A Saltwater Christmas (The Southern Isles #1)

Chapter Two

“C herophobia, sweetheart. I believe that’s what it’s called.”

“Mama,” Allie said. “Do not say words like that to me. I am not afraid to be happy, and I know that happiness does not cause things to go wrong. Please, stop trying to diagnose me.” Great. Now she was going to have the word cherophobia running through her brain for God only knew how long.

“Well, you need to think more positively and start going out and doing fun things.”

Allie heard loud snoring in the background, and she knew exactly who it was. Her mother’s boyfriend was sleeping over. A burning sensation exploded in her stomach, and she didn’t try to hold back her venom. “Like you did? I just need to go to a bar and latch on to the first man who looks my way? That’s gonna bring me happiness?” It was barely six A.M. and she was already fighting with her mother.

“Allie, darling, that is not at all what I said. And not what I did either.”

“I have to get to work. This conversation is not helping to put me in the right frame of mind for my first day.”

“Okay, then. Well, I just wanted to call and wish you good luck.”

Allie exhaled her exasperation loud enough for her mother to hear. “Bye, Mama.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

She was sick of cheerful, fake, smiling robot-people who pretended like life was great all the time. Given a choice, she’d rather be unhappy. Anyway, she was in the middle of adapting to a new place, a new roommate, and a new job. Adaptation took time. As a matter of fact, when she looked it up online, it said to plan for an entire year to make the transition. Not only was she completely alone, but now she had to tolerate things like the muddy size-twelve shoes left by the front door, dog hair all over the floor, and the freaking stocking hung on the fireplace mantel—a cheap red one that looked like it came from the Dollar Store. Sam had better be going somewhere else for Christmas, because she would not be spending it at home with him.

Allie opened her bedroom blinds to find the early fog burning off. Dainty yellow streams of sun entered the room and illuminated the floating dust motes like glitter. She turned on the soothing twang of country music and immediately felt worse. The sweet simplicity of the music cut through the self-serving chaos of life to an uncomplicated core of love and family. It was that core she missed—knowing she had something stable, something permanent. Any stability she once had was gone forever. She stared at the twinkling dust and wished their soft airlessness could bring her happiness, but it was too soon for that. There were supposed to be stages of grief, and she was firmly in the anger phase.

Allie stuffed her feet into a new pair of black heels and made sure her white silk shirt was tucked perfectly into her trousers. The streaming sun made her hair glow an especially brilliant dark red, and she chose to wear it in a low bun so that she wouldn’t attract as much attention as when it hung free and long. Duke Bradley , she thought, double-checking with herself that she got the name right. He was the old man who owned the Saltwater Winery, and the one who’d chosen her for her first-ever job using her bachelor’s degree in food science and her master’s in enology.

At first she wasn’t sure that the Saltwater Winery’s muscadine wine could taste good—usually it was as sweet as sugar syrup, but after trying them all, several of the wines were dry and good enough even for her picky palate. As an enologist, she would make sure the grapes were harvested with the right sugar and acid levels to make the best vintages. She was excited to analyze the wines and help make them as good as they could be. Growing up with a father who loved fine wines had its advantages. She saw her choice of career, and her new job, as somewhat of an ode to him.

Thankfully, Sam was not in the kitchen when she made herself a to-go cup of coffee for the ten-minute drive to the tip of the island. She was free to think and not have to make small talk. She grabbed a protein bar from her private cupboard and wobbled and click-clicked in her uncomfortable shoes toward the foyer. It was okay that she’d missed that year’s grape harvest, because it would give her time to put her skills to use slowly instead of jumping into chaos. She locked the front door and balanced her way down the concrete steps toward her car. Mr. Bradley said there was one other enologist she would be working with, a man named Joey Amato. She remembered the name because it sounded Italian—did he come from a long line of winemakers? He was supposed to meet her this morning to help get her started.

She had one leg inside her car when a loud bark lurched her sideways and straight into the car’s metal frame. She screamed as the wolf snarled and bared its teeth like she was a carjacker about to receive the jaws of justice.

“Buttercup!” Sam’s deep voice called out. “Come!”

The dog immediately left Allie and ran to Sam’s side.

“Heel,” he said, and the dog fell into step beside him, looking more like a wolf with her extra-long canine teeth bared and shocking bright yellow eyes.

Allie held on to the doorframe and tried to catch her breath. Her head pounded only slightly slower than her heart.

“Cuppie shouldn’t have done that,” Sam said when he got closer. “She’s been out of service too long, I guess.”

Allie slunk into the front seat, holding her head.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

She shot him her best leave-me-alone look. Wasn’t he the one who claimed to have complete control over the dog? He’d probably ordered her to attack. “I have to get to work.”

“Stay,” he said to Buttercup, and for a second, Allie thought he was talking to her. Without permission, he kneeled in front of her and gently moved her hand from her forehead. He was so tall that, even while kneeling, he was the same height as her in the driver’s seat. “It didn’t break the skin, but it’s already bruising. I’ll get you some ice.”

“I don’t have time for ice,” she said, mad that her eyes were hot with tears. She blinked them away. “I won’t be late on my first day.” Didn’t he know that her job was everything? It was the sole reason she was on an overgrown tiny island with more wildlife than people, and it was the only thing she cared about anymore. Turning from him, she buckled her seat belt, thereby indicating that he needed to move so she could shut the door.

He stood and stepped aside.

Damn dog. Damn roommate. Her breath was shallow and tight. She needed to compartmentalize the experience immediately—tuck it away and tie it up in the part of her brain where it would quietly simmer until it, hopefully, evaporated completely. When Sam acted like he cared, it was too much like having her dad back. It made her feel vulnerable, and she couldn’t tolerate that. Her car kicked up dust from the long pea gravel driveway and she hoped it sent Sam into a coughing fit. His dog too. He hadn’t even apologized. There was no way she was going to live with a guy like that for an entire year, and she wasn’t going to be the one to leave. The little cottage was too perfect—the location near work, the backyard that led to the marsh, the back porch with the haint-blue ceiling, the little dock set up for crabbing and fishing, and the rope swing hanging from one of the many old oaks dotting the property. Not to mention how perfectly her antique four-poster bed fit in her room, with plenty of space for the padded bench at the bottom, the highboy dresser she’d thrifted and painted white, and her dad’s old easy chair in the corner. No, Sam would be the one to leave.

The ten-minute drive to work felt like an hour. Between the word cherophobia chomping around in her brain like Pac-Man and the bruise on her head starting to swell, she felt all sorts of discombobulated. Plus, the coffee was making her jittery. By the time she reached the sprawling fifty acres of the Saltwater Winery, she was only five minutes early, when she’d planned for twenty. Five minutes was just long enough to walk from the gravel parking lot past the lines of dormant trellised grapevines to the long tin-roofed building that housed the gift shop and the business office portion of the winery. There was no time to decompress, and no time to go home and change shoes—the gravel was already scratching the leather and ruining the heel tips.

“Good.” Duke Bradley stood unsmiling inside the wide-open front door, waving her inside. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

She panicked and checked her watch. She still had two minutes left. “Am I late?”

“You should’ve worn comfortable shoes.”

She could’ve told him that. “I’ll do that tomorrow.”

“We’re farmers,” he said as he led her into the building. “We don’t dress up.”

“Yes, sir.” She’d known he was a grumpy old man when she took the job, but this was not the warm welcome she was hoping for. He led her through the gift shop, which was decorated for Christmas and filled with as many wine-related gifts as gorgeous home accents. There was even an entire wall dedicated to local painters and potters, along with fresh poinsettias from an island greenhouse. How could a man this grouchy curate such beautiful things?

They passed through a back door behind the register into a hallway lined with offices, and stopped at a door with a nameplate that read Joey Amato, Enologist . “We’ll add your name,” Duke said. “You share this office with Joey.”

“Thank you.” She stepped inside the small square room outfitted with two back-to-back desks along opposite walls, two computers, a large bookshelf, and a filing cabinet. It was like an oversized closet with a sliding glass door on the back wall that led into a small white laboratory. A man sat with his feet up on one of the desks. From behind, he looked way too familiar. The straight across cut of his short dark hair, the broad shoulders… If she didn’t already know his name was Joey, she’d think he was her ex-boyfriend, Mark.

Just one year ago, Mark up and moved to California in the middle of their happy relationship, thereby completely shattering her heart. He’d blamed the breakup on job opportunities and timing, and she’d never forgiven him. What kind of man could claim to love a person and then toss her back into her miserable single life like catch-and-release? As she held her breath, Joey Amato slow-motion set his feet down and swiveled his chair to face her.

He looked just enough like Mark to make her face go hot and her stomach lurch.

In the amount of time it took for Joey to stand and extend his hand, Allie had already reprimanded herself twelve different ways for imagining the possibility that she might have a relationship with her coworker. Her brain was as rogue as ocean waves after a hurricane.

“Hi, I’m Allie. Nice to meet you.” His hand was soft and warm, like a man who spent most of his days at a computer or a microscope. She smiled sweetly at him as her mind continued its argument— You do not need a man. He is not Mark. It isn’t fair to substitute Joey for Mark. It is your loneliness speaking. This won’t solve anything. And anyway, his nose is too big.

Joey looked at the knot on her forehead, which she quickly covered with the hand that just shook his. “I had a little mishap with a wolf and my car this morning,” she chuckled, trying to make light of it.

“You hit a wolf? I didn’t know we had any on the island.”

Why did she say wolf? It was overly dramatic. “My roommate’s dog looks like a wolf. It scared me as I was getting into the car.” Great. Now he thought she was an embellisher. “No big deal. I’m fine.”

“Goose Island has coyotes,” Duke interjected disapprovingly, “not wolves.”

Allie had forgotten that Duke was still standing behind her. Just as she initiated a fantasy about yanking off her heels and sprinting back to her car, a sweet singsongy Southern voice rang down the hallway. “I brought gingerbread cookies! Y’all should come get some while they’re still warm.”

Duke pivoted without a word, grabbed a cookie from the beautiful blonde in the hallway, and shuffled away.

“Oh, hey!” the girl said. “You must be Allison. I’m Jessa Boone. We’re all so glad to have you part of the Saltwater family.”

“Thank you. You can call me Allie.” Her mother was the only person who still called her Allison.

“Take some cookies. Mama made them fresh this morning. Oh, and the truck’ll be outside for lunch. Hope y’all didn’t pack your own.”

“Salty Dot’s?” Allie asked, suddenly hopeful that the day might improve even though she’d brought a container of lentil soup from home.

“Yes!” Jessa said like a happy little cheerleader. “Today she’s got shrimp po’boys and pimiento cheeseburgers.”

“I think your mama might be my neighbor,” Allie said with the most enthusiasm she’d felt all day.

Jessa squinted at her. “Oh my word! You’re the girl who’s been jogging past our house!”

Allie nodded. So, they’d seen her. “I keep wanting to stop and see the cats.”

“Little monsters,” she said. “Knock next time! And go say hi to Mama today. The truck’ll pull in around eleven. I just know she’s gonna want to meet you.” She held the plate out to Joey, who took a cookie. Then she offered it to Allie. Allie didn’t like gingerbread, but it would be rude to say no. As soon as she had the cookie in her hand, Jessa turned and yelled, “Libby!”

“What?” came a female voice from the next office.

“Gingerbread!”

“Can’t do it,” the voice, which must belong to a person named Libby, said. “You know my wedding’s coming up.”

“Just a sec,” Jessa said, leaving to pop her head into an open door one office down. “You can’t be on a diet at Christmas, Libs. Just take a cookie.”

“I don’t like gingerbread,” Libby said.

“You’ll like these.”

“Stop trying to make me too big for my dress.”

“Just eat one.” Jessa held a cookie out to her.

“Enough with the peer pressure already.” Libby’s voice rose, and it did not sound amused.

“I’ll just leave one on your desk.”

“If you step one foot into my office, I will punch you in the head.”

“Starving girls are so touchy,” Jessa laughed.

“Get away from me before I call the sheriff.”

Jessa’s cheerful disposition never wavered. “Aw, how sweet of you. More people to try my mama’s cookies.” She practically skipped down the hall to the next office.

Allie turned back to her new office and her new office mate.

“Welcome to the winery of the weird and wacky,” Joey said. “I promise you won’t be bored.”

And with that, Allie set down her bags, pulled up her new black swivel chair, and turned her back on Joey Amato.