We’re barely out the door of Milton’s before Miguel is chuckling.

“Shafted,” he says.

I exhale tolerantly as we walk over the graveled lot on the way to my truck. The country road next to the diner is dead, and long grass waves in the wind nearby. Then Miguel’s motor mouth breaks the peace.

“Shot down.”

Jesus H.

“Shut out,” he continues, gathering speed. “Shunted, like an electrical current diverted.”

“You’re finding this whole thing entertaining, aren’t you?”

“It’s not often I see you denied like that. Man, you should’ve gone for the other sister instead.”

“Miguel, do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Shut your pie hole.”

I grin at him as we arrive at my red Dodge Ram, then get inside. After I sit behind the wheel and ignite the engine, we head out. I’m not about to tell Miguel that he’s right once again — my odds would’ve been better with the other twin. But I’m not interested in Grace. Yeah, the sisters look a hell of a lot alike, but they’re night and day as far as I’m concerned. It’s easy to tell them apart. If they were country singers, Grace would be the bedazzled one belting out anthems about standing through the sunroof of a speeding car while she hoots and hollers in the wind; Gwen would be the one sitting alone on a stage under a hushed spotlight singing about headaches and heartaches. There’s just something about her quiet, no-nonsense way that gets to me, and fuck if she wasn’t even prettier up close. I’m not sure she was actually wearing makeup, yet she still had the kind of skin that glows and blue eyes that burn.

As I drive by white fences, cattle, and farmland, I rest my arm on the steering wheel. I let myself think about Gwen’s beautiful blonde hair loose and free, splayed across my pillow. I think about her boots, jeans, and simple henley in a pile on my bedroom floor.

Then I shift in my seat before my jeans get too tight and before Miguel gives me another one of those strange looks he’s been sending me for the past few minutes. Instead of thinking about blonde hair and hot skin, I make myself think about how Gwen likes to read and how she’s into Willie Nelson. Yeah, that’s much better.

Fuck. It was better a second ago, because, as it happens, the brainy side of Gwen is still making the blood pound down to my groin. Whether Miguel thinks I have a shot with her or not, I’ll sure be paying more visits to Milton’s. There has to be a way to wear this girl down and get past that glacial surface of hers. Not that things will ever get serious — it’s not like I’m looking to settle down, and even if I were, there aren’t a lot of stable, long-term women out there who can get past my history. I’m not expecting anyone to do that, and I always let women know at the start that I’m not a forever kind of guy. Then again, I get the feeling Gwen wouldn’t be into commitment anyway, because it looks like she’s married … to her job.

We’re just passing the brick high school when my phone sounds off with a Facetime ringtone on the seat between Miguel and me. He looks at the screen.

“Let’s say hey to your moms,” he says in a chipper voice. “I want to tell her how badly her son whiffed it with the twin back at the diner.” Before I can tell him to knock it off, he accesses the call. “Hey, Moms! What’s cookin’?”

“Hi there, Miguel. I’m only calling to check in with my boy.”

“Boys,” he says. “I know you meant to include me in that term of endearment.”

She laughs. “Yes, I’d like to check in with my boys.”

Miguel slants the screen so Mom can get a load of me driving. I catch a brief glimpse of her salt-and-pepper hair and dark eyes. She’s smiling, and every time I see a smile from her, my day gets a little better. Through the years, I’ve worked hard to help her get out of our old house just outside the bad end of Marloe, but I’ve also made some shitty mistakes. All I’ve ever wanted to do is improve her life along with mine. My dad hasn’t been around since I was three, so there’s a bond between Mom and my younger sister Moira and me that’ll never be broken; hell, if it wasn’t broken back in my early twenties after I landed in jail, it’ll never be damaged.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, Quinn. Someone’s got a birthday coming up, and I want to make sure you’ll take the day off. I’ve already got plans, so I want to give you a heads up way before then.”

“I’m all yours.” I’ll be turning thirty-five, but my big day isn’t until next month. Mom’s always been a big believer in planning ahead.

Miguel squirrels his way into the conversation. “Hey, Moms, your birthday boy was busted down by a chick today. Can you believe it?”

“Don’t make me pull over,” I mutter.

“Quinn?” Mom asks. “Busted down? What exactly does that mean?”

It’s Miguel’s mouth to the rescue again. “It means this girl who works at a diner gave him the big no after he asked her out.”

“Really?”

By now, Miguel is cowering as far away from my glare as he can, and the dickhead is absolutely full of glee. “I’m telling you, Moms,” he says to the screen, shaking his head, “it was a pitiful sight. I thought I’d never see the day that a girl wasn’t salivating over your son. I didn’t think they made girls that way.”

I hold out my hand for the phone while keeping my eyes on the road. “Are you done?”

“Not even close.” Miguel angles away from me as he looks at the screen. “Moms, you should know there’s a bright side to this story. The lovely girl has a twin, and she’s very sociable and sunny. I think she’s into Quinn.”

“Well, hopefully the twin will have a mind to settle him down. Right, Quinn?”

I roll my eyes. “Mom.”

“Make my dreams come true, honey. Date the nice twin and bring her to your birthday party with the family. The kids would love to finally have an auntie for their uncle.”

As Miguel laughs and then starts talking with Mom about how my sister is doing, I shake my head. What Mom is really saying is that she would love for me to have a stable, steady woman who’ll always keep me out of trouble, even though I turned my life around years ago. Not that I can forget. I was an idiot back when I thought the only way out of poverty was to listen to guys I thought were friends and do what they were doing to make money. I’d been working odd jobs to help my mom out since I was thirteen; she was working two jobs, and we were dirt poor with bills mounting up and healthcare bullshit to deal with for my mom’s bad hips. I was young, hungry for a better life for my family, and very stupid, and when my pals got me into selling ecstasy, the money helped. But then I was finally put in jail at the age of twenty-four. The judge had gotten sick of my act by then, and in jail, I had plenty of time to do some hard thinking. I survived with the help of 1) a friend who was also incarcerated, 2) my affability, and 3) some well-developed muscles. I turned my shit around as far as dealing goes, but when I got out, I found a different kind of trouble with women who had tempers.

One in particular.

Shit, maybe what I really do need is an ice queen, although Gwen’s got that flash of fire in her, too. So maybe I should stay away.

Or maybe not.

Mom and Miguel are catching up about his wife Eileen now, and I continue to tune them out as I drive cross Main Street on our way to Climax Vineyards. By the time they finally hang up, we’re back on a country road. I send Miguel a look like She might as well be your mom sometimes, but we’re driving up to the site now, so I don’t bother saying it out loud.

Once we’re out of the truck, he gives me a dipwad smile and goes his way to the stone building that will house the tasting room and offices. I start off in the direction of the huge patio where special events will be held. I can hear the sound of hammering and power tools and, in the near distance, there’s a view of the Full Circle Technologies work campus with its sprawl of brick buildings. In the other direction, the vineyards, which have been in operation for a while now, stretch their tangled rows.

Ah, Cherry Valley. It’s a far cry from the ugly streets where I come from, and right now I can see more than a future for Climax Vineyards here.

It’s possible that there might even be a better one for me, with or without a steady woman.