We planned to close an hour early on Saturday to prepare for the wine and food pairing. Ideally, well before the small bridal shower ended and the fifty-plus guests mingling in the lounge area departed. I wished they’d taken me up on my offer to use another space for their party. Conrad Winery had ample grounds with plenty of picturesque nooks and crannies. We hosted parties in the warehouse and erected large tents in the courtyard and on the hillside overlooking the vineyard regularly. Depending on the time of year, the vistas were stunning. Winter was the only season we’d consider closing the main room. Iffy weather and dormant vines meant slower traffic. If a large party offered big bucks to throw a bash in our admittedly stunning tasting room, it was hard to refuse. But agreeing to host a shower and staying open to the public just before the wine and food pairing wasn’t my brightest move.

I glanced at my watch before surveying the well-dressed crowd milling around the fireplace and the elaborate spread the caterers had placed adjacent to the giant picture window. Everyone seemed happy and relaxed. They had food, wine, and pleasant conversation to keep them entertained. The walk-in guests seated in the bar area looked content too. This was the perfect time to escape. My staff could handle the rest.

I nudged Ryan’s elbow as he mopped some spilled wine from the bar. “I’m leaving now. Levi should be arriving at Chez Conrad at any moment. You’re in charge, Ry. Make sure no one absconds with my wineglasses. And keep your eye on the boisterous gentlemen at that high table in the corner. They’ve had a bit much, and there’s still another hour or so to go. We need the shower wrapped up by four-thirty at the latest, so we have time to clean and set up for the food pairing.”

“Got it. Who are you taking with you?” he asked, reaching for a bottle of Pinot.

“No one. I need you all here. I am more than capable of constructing a bite-sized culinary masterpiece in two hours or less. In the very unlikely event the task seems larger than I can handle, I’ll call for help.” I untied my apron and stepped aside.

“Sounds good. I still don’t understand why you didn’t assign someone else. You love when it’s busy, and we’re swamped today.” Ryan pushed a wayward curl behind his ear and then gestured toward our guests before picking up a wine opener.

“True, but it’s nothing you can’t handle,” I assured him. “And…I need a new project.”

“Levi is your project?” Ryan uncorked the bottle and turned to me with a frown. “Are you interested in him?”

“Interested in who?” Danny intercepted, pressing a discreet kiss on Ryan’s cheek then grabbing the wine from his boyfriend’s hand.

“Levi,” Ryan replied, waggling his brows lasciviously.

When Danny let out a low wolf whistle, I smacked his arm and scoffed. “Cool it, you two. I’m not interested in him personally. I’m being a nice neighbor…at Wes’s request. I can’t decide if I think it’s sweet that he asked for assistance or worrisome that he’s already lost his chef.”

“Losing the chef isn’t that big of a deal. He has plenty of time to hire another one,” Ryan insisted as he pulled a bottle of Pinot from the glass shelf.

“Au contraire,” I corrected. “Most high-end culinary establishments revolve around a celebrity chef. The concept of basing a business on old family recipes is charming, but it’s a tad naïve. I’m not roundly rejecting the possibility that our new neighbor knows what he’s doing. But if he’ll be pouring Conrad wines there, I’d like to know if he plans on pairing our Pinot with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“Don’t worry, Geord. I’ve tried the PBJ and Pinot combo, and it’s freaking amazing,” Danny said, raising the two bottles in a mini-salute before addressing his boyfriend. “Babe, I need three more Reserves. I’ll drop these off and come back for them.”

Ryan nodded then turned to me with a half smile. “What are you waiting for? Those PB and Js aren’t going to make themselves.”

“Very funny.” I made sure he took in the full effect of my dramatic eye roll before I headed for the stone archway to the exit.

I thought about stopping by my house to change my shoes before making my way to Wes and Nick’s, but I didn’t have much time. I stopped in the middle of the gravel path and looked down at my blue velvet embroidered loafers. They were pretty, but they hurt like a sonofabitch. I stopped twice along the way to dislodge errant pebbles from my shoes and give my feet a rest.

The second I reached the courtyard, I made a mad dash for the bench under the olive tree facing the front door and yanked my left shoe off. I turned it upside down and shook it wildly. I did the same with my right shoe and smiled when I heard Mike’s voice gently admonishing me.

“Geordie bird, when are you going to learn?”

I basked in the easy humor I imagined, letting it wrap me in a gossamer veil, magically separating me from my so-called reality. “I can’t help it. They’re adorable. Royal blue is stunning in velvet, don’t you think? And they make my feet look smaller. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to find these in size thirteen.”

“Size thirteen, eh?” someone repeated in an amused tone.

I yelped in surprise. Adrenaline shot through my system, sending my pulse into overdrive. I acted on instinct and did the first thing that came to mind. I chucked my shoe at the intruder and then hopped off the bench on one foot with my fists raised, ready for combat.

“Ouch! What the hell?” Levi glowered, rubbing his forehead. He bent to pick up my shoe from the front step then shot a dirty look at me before crossing the path to join me at the bench.

“ ‘What the hell?’ is right! You scared the bejesus out of me. What are you doing sneaking around here?” I hopped forward a couple of feet but stopped when I teetered precariously. The last thing I needed was to land on my ass. Especially in front of this guy.

“I opened the door. That’s hardly sneaking.”

I held my palm open and lifted my chin regally. “My shoe, please.”

The gravel crunched noisily under Levi’s sneakers as he made his way toward me. He held out my shoe but didn’t release it. “Not so fast. Who were you talking to?”

“Myself,” I replied, wiggling my fingers in a not-so-subtle request for him to hand it over already.

Levi narrowed his eyes. “It sounded like you were telling an imaginary friend about your big feet and fancy slippers.”

I snickered at his tone. Teasing banter was my specialty. Lighthearted edginess without malice gave an impression one had entered the friend zone. Or more accurately, the “something more than acquaintance but less than the real thing” zone. In my experience, most peripheral working relationships thrived there. Caterers, temporary interns, delivery people and yes…the hunky man dressed in a plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and a pair of beat-up, checkered Vans, giving me a head-to-toe once-over.

I ignored everything I disliked about his statement and homed in on the one thing I could possibly turn into a joke. “Well, you know what they say about larger than average feet, darling.”

“You mean that’s not just a rumor?” Levi asked in a faux-serious voice.

I widened my eyes slightly then shook my head slowly for dramatic effect. “In my case…no.”

“Hop back to that bench,” he commanded, gesturing for me to get moving.

I huffed impatiently but obeyed, tripping before I made a quick dive toward the bench and flopped gracelessly on my ass. I grumbled in Spanish and gave him a sideways glance when he sat beside me, chuckling at my misadventures.

“May I please have my shoe now? I’m cold.”

“These shoes are your problem, you know,” he said conversationally. “They’re too flimsy. No arch support, no tread to speak of and—”

“They weren’t designed for comfort.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“Fashion. I call them luxe leisurewear. They’re pretty and I like them. Even though they hurt,” I admitted.

“Hmm. What would you call mine?” he asked, gesturing to the black-and-white checkered slip-on sneakers.

“Skater-boy chic.”

Levi snorted. “Sounds about right.”

“Why aren’t you giving me my shoe?”

Levi’s innocent expression was almost funny. Almost. “Relax. I’m just checking out your luxe leisurewear and yeah…I may be a little curious about your size-thirteen brag.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “Are you flirting with me? You might want to hold up. I’m one of those clingy types. AKA, a straight, confused, or closeted bi man’s nightmare.”

He widened his eyes theatrically. “Why do I think you’re flirting with me now?”

“I’m not,” I deadpanned. “But since you seem so interested in how evenly the inches are distributed on my person, I assure you, I’m very well-proportioned.”

Levi scratched his stubbled chin and cracked a smile. It started out as a lopsided, lazy gesture but it quickly morphed into a full-fledged, roguish grin. And dammit, that dimple was sexy.

“I’m going to file all that information under ‘good to know.’ Here you go, Cinderfella,” he snarked, setting my shoe on the bench between us.

I felt his gaze like a physical thing as I crossed my leg over my knee and slipped my shoe on. I wanted to crack a joke about foot fetishes, but I wasn’t sure I could deliver the punch line without getting flustered. His nearness unnerved me. And I didn’t get it.

I cleared my throat and fussed with the cuffs of my black silk shirt before standing. “We should get to work.”

“Yep. Let’s get cookin’.” Levi clapped enthusiastically then jumped to his feet and moved ahead of me.

I chuckled at his burst of excitement as I followed him to the front door. I found myself fixating on the way his shirt hugged his broad shoulders and upper back before tapering to his slim waist. He wasn’t too thin, though. He had bulk to him. Maybe that was his baseball training. Snoozeville. Sports were the anti-conversation starter for me. That was Mike’s forte and—I stopped in my tracks and frowned before turning to glance behind me at the vacant bench.

“Wish me luck, Mikey,” I whispered.

Before my emotions had the chance to get the better of me, Levi called my name.

“Hey, what are you waiting for? Did you want a piggyback ride across the gravel?”

I huffed then swept ahead of him with my head held high and led the way through my friends’ spacious contemporary ranch-style home. The setting was picturesque. French doors and wide windows looked out onto the vineyards. Perhaps it was a whimsical sentiment, but a person could feel as though they were part of a landscape painting when gazing out at the vines in the distance.

The interior had been designed to accentuate the incredible panorama. Muted furnishings were offset by bright pillows and Persian rugs. A great deal of attention had gone into carrying the same modern-meets-old-world vibe throughout the winery. Stone, rough-hewn wood and traditional light fixtures juxtaposed with glass and steel. Wes and Nick’s home was worthy of an Architectural Digest spread, I mused as we moved through the formal living area and into the adjoining great room.

The first thing I noticed was the two battered cookbooks next to a few grocery bags on the enormous island in the otherwise pristine kitchen. As much as I loved to cook, I couldn’t help thinking this experiment suddenly had the earmark of being a troublesome waste of time on a busy day.

“What am I making?” I asked, heading to the sink to wash my hands.

“I’m not leaving you to do all this alone. I’m here to help,” he insisted. “We’re making Mexican-inspired stuffed peppers and mini-tacos.”

It was almost a shame that he’d never know how hard I worked to hold back my eye roll just then. Someone should have been there to give me a high five or at least a pat on the back. Anyone who uttered the phrase “Mexican-inspired” to a man from East LA had better come armed with something heavier than an old cookbook.

“Show me your recipe.” I dried my hands on a dishcloth then pulled two aprons from a drawer in the island and tossed one at Levi.

He caught it easily and narrowed his eyes. “Do I really need this?”

“If you’re cooking in my kitchen, you do. And don’t forget to wash your hands. Did you mark the page?”

“Your kitchen? I thought Wes and Nick lived here. Do you live with them?”

“No. It’s their house, but this is my kitchen,” I replied.

Levi set the apron on the quartz counter and moved to the sink. He turned on the faucet and gave me a sideways look I couldn’t quite read. “Where do you live?”

“I have a charming little cottage just down the hill. Close enough yet far enough away. Truthfully, I spend quite a bit of time here, though.”

“Why?”

“My kitchen is lovely, but this one is bigger. It’s easier to just cook for Wes and Nick here than cart meals around. And Lord knows, they wouldn’t bother with a decent meal if they were left to their own devices,” I said with a laugh.

“Do you cook for them often?” he asked, narrowing his gaze.

I shrugged. “A few days a week.”

“Why? I mean, are you guys…”

When he didn’t finish, I cocked my head curiously. “Are we what?”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable when he replied. “In a relationship?”

“Are you high?” I countered with a comical face that universally translated to “Yuck.”

“Hey, some people are into threesomes. I’m not judging.”

I stepped backward to give him room then handed over the dishcloth when he turned the water off. Then I gestured to the apron, but instead of telling him to speed things up a notch, I heard myself ask, “Are you?”

Levi’s slow-moving Cheshire cat grin could have meant absolutely anything. But when his eyes twinkled and his smile widened mischievously, I knew he was playing with me. He nodded profusely and then immediately shook his head.

“Hell, no. I can’t even handle one partner. Two at the same time would push me over the edge.” He chuckled as he tied the apron around his trim waist.

“Does that mean you’re single?”

I quickly turned to the cookbooks on the island and flipped open the first one, hoping my fluid motion and lack of eye contact lent a disinterested quality to my query. Why the fuck did I ask that? I didn’t care if he was married with ten kids. He wasn’t my business. I only cared about how well he knew how to stuff a chili—no! I didn’t mean that either.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Single?”

“I guess I am. But don’t ask me out,” I quipped. “You’ll want to after I fix your canapé issue but please refrain. Now, which recipe is it?”

I thumbed through the cookbook and tried to get my erratic heartbeat under control. I was an expert flirt. My considerable skills had been honed over a few decades. Sex and age were nonfactors. I could find common ground with almost anyone for a short duration. And if I stroked an ego or two along the way, that wasn’t such a bad thing. Harmless repartee could be good for the soul. Unless your delivery fell short of the mark.

Levi set his hand on one of the pages I’d flipped open and slid the book away from me.

“Slow down. I’ll show you.” He closed the cookbook and examined the exterior before popping it open to a dog-eared page. “This one.”

“Fabulous. You can empty those grocery bags while I look this over.”

“You’re a little bossy, you know.”

“So they say,” I retorted, fishing my reading glasses from my shirt pocket and perching them on the end of my nose. “And in this case, I have every right to be.”

“Because it’s your kitchen. Which brings us back to where we started.” Levi set the contents of the first bag on the island: jalapeños, cheese, bacon.

“Threesomes?”

He burst into laughter and held his fist toward me. I stared at it for a moment over the rim of my glasses before cautiously laying my hand over his. Thankfully, there was no sizzle and crackle between us like there had been a few days ago at the winery. No doubt it had been static from that damn rug.

Levi flashed a winning smile that made his dimple stand out. “Try that again. I’m gonna have to take away your dude card if you don’t give me a real fist bump, Geordie,” he teased.

“I assure you, I have never had a dude card.” I swatted his hand and pointed at the jalapeños. “And those aren’t going to wash themselves.”

“True, but you can’t leave me hanging here. We’ve got to get our working mojo in sync first. Make a fist, touch mine, and pow…magic is gonna happen.”

“I told you I—”

“Have a thirteen-inch dick,” he supplied quickly. “I know. I heard you and yeah, I’m jealous. But this isn’t about what you’ve got between your legs—it’s a teamwork thing.”

I held his gaze for a long moment. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t do team sports of any kind and—”

“And you don’t have a thirteen-inch dick?” Levi intercepted.

His wrinkled brow and faux-confused expression cracked me up. I chuckled in spite of myself.

“I will neither confirm or deny. A girl needs to keep a few secrets, honey,” I said, shooing him away playfully.

“High five then.”

I rolled my eyes but held my hand up and carefully tapped it against his. “There. Are you ready to get to work now?”

“That was weak sauce, dude. What do you want me to do first?”

“Wash the vegetables…dude.”

Levi nodded then moved to the sink with the bag of peppers. I examined the ingredients he’d left on the island, noting the freshness and quality with approval. The appetizers he’d chosen were fairly simple. The “wow” factor would come from a unique blend of spices, artisanal cheeses and of course, bacon. Or maybe the bacon was too obvious. I headed to the fridge to investigate other options.

“Did I forget something?” Levi asked when he returned to the island with the rinsed peppers.

“No, but I was thinking we could do a little experiment,” I announced, holding a deli package like a newfound prize.

Levi frowned. “What is that?”

“Prosciutto. We can wrap a few peppers in—”

“Oh, no. No, we have to stick to the recipe,” he said firmly. “It’s very precise. I admit, I can’t read half of the cookbook, but I know the ingredients, and prosciutto isn’t one of them.”

“Why not try something new?”

Levi scowled. “Because…no! Hey, I’m usually the first to toss out a rule book, but you can’t do that when you’re cooking.”

“Says who?” I challenged.

“Cooking people.”

“Cooking people,” I repeated.

“You know what I mean. Chefs.” He furrowed his brow and looked away with a sigh. “I only knew one real chef, and he was adamant about rules.”

“I don’t like rules. Any rules.” I pulled off my bangles and set them by the sink then picked up a clean dishtowel. “And I strongly believe that all the rules can be broken in the kitchen, Mr. 501.”

“Mr. 501?”

“I’ll give you a minute to think about it,” I snarked before continuing. “Aren’t you the one seeking assistance? I’m the expert here, not you.”

“Not when it comes to this recipe,” he insisted stubbornly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

I turned around to blast him, but the ready humor in his gaze and the hint of a smile on his handsome face stopped me. I frowned and did my best to refocus, but it wasn’t easy. Levi had an imposing air underneath his easygoing façade. I might have been taller than him, but he was broader and more muscular. He squared his shoulders, furrowed his brows, and seemed to effortlessly take over the room, impeding my flow of oxygen. And when he stepped close enough that I could smell his aftershave, my thoughts ricocheted like crazy.

I wondered if he’d just taken shower and what kind of soap he used. He smelled amazing. Woodsy, fresh, and masculine. I could imagine him in the woods in a lumberjack fantasy wearing ripped jeans and an unbuttoned plaid shirt, exposing his washboard abs and hairy chest and—Oh boy.

“Are you okay? You’re looking at me funny.”

I shook my head and coughed to hide my embarrassment before turning back to study the open cookbook. What the hell were we talking about? Bacon. Right.

“Does this specify which type of—?” I adjusted my reading glasses then cast a suspicious sideways look at Levi before setting the knife on the cutting board. “This is written entirely in Spanish.”

“Yeah, I was telling you about this on the phone.” He grinned as he glanced down at the cookbook. “It’s my great-grandmother’s stuffed chili recipe. I can translate the notes in the corner but the rest…not so much. My Spanish sucks. I was hoping yours would be better.”

I folded my arms across my chest and cocked my head. “El mío es excelente. Spanish is my first language. But you knew that, didn’t you? Something tells me I’m here right now because you did your homework, Mr. Yeager.”

“Well, of course,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Of course?” I waved my finger in front of his face and then flung my arms wide and gestured wildly around the kitchen…at the cookbook, the ingredients, and finally at the knife on the cutting board. I picked up a jalapeño and pointed it at him like a weapon. “I want the whole story from the beginning.”

Levi held his hands up in surrender. “Put the jalapeño down and I’ll talk.”

I almost laughed. But I didn’t. Thank God. I paced to the far end of the island and chucked it at him instead. Levi widened his eyes then clutched his chest and let out a low, keening groan before falling to his knees.

I couldn’t help myself. I broke down and snickered appreciatively. I had a soft spot for all things silly. Especially slapstick humor. And there was something undeniably appealing about a hunky man who was willing to sacrifice a smidge of dignity for a laugh.

“You’re officially on my nerves,” I said in a haughty tone that didn’t mesh with my lopsided smile. “Proceed with caution. We have an hour and a half left to make this appetizer. I’ll chop the peppers. You finish up the onions and fill in the missing pieces while we work.”

“I might cry,” he deadpanned.

“It’s a chance you’ll have to take.” I handed him a knife and gestured for him to use the cutting board next to mine.

Levi sighed theatrically but immediately got to work. And he seemed to know what he was doing. He peeled, sliced, and diced with swift and deliberate strokes. I couldn’t help admiring his dexterity and his deft grip. If I knew him better, I’d make a joke about sexy men who knew how to use their hands. Vaguely inappropriate humor was a great icebreaker. But I refrained. It seemed like a bit much after our earlier foot-size banter. I didn’t want to give either of us the wrong idea.

And the fact that I had even a passing interest in my new neighbor’s dick size was…alarming. I hadn’t been this aware of another man in four years.

“Am I doing all right?” he asked with a side-eye smirk.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Very well. You’re shockingly talented with a knife.”

“I should be. Chopping veggies was my job at the restaurant when I was a kid, until baseball came along. Not my favorite thing but I was damn good at it, if I do say so myself.”

“So you have previous restaurant experience and baseball in your past.”

“I do. Sounds like you’ve been doing some research too,” he quipped.

“Wes told me you played ball, but I don’t know much else. Quit dropping hints and talk,” I demanded.

Levi chuckled. “Fine, but there isn’t much to tell. The long story short is, I inherited a property that—”

“Inherited? I thought the diner was purchased out of probate.”

“Yeah, by me. After lawyer fees, taxes, licensing, and the considerable amount of money I’m pouring into that place to make it a viable venture, it’s beginning to feel like a mistake. It might not be one of my brighter decisions, but I figured I had to at least try.”

“Why? Other than mad slicing and dicing skills, I was under the impression you don’t know much about the restaurant business.”

Levi looked like he was going to argue, but he shrugged instead and picked up another onion. “True. But I’m a quick learner. I’ve got a business degree, some money in the bank, and nothing to lose.”

“You already lost a chef,” I commented sarcastically.

“I did,” he replied in a flat tone. “But I’ll find another one who hopefully can read these cookbooks.”

I set the pepper I was about to cut in half aside and thumbed through the pages of the first book. “What makes these books so special?”

“They’re part of my heritage. Some of these recipes date back a few generations, and these two cookbooks are just the tip of the iceberg. I have dozens of recipes, most of them handwritten and damn it…they’re un-fucking-believable. I’m sitting on a treasure chest of old-world cuisine.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do. Wait until you taste this. You’ll see what I mean. Foodies go on and on about using cultural influences to create new dishes. It’s a great concept. But I’ll go one step further and say the best results come from authenticity. You can’t get more authentic than this.”

Levi thumped his fist on the cover for emphasis then picked up a jalapeño pepper and bit into it like an apple. I almost asked if he knew what he was doing, but the answer was painfully obvious. I bit back a smile when he made an immediate detour to the sink.

“Are you all right?”

“Fuck, those things are hot.” Levi cupped water into his hands and slurped it greedily before turning back to me with a dazed look. “We can’t serve those. The guests are going to have to chug their wine to cool down. Fuck. Let’s just do the mini-tacos instead and leave out the hot stuff.”

I chuckled. “We don’t have time to make a second appetizer. This one will do. The spicier, the better. Trust me, no one notices bland treats any more than they notice a wallflower dressed in black hiding in the corner at a high school dance.”

“Hmph.” Levi washed his hands then came back to the island to finish chopping the onions. “So…did you read the recipe? What do you think?”

“It’s pretty straightforward. Listen, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I’m first generation Mexican American. My mother and her sisters were fabulous cooks, and they never cracked open a cookbook. There’s a strong argument to be made that truly authentic recipes aren’t written down. What’s interesting is the scribbling on the side. This indicates that whoever tried to use the books made copious corrections. I’ve made countless variations of stuffed peppers over the years. This one is a lot like what I make.” I pointed at the open page then looked at Levi. “The spices are different, but everything else is standard and—now what’s wrong?”

Levi squeezed his eyes shut and stepped around the island. He flopped onto one of the barstools and buried his head in his arms. “I need a second. I think I rubbed chili guts in my eyes.”

I snickered at his self-deprecating tone and flat delivery. Then I tossed a dishtowel at him and gestured toward the refrigerator. “Help yourself to a beverage. I can handle things from here.”

“Are you nicely asking me to stay out of the way?”

“I am. You can entertain me with the story of your life. Where are you from?”

“Here.”

“Here as in Northern California or the Bay Area or—”

“Napa. I grew up a few blocks away from the diner, went to the elementary school on the corner of Pine and Walnut, and learned how to play ball at the park across the street from the bank. When my parents divorced, I moved with my mom to New Mexico to be closer to her family. I went to college in Maryland on a baseball scholarship, played in the minors for ten years for the Orioles. I even got called up to the big league a couple of times.”

I glanced up from my chore when he paused. “Is that a good thing?”

“It was at the time. I played third base and shortstop. Sometimes second in a pinch.”

“You’re speaking another language. What’s third stop?”

Levi hiked his foot on the rung of the barstool next to him and rested his elbow on his knee in a supremely relaxed pose. “Third base, not third stop, Geordie.”

“Mmhmm. What did you do after baseball?” I prodded.

“I came back to Cali and coached at a junior college in LA for a coupla years. Then I heard about the diner and I figured…what the hell? Sometimes it’s the unexpected fork in the road that leads you to where you’re supposed to go. Ya know what I mean?”

I pushed the peppers to the side and studied him for a moment. His lackadaisical bravado didn’t mesh with his sudden intensity. There was a glaring missing link in his story between coaching and buying a fading piece of his family’s history in the form of a restaurant he had no clue about how to run. My pointed look surely told him the omission had been noted. It was in my best interest to learn as much as possible if Wes was serious about investing in his place. I had to play it cool and ideally, not stare at his biceps.

“And your fork led you to this kitchen?”

“In a roundabout way, yeah…I guess it did.” He narrowed his gaze before continuing. “You’re giving me a funny look now. You don’t believe me?”

“Let’s just say I think it’s interesting that your fork in the road is paved with ancient cookbooks leading to a crusty old diner, which coincidentally happens to be down the road from a successful winery,” I said, not bothering to hide my skepticism.

So much for playing it cool. But now that I’d said it aloud, I had a feeling I might be on to something.

“Do you think I’m taking advantage of you?” he asked sharply.

I spared him an irritated grunt before bending to retrieve a mixing bowl from an open shelf on the island. I reminded myself that saying exactly what I thought wasn’t always necessary…or wise. Be nice, be nice, be nice.

But when I straightened my spine and spotted the slight curl on the right corner of his mouth that looked remarkably like a smirk, I gave up. There was a fine line between being nice and being taken for a fool. I smacked my hand on the countertop then waggled my forefinger at him like an irate grade school teacher.

“Yes, I do. I think you charmed Wes with your ‘prodigal son returns home to save the day’ story and a promise to use our wines exclusively. Like that’s a big fucking deal. I assure you it’s not. Especially if you’re serving stuffed fucking jalapeños. I could make these in my sleep,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Oookay. Are you all right?” Levi asked with a frown.

I was immediately mortified. If I thought quickly, I could turn my mini-rant into a joke. He seemed nice enough to go along with it to keep the pretense of a friendly cooking excursion going, but I had to say something and above all, I couldn’t break down. I was suddenly shaky and on the verge of unraveling at warp speed. I needed a song. Any song.

“I’m fine.” I hummed off-key and swallowed my tears as I paced to the other side of the island.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Geordie.”

That stopped me. “Why are you apologizing? I’m the one having a moment. Please forgive me.”

Levi looked more alarmed than appeased by my manic grin. “The appetizer isn’t really important. Wes liked the idea—”

“And it’s a good one. Wes has a sense for these things. Mike always said so. He told me to trust Wes and I do.” I took a deep breath and went through my internal song list one more time, but it didn’t help. All I could think was…“But I don’t think he wanted a restaurant. That’s something I should have known. He should have told me—”

To my absolute horror, I cracked and let out a choked-sounding sob. My eyes widened, and my nostrils flared as I turned to the sink to wash my hands and hopefully pull myself together. Fast. I heard Levi move behind me and maybe even speak, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Geordie.”

I wiped my nose on my wrist then rinsed my hands again and took a cleansing breath before turning to Levi. “I’m sorry. Just…leave this with me. I’ll finish up on my own, and I promise to bring the best damn stuffed jalapeños you’ve ever had to the party tonight. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

My smile was far too tight to be convincing, but it wasn’t a bad effort. Unfortunately, Levi looked more worried than he had earlier and perhaps a bit shell-shocked.

“I’m not going anywhere, Geordie. You’re not gonna do this on your own,” he said softly. “Just tell me what you need. You don’t have to do any talking. I’ll keep you entertained with highlights from my baseball glory days. Sound like a plan?”

The kindness in his voice undid me. I knew he was talking about assembling the appetizers, but his words struck a fragile chord deep within me. Fuck, I was tired of being alone. Very tired.

I swallowed my sarcastic quip about baseball being the sports world’s equivalent to Xanax and nodded gratefully instead. “Yes. Thank you.”

We stared at each other for an awkward moment, sizing each other up. His ruggedly handsome exterior was nice for sure, but his likable demeanor and compassionate side made it difficult to push him away. At that very second, I appreciated his graceful show of respect and tact more than I could say. It made me think Wes had told him about Mike, but I didn’t want to ask. Not now.

“Are you gonna put me to work?” he asked in a low, soothing voice.

“Yes, but—” I hooked my thumb toward the portable speaker on the counter. “Do you mind if I turn on some music?”

“Great idea. What do ya got? Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin?”

I shot an “Oh, puh-leaze” look his way before pulling out my iPhone. “How do you feel about Oklahoma!?”

Levi furrowed his brow in confusion. “The state?”

“The musical, darling.”

“I have zero opinion about any musicals.”

I opened my jaw theatrically and then shook my head. “And just as I was beginning to warm up to you. It’s all right. I can help you with that. Prepare yourself for a life-altering experience.”

Levi set his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. I grinned in response and adjusted the volume to let the orchestral overture wash over the kitchen and echo off the walls. When the music soared to a crescendo, I glanced at my flabbergasted companion and burst into laughter. I hadn’t been alone with a relative stranger in a while. Sometimes I forgot that I was considered a weirdo in the world outside Conrad Winery. And I’d forgotten how freeing that could be.

We worked together in companionable silence for a while. I couldn’t tell if we were lost in our own thoughts or unsure of our ability to navigate with words. I was usually a genius at lighthearted chatter, but I’d accidentally ripped open a wound too close to the surface and needed time to regroup. Levi gave me a few minutes before he started talking. His conversation was breezy and free-flowing. He asked about the winery and our competition in the area and then shared childhood memories of local hotspots, lamenting the demise of a few of his favorites like the arcade on 5th Street and the pizza parlor two doors down.

I admired his technique. He mastered the art of skimming shallow topics with flair. He was engaging but undemanding. He didn’t ask personal questions or air his own dirty laundry. After two hours and four dozen canapés, I had to admit he was surprisingly refreshing company. I’d learned he was a former jock who liked junk food, comic books, and had a nostalgic streak. He learned that I loved musicals, spicy food, and the color red.

And with the strains of a beloved Rodgers and Hammerstein classic playing in the background while we assembled a familiar dish in a familiar kitchen, I allowed myself to become acquainted with a new voice. I heard the rise and fall of his breath and noted the contrasts in his animated speech and masculine tone. It didn’t occur to me until he’d left that I hadn’t been alone with a man who wasn’t a close friend or employee in over four years. He didn’t belong here, but I let him in. There was a good chance he’d never know that was a big fucking deal.