“Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself,” Sydney said, an amused tone in her voice. “I believe you have a story for me? Meet me for drinks?”
Margot slammed on her brakes for a yellow light.
“How did you know?”
Had Luke told someone, who told someone else, who told Sydney? She knew Napa Valley was just one big sprawling, wine-soaked small town, but this was fast even for the Napa rumor mill. Oh God, then the rest of her staff would find out any second, because Taylor knew everybody.
It would still take Elliot weeks to find out, though—he was so far outside the rumor mill that he didn’t even know it existed. But this meant she’d have to tell him.
“How did I know?” Sydney laughed. “Well, I guessed something happened after I saw the two of you walk out of the Barrel together last night, and I saw that very tender way he steered you past those annoying tourists Mark had just dealt with.”
Of course. Sydney knew only that something happened last night. She didn’t know about today.
“But I guess I was right and there’s much more to this story,” Sydney continued. “Which （a） I’ll take that thank-you anytime you want to give it to me, and （b） why didn’t I get a text about this at some point today? Obviously this means （c） we’re meeting for drinks within seconds.”
Thank goodness it had been Sydney who’d seen her and Luke together last night, and not someone else. But then, if it wasn’t for Sydney, she never would have introduced herself to Luke in the first place.
“Re: （a）—that thanks isn’t coming for quite a while, and when I explain why, you’ll understand; （b） as well. But re: （c） yes, definitely drinks within seconds, but this calls for you to come over to my place. Bring food, I don’t care what it is as long as there’s a lot of it. I just realized I haven’t eaten all day. I’ll provide the wine.”
She did that sometimes, forgot to eat lunch when she was busy working. She almost always realized she was starving by three in the afternoon and grabbed some cheese and crackers from the tasting room. But even if she’d realized how hungry she was this afternoon, nothing in the world would have made her go into the tasting room.
“I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes,” Sydney said, and hung up.
Margot had just enough time after she got home to straighten up the living room and open a bottle of wine—one of her good bottles—before Sydney knocked on her door.
“There had better be a really good reason why you haven’t thanked me yet, if your story is what I think your story is,” she said as she walked in the door and through the house to the kitchen.
Margot poured them both glasses of wine while Sydney took down plates from the cabinet.
“Oh, there is, don’t worry,” Margot said. She closed her eyes and breathed in. “Whatever you’ve brought me smells amazing.”
“Of course it’s amazing, this is me we’re talking about,” Sydney said. She took a stack of boxes out of the bag she’d carried inside. “I could tell from the sound of your voice that you needed carbs.”
She slid a mound of pasta onto a plate, and handed it to Margot.
“Carbonara, like the doctor ordered,” Sydney said.
Margot looked down at her plate and smiled genuinely for the first time since Elliot and Luke had walked into her office that morning.
“Carbonara. Yes. This is just what I needed. How did you know?”
Sydney handed her a fork and waved at her to start eating.
“I always know.”
Margot sat down on one of the high-backed barstools at her counter and dug her fork into the plate of pasta. She took one very large bite, and sighed.
“I love you so much,” she said to her friend as soon as she finished chewing.
Sydney slid her own plate of pasta onto the counter next to Margot and sat down.
“I know you do,” she said. “There’s also bread and cheese and charcuterie, obviously. But we can’t let the pasta get cold. Eat.”
Margot ate. The pasta was perfectly cooked, the pancetta was crispy, every single noodle was coated in just the right amount of sauce . . . this was bliss.
She put her fork down after she had inhaled half the plate, and took a sip of wine.
“Thank you,” she said to Sydney. “For the pasta, and for letting me eat before I started talking.”
Normally, she would have been delighted to tell Sydney about her unexpected hookup with a twenty-eight-year-old. She’d even thought on her drive to work this morning about how fun it would be to spill the details of this escapade to Sydney, to have her cackle and take credit for it and say she told her so. They would have laughed about his I thought I dreamed you line, debated whether she should text him or not, Sydney would have toasted her for this, and the whole thing would have felt even more fun.