When did I ever do anything like this? Rarely.

A glass of wine after work with the hottest guy this town had ever seen? Never.

I told Cal I would close the front of the restaurant. He looked more relieved to finish work early and less worried about my well-being. Leo was already gone and the dishwasher had mopped the floor. Bella’s was empty except for Jeremy and me. The old bartender locked us inside.

I sat across from Jeremy. He poured a generous glass of wine, sloshing the sides of the glass. I felt guilty drinking it, but damn if it didn’t taste smooth and sweet.

The snow was still steady. It made it seem warmer inside with the red glow of the candle flickering in the center of our table. It could have also been the wine warming my body.

Jeremy grinned. “You know, I almost went straight to the airport. I’m glad I didn’t.”

“So, what happened today? You said it was the reading of your father’s will?”

His brow furrowed. “I would have done it on a conference call if I could have. The attorney said I had to be here in person.”

“I take it, it wasn’t good news.” I couldn’t fathom what happened in that reading.

Eric Hartwell was the richest man in town. Arguably, one of the wealthiest men in the state. He owned fleets of gas and oil transportation trucks. Not to mention, he started a gas station empire. The first one was right here in town, but the company spread like wildfire. Pretty soon he had stores all over the country.

Jeremy was his only son. It would make sense if he left the estate and a majority of the money to Mrs. Hartwell, but I couldn’t believe Jeremy was penniless. But something had happened.

“No, Evie. It wasn’t good news.” He sighed and chugged the wine.

“I’m sorry. Whatever it was.” There was silence between us. I finished off my glass faster than I intended.

I watched as Jeremy refilled it.

“Enough about me. Tell me something about you,” he prodded.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like what are you doing working in your parents’ restaurant? Didn’t you go to that liberal arts school?” His smile was contagious and I didn’t take the question as an insult. He had easy charm. It just flowed through him as easily as inhaling and exhaling air.

“How do you remember that?”

“We didn’t run in the same circles, but it’s a small town. I think I could tell you where everyone went to college. Or didn’t,” he added.

“Really. I want to test that elephant brain of yours then.”

He chuckled. “Go for it. It’s a steel trap up here.” He pointed to his temple.

“Katy Godwin?”

“Notre Dame.”

I pinched my eyes together. “Seth Congers?”

“State.”

I crossed my arms, determined to stump him. “Avery Preston?”

He bit his lip. “Oh, yeah. She didn’t graduate.”

“Blaine Scott?”

His eyes narrowed. “There was no one in our class named Blaine. Trick question?”

I giggled. “Damn it. You are good.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “So back to you and the liberal arts school.”

“Right. I graduated with a degree in creative writing and a minor in film.”

“Film? Like what? You wanted to write scripts? Screenplays?” He pulled off the end of a loaf of bread. He offered a piece to me.

I took it, knowing I needed something to soak up this alcohol. I was working on an empty stomach. I had planned to eat after my shift. Leo usually left a plate for me in the oven. He was grumpy, but there was a soft side to him.

“Screenplays mostly.”

“So what happened?” He seemed as eager to finish the loaf of bread as I was.

“Let’s see. My mom had breast cancer, so my short stint in Hollywood was just that. I left and came home to help my dad run Bella’s.”

“Oh shit, Evie. I had no idea. Damn. That’s a hell of a thing to go through.”

“It’s ok. She’s ok. She had a complete recovery and is cancer-free.” I smiled. It was a miracle we still didn’t take for granted.

He nodded. “That’s good to hear.”

“The plan was to move back to California, but then my sister Frannie met Marcus.”

“Huh? Who is Marcus?” He was even gorgeous chewing a huge chunk of Italian bread. He dipped it in olive oil before shoving another slice in his mouth. Bella’s bread was as coveted as the chicken parm.

“He moved here from Montreal after you left. Dr. Marcus, the town’s new pediatrician. Anyway, they got engaged. That meant Frannie needed help planning the wedding. So I said I’d stay another six months instead of flying back and forth from California. All the travel seemed expensive. She wanted everything: the engagement party, showers, luncheons. And it had to be with the entire family. We have a huge family. I knew she needed my help since my mom was still recovering, so I didn’t have much choice.”

“I remember your sister. She graduated ahead of us, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, she was a senior when we were freshmen.”

“Thought so. And she was a cheerleader.”

“Yes.” It was ridiculous, but I had a slight twinge of jealousy that Jeremy remembered details about Frannie. It was practically a lifetime ago. I might have had some little sister issues. It was hard when your sister looked like an Italian goddess.

“Ok, keep going. I can tell there’s more to this story.”

I closed my eyes. “No, there isn’t.”

“What? Your budding writing career couldn’t have gone off-track just because of your family. Come on. There’s something you’re leaving out.”

I shook my head. There wasn’t anything else—that was the most shameful thing about it. The part I couldn’t excuse. I had settled for a mediocre life. “No. I stayed for the wedding. And then I stayed after the wedding. Then Frannie got pregnant. Everyone wanted me to stay for my niece. And then it was a nephew. And then another niece. More showers. More nurseries to decorate.”

His eyes widened. “Frannie has three kids?”

“What did you expect? She married a damn pediatrician.” I covered my mouth. “Sorry, that sounded bitchy. I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Evie, I don’t give a shit what you say about your sister.” He grinned and I relaxed. He might have been the only person who didn’t put Frannie on a pedestal.

I hadn’t finished my wine, but Jeremy was already topping it off. I took a sip. It tasted full and expensive.

“So that’s it. I came home. And I never left. But you know, I have an incredible screenplay.” I leaned on the table. “Ok, I actually have ten incredible screenplays. They are very successful in Bella’s cellar,” I joked.

“If you’ve married off your sister and played aunt, why don’t you leave now instead of living out a tragic Jane Austen character’s life.”

I almost choked on my wine. “You remember Jane Austen? And used her in a social reference? Who is this version of Jeremy Hartwell?” I teased.

“Steel trap.” He tapped the side of his tanned face. “And I’m well-read.” He took the banter well. I couldn’t be the first girl to throw a dumb jock joke in his face. “You should do it, though. Go. Get out of this town a second time. Write and do something else. I’ve been back all of twelve hours and I can see it—nothing is happening here.”

“You think I could show up in L.A. now? I’m practically thirty, Jeremy. Thirty.” I said it like the numbers were a death sentence looming in front of me. They felt like one. A lethal blow to my biological clock.

I stared into my glass as if it held the answers to aging. Was there a fountain of youth potion inside Italian wine? Was that why my father kept it buried in the back of the cellar? Is that why we never drank it?

“What’s thirty? I’m thirty.”

“First, you’re a guy. That basically disqualifies you from this conversation. A guy at thirty, at forty, even fifty is not the same. Second, your resume at thirty blows mine out of the water.”

He stretched his arm against the back of the booth. His forearms tensed as his muscles flexed. I had to stop staring at his every little movement. What if he noticed he made my mouth water?

“Let’s see, my resume includes a failed three-year career as a professional athlete, which prepares me for exactly zero other careers in life. Other than commentating. And have you ever listened to baseball play-by-play? Not my true calling. So you can mark that off your list while you’re doling out career counseling advice.”

I laughed. The banter came easily between us. I didn’t think we had ever talked together this long as teenagers.

“Come on. You’re a Hartwell. What about the family business?” I didn’t believe life was hard for him. He’d always been privileged and wealthy. Stellar at everything he touched.

“I don’t want it.” His eyes flared.

“You don’t want to run Hartwell Global? Why not? Isn’t that your destiny?”

“Do you want to devote your life to running Bella’s?” he retorted.

I sighed. “Ok. That’s fair. I guess the family business is the family business whether you’re serving gasoline or spaghetti.” I paused. “So if it’s not HG, then what do you want?”

“I’m trying to figure that out. But I’m going to be doing it on my own. My father made sure of that. I learned today I have to start from scratch. So I will.”

Jeremy kept topping off my wine. I lost track of how many half glasses I had possibly drunk. Was it four or five? And how did I add that to the first one I drank too fast? It could have been more like two it was so full. The candle fell into the chianti bottle and a small swirl of smoke drifted upward. It should have been my cue to clear out for the night, but Jeremy pushed it to the side and staggered to the table behind us to grab another candle. He returned, placing it in front of me. The small flame struggled to flicker, but finally glowed between us.

“There. Much better.” He smiled. “I like how your eyes look in the candlelight.”

I didn’t mean to frown, but I did. Was he hitting on me? And what if he was? Shouldn’t that be ok? He was an attractive man in town for the night. And we had a history even if it was a very loose and distant one. Maybe I didn’t think it was ok for him to flirt because he was Jeremy Hartwell. Known wealthy playboy. A teenager and now a man with a reputation for loving and leaving. He had slept with the entire cheerleading squad. I couldn’t remember a single time he had ever flirted with me in high school. But now? Alone at Stella’s, twelve years later, and he was offering wine and candlelight?

I wanted to pull my hair down around my shoulders as a shield from his flirting, but it was in a ponytail. I couldn’t help the way he made me blush. Taking my hair down would throw him a signal. I couldn’t do that.

“Going back to you, there’s one part of your story you haven’t told me,” he pried.

“What’s that?”

“Frannie’s married, but what about you?” He looked at my left hand. I could feel his eyes focus in on my ring finger.

“In Newton Hills?” I laughed. “Marry someone here?”

He laughed too. “Ok. That’s fair. But you’re here. You can’t be the only single person in the dating pool. There has to be at least one eligible bachelor in this town.”

I eyed him. “No. There’s not.”

“So no kids? No husband? No boyfriend? An ex maybe?”

I shook my head three times. “None.”

“Me either. But you didn’t ask. I’m a little hurt, Evie.”

I giggled. “I think it would make the news here if you were married. And no ring.” I pointed to his hand.

“I could be one of those guys who doesn’t wear a ring.”

I tested him. “Are you?”

He shook his head. “Hell no. I’m not the marrying type.”

The wine was circling my head and swarming my limbs. I felt warm and loose. Almost light enough to dance out of the booth. Holy shit, I was drunk.

“I’ve decided I’m not either,” I announced.

“Is that so? Don’t think I’ve ever met a girl who actually believed that. That philosophy works really well when you first start dating, though.”

“You would say something like that.” I rolled my eyes. He thought he knew women so well. As if sleeping with a hundred of them gave him insight into how women thought and felt. Sex had nothing to do with intellect or a woman’s goals. He had clearly confused everything into one pot.

He licked his perfect bow-shaped lips. “You don’t want to get married? You’re not interested in what Frannie has with Dr. McKids? You expect me to believe that?”

I didn’t want to talk about my sister’s white picket fence existence. “Actually, to tell you the truth, I’ve been working on a project since I’ve been back. And I don’t have to be married to do it.”

“What kind of project?”

I grinned, holding the wine glass in my hand. I leaned against the table. I have no idea why I said it. I don’t know what possessed me to tell Jeremy Hartwell my most precious secret, but I did. I whispered it across the table as if he were my best friend. As if he were the kind of confidant I could share deep secrets with.

“I want to get pregnant.”