Page 50 of Gone With the Wine

“Huh. Okay, then…” He squints. “Hell, I know there are single women here. Just can’t think of any off the top of my head.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Because I am definitely not looking for a woman.”

Except I keep thinking about a woman. One specific woman.

And then I look up and there she is.

Bianca walks into the bar followed by a man—that jackhole she gave her number to at the fair. The old boyfriend.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she’s out with him. But I have to be honest—it bugs me.

She hasn’t noticed me as they take a seat at a small table in the back corner. She smiles at him. Dammit. That smile. I’m an asshole. I want that smile for me.

What am I thinking? She’s ten years younger than me. She’s with a guy her age, young, someone she has a history with, someone from around here who knows her world. I’m an outsider, too old for her, and anyway I just finished telling these guys I’m not interested in a relationship, so clearly I’m just being a dick by being annoyed with her seeing that guy.

I’ll just ignore them.

Chapter11

Bianca

Mark takes another stool at the round table and pulls it around closer to me. He called this morning to invite me out for a drink and I agreed to meet him here. We had some good times when we were together, but we were kids. He was fun, maybe a little irresponsible but hey, a seventeen-year-old guy has a lot of growing up to do and I’m curious to see what kind of man he’s turned out to be.

I got an uneasy feeling, though, when I met him on the sidewalk in front of the Golden Cougar, when he greeted me with a hug and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He’s already been drinking.

We look at the menu and make some small talk, but I’m studying him and the way he talks, which is loose and free-wheeling, his eyes a tiny bit unfocused. His face is more mature, his skin a bit more textured since I knew him in high school, his eyes creased at the corner, but he still seems like a happy, easy-going guy. He’s wearing a pair of ripped and faded jeans, which is fine, and a nice button-down shirt with a small stain on the pocket.

I order a beer and he asks for a Jack and Coke, and adds, “Make it a double.”

Oh boy.

Maybe he’s nervous?

Nah.

“So.” He smiles at me, hands resting on the table. “Is it good to be home?”

“Well. In some ways.” I explain yet again why I’m here and for how long and that I wasn’t entirely happy to leave my job in Argentina where things were going so well.

“But this is Napa,” he interrupts me. “Can’t beat Napa.”

My smile tightens. “There is something special about Napa. How about you? What are you doing now?”

“I’m working at Espinoza’s.”

“Oh.” That’s his family-owned building supply company in Rocktram.

“I’m the yard manager,” he says. “Well, sort of the manager. That’s not my actual title, but I’ve worked there the longest and I basically run the yard. Looking after customers, unloading, loading, that kind of thing.”

“Ah. That’s interesting.”

“It’s hard work sometimes, but the pay’s good, and it’s steady work.”

“And where are you living?”

“I still live with my parents. They’re still in the house on Garden Road.”

“Oh.”Don’t judge him. Lots of people live with their parents longer these days. “How are your parents?”

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