Chapter One
Nick DeLuca knew that karma was catching up with him for some unknown bad deed the afternoon he found himself cornered by his cousins on the subject of togas and holiday parade floats.
“Uh-uh. Sorry. No way, man!”
Nick set his beer glass down with a thud for emphasis and glared first at his older Cousin Gabe.
Then at his Cousin Nate. Then his Cousin Marco. And finally, at his Cousin Trey.
“No way.”
The crowd on a Game Day Sunday afternoon at St. Helena’s mostly-locals brew pub The Spigot surreptitiously turned and stared at their table. And having grown up in a small town on the Cayuga Lake Wine Trail in the Fingerlakes region of upstate New York, Nick knew all about small towns and the gossip mill.
“Sorry, you guys, not gonna do it.”
Four sets of identical eyebrows quirked in amusement.
He groaned inwardly, regretting having agreed to meet his cousins for a pint before meeting up with his best friend from college, Emme Lawson. Whatever over-the-top thing it was he was walking into with the large California branch of his family, he didn’t want it to ruin seeing Emme again.
He hadn’t seen her since early Summer when they both graduated from Cornell, and he missed her more than he would ever admit, either to her or to himself.
Chatting by text and web-meeting kept them current on each other’s lives, but he’d found himself looking up regularly in the last few months, wondering exactly where the Emme was that belonged in that Emme-sized empty space next to him.
But they were best friends, and he’d never jeopardize that by telling her about that. He missed her, that was all.
“Yeah, man, I don’t think you quite understand ‘no’ is not a viable answer,” said Marco.
Nick realized his table contained a sizable amount of powerful Italian testosterone, and that the grapevine in this small wine-growing community would be in full force that the newest DeLuca in town wasn’t playing with the rest of the proverbial DeLuca baseball team. But he wasn’t about to be pushed around.
Not when it came to playing Dress Up Barbie on a parade float.
The four of them looked at each other, and then back at him with some type of – what even was that? Pity?
Tension prickled up through his spine and into his neck, threatening to cause a killer of a migraine headache. Which he’d never admit, because it would be showing a weakness to his cool older cousins, who he really admired.
Usually.
“Bro, listen to Marco. Don’t let Chi Chi hear you say no to something!” said Gabe, straightening up in his San Francisco 49ers jersey.
“Is this why she took all of you aside individually at Thanksgiving dinner? And I’m ending up with the short end of the stick?”
Nate cleared his throat. “We’ve all done our time over the years as Bacchus on the St. Helena Founder’s Float at the Christmas Parade. It’s part of being one of the Founding Families, and this year it’s the DeLuca’s turn again. Since you’re here, and you’re a male member of the family who hasn’t been Bacchus yet, Chi Chi signed you up. It’s actually really quite an honor.”
Marco snickered. “Once you get past wearing the toga. And the grape leaves. But I have to say, Lexi thought it was really hot.”
Nick vomited a little in his mouth and tried to ignore the thought of his cousin and his smoking-hot gourmet chef wife and parade float-related Toga Sex.
He focused on keeping his tone light and relaxed. No use letting his cousins, who were getting to him, know that HE knew they were getting to him.
At least the DeLuca women hadn’t ganged up on him. That was something. Gabe was right, Nick couldn’t have said no to his great-aunt, the pint-sized but formidable Chi Chi Ryo DeLuca Baudouin, who ruled St. Helena with a sequin-bedazzled fist.
Or to his Cousin Abby.
Or to any of these guys’ gorgeous and determined wives.
Considering himself lucky, Nick resolved to hold firm.
Keep it light, man.
“That’s easy for you to say, cousin. You all look like you could star in the Abercrombie & Fitch Dad’s Edition catalog! And all of you were raised here in St. Helena, of course you were all Bacchus on the Holiday Parade float!”
“I was actually Santa last year,” offered up Trey. “I had the float with Randolph and the whole rest of the set of eight tiny reindeer.”
“My wife once stole Randolph the Reindeer, the year we got together,” grinned Gabe. “Christmas in St. Helena is my favorite time of year.”
“Did he say Dad’s Edition?” asked Trey in a too-genial tone that implied Nick was outnumbered, and way out of his league. “You’re old enough to drink that beer, right?”
“Touche’ man,” said Nick. “I finished my undergrad from Cornell last Spring. Doubled in Viticulture and Enology at their College of Agriculture and Business over at the Dyson School. Which is why it was valuable for Nate here to have me intern. So, yeah, last time I checked I’m legal to imbibe. And no, I’m still not going to dress up in a toga on a float, no matter what you say.”
“Here’s the thing, Brainiac,” said Gabe. “You know when your mom called to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving, and Chi Chi sped off with your cell phone?”
Time slowed down for Nick, in a bad sinking-in-the-pit-of-his stomach kind of way. He loved his mom to pieces, but she had a maudlin streak at the holidays. He couldn’t blame her for that, she’d met his dad at the holidays, but still. He just didn’t want to be interfered with.
“Yes,” he replied slowly.
“Well, you mom told her you were single, and that her absolute fondest wish for the holidays was for you to find someone to settle down with.”
Trey plunked his beer glass down and chanted “Ahoo! Ahoo! Ahoo!” at the TV monitors hanging around the bar as the 49ers had their first down. When the roar of the crowd calmed down, he addressed Nick. “She’s our Nonna, and your Great Aunt. And when Chi Chi goes on a mission, she goes on a mission. Take it from me – I used to travel for a living, and she tricked me into thinking she was at death’s door, all to get me to be her escort at the Winter Garden Gala.”
Nick gave his older cousin a horrified look and downed a deep gulp of his beer.
“It’s all good, bro,” said Trey. “I think it was the Universe’s way of getting me together with Sara. Just, with a little help from my pint-sized Italian nonna.”
Nate’s eyes crinkled as he added, “Girls love Bacchus. And I guarantee, every cane-wielding little old lady at the Senior Center has by now heard that Chi Chi Ryo’s great-nephew is in town, single, eligible…and is going to be Bacchus in the parade. They’ll be lining their single granddaughters up along the parade route for you.”
Nick felt an invisible net cinch around him and tighten. You didn’t mess with Italian nonnas. But for some inexplicable reason, they could mess with you.
Yet still.
“I know she has dynastic tendencies, but I do not need Great Aunt Chi Chi’s ‘help’ finding a girlfriend.”
“Who said girlfriend?” chortled Nate. “She’ll find you a wife.”
“And, with grad school ahead of me, that’s the last thing I need.”
Nick’d had his fill of girls at Cornell, in fact, he’d had enough first dates with long-legged coed cuties to staff his very own holiday chorus line at Radio City Music Hall.
Emme was his constant through all that, always a friend and always there after the Girl of the Week figured out that he was a double-major and really was serious about it. He loved sex, but he didn’t have time for a serious relationship in between pursuing his goal of someday producing the best Riesling in New York State and gaining the business acumen to take that Riesling to large distribution.
His thoughts flashed to the last time he saw Emme, shortly after they both graduated. Emme, in her boots, a pair of faded jeans that perfectly encased her slender legs, and one of her wacky t-shirts with some veterinary slogan emblazoned across her chest.
Whoa. Where was he going with that? Nick missed her, but he’d found embarrassingly enough over the past Summer and Fall that he was thinking of her in other ways. Ways that were not conducive to keeping his best friend of four-years-and-counting.
“Aww, look everyone, he’s blushing,” ribbed Marco.
Nick’s eyes rolled back in his head.
“I do not need help finding a girl. Wifely or otherwise.”
Just then, the door of the bar opened and the atmosphere at The Spigot changed.
Nick’s jaw dropped when he saw her again. If she weren’t his best friend, no – wait a minute!
Emme was even more beautiful than he remembered, fresh-scrubbed and deceptively pretty but with an air of “don’t mess with me.” She wore faded jeans, her favorite steel-toed boots, and had one of her ubiquitous animal t-shirts peeking out from beneath her leather jacket. Tonight’s was a tight black t-shirt that said “Pug Life” with a sunglasses-wearing dog on it.
He looked around the room and his hackles got up. All of the single guys and many of the obviously not-single ones noticed Emme. He was feeling protective, and didn’t like their check-out stares. Not one bit.
From the second Emme Lawson entered The Spigot with her new boss, Shay Baudouin, and Shay’s cool alpaca-owning sister-in-law, Frankie DeLuca, she knew something was up. She immediately locked eyes with her best friend from college, Nick DeLuca, who was surrounded by a group of extremely handsome men who could easily be his older brothers.
His blue eyes and tall, dark looks sucker-punched her. She felt her breath go shallow.
And aside from looking slightly drunk, he also looked way, way out of his depth. He looked a little like a lost puppy, which touched the veterinarian in her.
Her heart fluttered for a moment in sympathy. Something was clearly awry here.
Nick was an only, who’d lost his dad young and was raised by his tough-yet-endearing mom, Etta, in Interlaken, a winegrowing town in the Finger Lakes Region of New York. Seeing him here, surrounded by a group of slightly-older doppelgangers, tugged at Emme’s heartstrings.
If anyone deserved a big family, it was her Nick.
He’s not yours, a tiny voice in her head admonished.
“Emme, hold up!” Nick threw down a ten next to his drink and practically leapt across the bar, pulling her into an embrace.
His voice whispered deep in her ear with a surprising firmness, “play along, Em, okay?”
And he kissed her hard, surprising her enough that she acquiesced and bent her head back to accept it.
“Wait, there’s no mistletoe here, you idiot!” she said dryly, pulling out of the kiss but remaining in his tight hug.
“Em, help me out here,” he murmured, planting a kiss on her cheek and another fast one on her ear.
She met his eyes and tensed. By the way his jaw locked in a firm line, she knew it had to be some family thing.
Right, she thought. Em, help me out. Be a pal.
“What’d they do, dare you to kiss the next girl that came through the door?” she whispered in his ear, giving herself goose bumps in the process. They were best friends, but they were buddies. She’d never been close to him in this way.
Not her lips near his ear. Or near his lips. At least, not ever in a way that those things would be touching at the same time!
“No, it’s a lot worse than that,” he spoke quietly. “I’ll explain later, and I’ll owe you – big time.”
And then louder, “I really missed you!”
And he kissed her a second time, this time deeply, like a guy who hadn’t seen his girlfriend all Summer and Fall, and who was making up for lost time.
And like a complete fool, Emme felt herself kiss back, just like a girl who hadn’t seen her boyfriend all Summer and Fall.
A girl who knew exactly what – and who – she wanted for Christmas.