The Villa

try it again, with our Merlot." She signaled to the bartender. "It's more appropriate."
    "No, thanks." He patted his belly. "I'm more of a beer man."
    "Really? I'd never have guessed."
    "You're such a jerk, Barry." His wife snatched her purse off the bar and steamed out the door.
    "It was a joke ! Jeez." Hitching up his belt, he hurried after her. "Can't anybody take a joke?"
    "Well now." Pilar turned to her group. People were either goggling or pretending to look elsewhere. "Now that we've had our comic relief, I hope you've enjoyed your tour. I'm here to answer any questions you may have. Please feel free to visit our retail shop, where our wines, including those you've sampled, are available. We at Villa Giambelli hope you'll visit us again, and stop by our sister facility at the MacMillan Winery, only minutes away here in Napa. We wish you buon viaggio, wherever your travels take you."
    David waited until people began to wander off before he took Pilar's arm and led her outside. "I was premature on the nice job. I should've said fabulous. Fabulous job. Though I'd've been more inclined to crack that idiot over the head with the bottle of Merlot than offer him one."
    "Oh, I do. Mentally." She drew a deep breath, stepped away from the vine-covered stone of the old winery. "We get someone like Barry once or twice a week. Responding in an obnoxiously pleasant manner seems to work best. It helps that I'm family."
    "I haven't come in before during your tours. Didn't want you to think I was checking up on you." He lifted her pearls, let them run through his fingers. "You, Ms. Giambelli, are a natural."
    "You know what? You're right," she agreed, delighted with herself. "Just as you were right to push me into this. It gives me something tangible to do."
    "I didn't push you. The fact that no one does is one of your secrets. You figured out a long time ago how to live your life the way that made sense to you at the time. Times changed. I opened a door, but you're the one who walked through it."
    "That's very interesting." Amused at both of them, she cocked her head. "I'm not sure my family would agree with you. I'm not sure I do."
    "It took spine to stay in a marriage that wasn't a marriage because you took your vows seriously. It would have been easier to walk away. I know all about that."
    "You give me too much credit."
    "I don't think so, but if you want to be grateful I gave you a nudge into this job, I'll take it. Especially," he added, sliding his hands up her arms, "if you think of a way to pay me back."
    "I could think of something." She let her fingers link with his. Flirting, she thought, got easier with practice. She'd certainly been enjoying her lessons. "We could start with dinner."
    "I've been scoping out this little inn."
    "That's very nice." But dinner at the inn was a date—and formal, however much they enjoyed each other's company. She was, she realized, looking for something less. And something more.
    "But I meant cooking you dinner. You and your children."
    "Cooking? For all of us?"
    "I'm a very good cook," she informed him. "And it's a rare thing for me to have a kitchen to myself. You have a nice kitchen. But if you think it'd be awkward, or your kids would be uncomfortable with the idea, the inn would be fine."
    "Cooking," he said again. "Like at the stove. With pots." He lifted her off her feet for a kiss. "When do we eat?"
    We're getting a home-cooked meal tonight. Pilar's cooking. I don't know what's on the menu, but you will like it. Be home by six. Until then, try to pretend you're human children and not the mutants I won in a poker game.
    Love, Dad.
    Maddy read the note stuck on the refrigerator, grimaced. Why did they have to have company? How come she didn't have a say in who got to come over? Did he really think she and Theo were so brain-damaged they'd believe a woman came over and fiddled around in a guy's kitchen just to cook?
    Please.
    Okay, she amended. Maybe Theo was brain-damaged enough, but she'd fix that.
    Taking the note, she jogged upstairs. Theo was already in his room, already on the phone, already ruining his eardrums with the music up to scream. He didn't need to hit the kitchen for fuel after school, she thought with a sniff. He, in direct violation of house rules, kept enough junk food stockpiled in his room to feed a small country.
    She had that information tucked into her get-back-at-Theo file.
    "Ms. Giambelli's fixing dinner."
    "What? Go away. I'm on the phone."
    "You're