other around his beer, and leans in. “I haven’t been on a date in years. What the hell do you do?”

“You talk.”

“I can do that.”

“And drink.”

“Amen.” He grabs the neck of the bottle of Jack and pours two glasses.

I am surprised he actually has the time to sit here and talk and drink with me. The bar is busy. He should be behind it.

“Do you ever work?”

“All the time.”

“Why aren’t you working now?”

“I am. It’s called being the boss.”

“Oh. Are you originally from Napa?” I raise my glass and touch it to his before downing the shot. Damn. Whiskey has a kick.

He shoots his back without a flinch. “Arizona. Moved here when I was twenty.”

“What brought you here?”

“A girl.”

“Aw, Nate’s a romantic.”

He practically growls at my comment, so I leave it alone.

“What was your family like when you were growing up?”

“Is this what people talk about on dates?”

I smile and enthusiastically nod my head.

He appeases me. “Not much to tell. Dad ran off when I was a kid. Mom kicked me out when I finished high school.”

No wonder he’s so solemn half the time. The guy has no family.

“You?” He pours two more shots, and we each take one in unison.

I shrug my shoulder at my uneventful answer. “Mom, dad, brother. The normal boring life. Except I grew up in Manhattan. For some reason, people act surprised when I say that, as if no one could be born and raised there. But I was, and it’s true.”

He leans forward. “What should I know about you that I’d never think to ask?”

Wow, that’s a good question for someone who doesn’t do the whole first-date-conversation thing.

“Um…probably that I was married before.”

Nate’s eyes widen at my response. Good thing this isn’t a first date because he is totally freaked out by this revelation. I put him out of his misery—and my own since I have no desire to talk about the world’s shortest marriage. Well, besides Kim Kardashian’s. Or Britney Spears’s. Look at that. My marriage wasn’t as short as I thought it was.

“Who has been the biggest influence in your life?” I ask.

“The guy who raised me—not my dad. This other man took me in. Taught me a lot about life. More than my parents ever did.”

“Anything important?” I ask.

He just shrugs me off.

“What’s your biggest goal in life right now? Aside from finding a husband.”

“That is not my life’s goal!” I yell. Then, I realize I’m yelling, so I take it down a notch. “Fine. It’s high up there.”

“I’ve never met a chick who plays the harmonica. That’s pretty badass. How many instruments do you play?”

“Three. The cello, the harmonica, and the bass.”

He whistles through his teeth. “You must be passionate about music.”

“It’s just something I know how to do.”

“You ready to play again?” He gives me a wink.

The Barge Poppers start their set, and the two of us listen to their opening songs. At Nate’s insistence, The Barge Poppers invite me up for another performance. This time, I play the bass. They ask if I know how to sing, but I assure them, I can’t carry a tune. The whole time, Nate stands in the back of the room, arms folded across his chest and a smile on his face.