He got dressed, sat down on the couch, and then immediately jumped up to look in the fridge. No, nothing had magically appeared in there since the day before.
Okay, fine, that was something to do with this night that suddenly stretched out too long and empty before him. He would go find dinner.
He walked down the stairs and toward his car, then changed course just as he reached for the door handle. No, he’d driven enough today. He wanted to walk.
He didn’t even realize where he was going until he stopped in front of the Barrel. He shouldn’t go in. He’d seen her afterward, with that bartender. They were clearly friends. Margot must go there all the time. But . . .
He stood there, his hand on the door for a few seconds, then took a step back and turned away.
“Good decision,” a voice behind him said.
He turned. The bartender. Of course. She was actually the owner of this place, right. She looked at him with an amused, but severe, expression on her face.
He didn’t even pretend not to know what she was talking about.
“Yeah. I guess so. I thought it would be better if I didn’t come in, just in case she was there.”
She kept her eyes on him.
“But you thought about it.”
He sighed.
“Yeah. I thought about it. I—” He shook his head. What was he even doing? “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t be having this conversation.”
She laughed, and opened the door.
“What conversation?”
He turned to walk down the street.
“Luke.”
He looked back. She was out on the sidewalk.
“Go to Fork in the Road—two blocks that way. Great bar, excellent steak, very good burger. Tell them Sydney sent you.”
He felt like he’d won her approval, somehow.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll do that.”
The steak was excellent, the bourbon was poured with a heavy hand—he was pretty sure because of Sydney’s name, which he’d dropped—and he didn’t even glance at the people sitting next to him at the bar. He knew they weren’t Margot.
* * *
MARGOT FELT LIKE A coward as she drove away from the winery that day. A coward and a failure. She’d gone out the back door of the winery and then called Elliot from her car to tell him she had a meeting and he needed to lock up. That first part was true, she did have a meeting that night, but there was plenty of time for it; she didn’t have to leave early. But on the other hand, she absolutely had to leave early. She’d waited until the last two people of the day were already in the tasting room, and she’d overheard enough to be sure Luke could handle it on his own, but still. If she’d been strong, if she’d had courage, she would have stayed, gone into the tasting room after it was closed for the day, locked up after Luke had left. But then, if she’d been strong, she wouldn’t have allowed anything that went on that day in her office between her and Luke to happen.
She could have stopped it. Luke would have moved away with a single word from her, the slightest sign. She knew that, the whole time. And she hadn’t done a thing. She—eventually—did stop it, but that wasn’t a comfort. It was the literal least she could do.
And here she was proving Elliot right. Along with the rest of her family, and everyone who had ever doubted that she was good enough, dedicated enough, committed enough to run this winery. She was risking all of this for a guy? And not even a guy she was in an actual relationship with, or who even seemed to want to be in an actual relationship with her, but a guy she’d had a one-night stand with, and now couldn’t stop thinking about?
Granted, it was gratifying to know that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, either. She grinned, even though she knew she shouldn’t be smiling about this. It was really gratifying. But that didn’t get her anywhere. She couldn’t risk her winery just for more good sex.
When, she wondered, had she started to think about the winery as hers? Definitely not at first. For that first year, at least, she’d thought about it as Uncle Stan’s winery. A few times, she’d overheard Elliot refer to it as his winery, and while part of her had bristled at that—the part of her that thought Elliot had meant for her to overhear it—another part of her thought it was only right. It did feel like either Uncle Stan’s winery or Elliot’s winery, for a very long time. But now she understood how Elliot felt. Because yes, while it felt like their winery, theirs together, it also felt like hers.
She wished she could talk to Uncle Stan. Ask him why he’d left the winery to her and Elliot equally. Had he just done it that way because he would have felt bad leaving it to Elliot alone, like it would have hurt her feelings? It would have, a little, but she would have understood, she would have expected it. Had he thought she would just be a silent partner and let Elliot do everything? She didn’t think so—Uncle Stan knew her too well to expect her to be silent about anything—but she wasn’t sure. Had he expected her to sell her half of the winery to Elliot? Elliot had no business sense—he was just all about the wine. Which made for excellent wine but would not make for a very successful winery. Or had he wanted her to actually chip in, become invested in this place, and in these people, like she had? To do things he wouldn’t have done, and probably wouldn’t like that she was doing, like all the social media content, renovating and expanding the tasting room, this party? She had no idea.