Chapter Five
Avery
The second Morgan’s door closed behind me last night, I wanted to scream. For her and Dante’s sake, I’d smiled BIG smiles. I’d geeked out over a vineyard wedding because that’s what you do for your best friend. You put all personal hang-ups and complaining aside. You get on board with a full-fledged, high society wedding in the rolling hills of Napa less than three months out, even though you’ve got no idea how you’re going to fit it into your overloaded schedule.
And you do it with a smile.
Then you arrive home and realize, in all the hustle and bustle to get away, you’ve forgotten to ask for your infuriating dream team co-member’s phone and email.
I peek out of my home office into the living room where Ace is eating his chocolate pancakes and watching Cars for the third time this summery morning. He’s reciting Lightning McQueen’s lines verbatim, so I take that as my cue that he’s occupied, and won’t miss me while I make this, hopefully, five-minute call to Morgan.
A text would’ve been preferable but I can’t risk the immediate and inevitable phone call that’ll follow, and alert Ace that Mommy is doing something other than preparing his next snack.
Gently, I close the door, leaving it cracked, just in case.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I trek lightly over to my desk. Once I settle back into my chair and swivel just enough to slide my legs underneath, I take a deep breath.
“Lord…” With my right hand on my phone, I allow myself a tiny prayer that my best friend—bless her hopelessly in love heart—will simply give me Stefano’s contact information without rehashing last night’s dinner. “I’m asking for your grace and mercy this beautiful Saturday morning.”
You can do this.
Morgan picks up after the first ring, her voice booming into the line.
“Ooh, you’ve caught me at the best time.”
Instinctively, I glance at my watch, and immediately kick myself.
It’s eleven o’clock.
Dammit.
“Hey!” I whisper to keep my voice down. “I’m just calling really quick to thank you and Dante for dinner.”
But then a breeze whooshes in my ear followed by her footsteps loudly crunching over gravel, underscoring what I already know. She’s on her daily trail hike through the vineyard, and she’s got all the time in the world to chat.
“Girl, of course. You know you’re welcome to grub with us anytime. But why are we whispering?”
“Ace is in there enjoying his happy little self, and I’m trying to sneak in some work.”
She hums her understanding.
“Is he still obsessed with Paw Patrol?”
“Nope, we’ve graduated to the Cars phase.” I laugh. “There is nothing cooler than this bigmouth, rookie red Corvette with decals for headlights.”
Morgan giggles like she’s about to give me the Wikipedia rundown on the movie then sideswipes me instead.
“Speaking of…” The exaggerated pause is purposeful, signaling she’s about to spill the tea. Or she wants me to. As expected, she says, “You and Stefano were really going at each other.”
It’s bait.
I know exactly what she’s doing, and which rabbit hole she’s about to drag me down. At the table, she and Dante were sitting directly across from us. Undoubtedly, they witnessed the forearms display and the LL Cool J–worthy lip-lick hypnosis. Morgan knows good and well, I’m rarely ever hot, so my sweatshirt removal will be a topic of discussion, in addition to the silver-fox comment that will not die.
Except, little does she know, in saying his name, she’s also given me the perfect out.
Snapping my fingers, I play up the dramatics.
“Shoot, Stefano.” I suck my teeth. “I totally forgot to ask you for his cell and email, so we can get started planning your big day!”
“Uh-uh, nope, nope, and nope. Absolutely, not.” Morgan’s tone drips with you are fooling no one.
Still, I’ve got to play it off.
“What? I need to set up our first ChatVideo meeting, so we can get started planning on Monday.”
The line grows silent for a beat, which tells me she’s debating the truth in my answer. That’s all I need because the second she gives me the information, Ace is suddenly going to need his Mommy, and I’m off the hook.
I bite my tongue to stifle my laugh.
Being a parent is a built-in Get Out of Jail Free card. Except, it also works for parties, dates, and unwanted conversations with a best friend on a mission to unearth gossip.
“Now, don’t take this as me being ungrateful…” Well, that’s one hell of a preface. “But I’m not giving it to you just yet.”
“Why?” I all but whine.
“Isn’t it the only fair thing that if you want information, I should get some in return?”
A groan claws its way from my throat.
The killer part is, I could wait until Monday. I could go to the Fortemani Vineyard Winery website, tap over to the ABOUT US page, scroll down to Stefano’s name, call the corporate number, and ask to be connected to him. It’s that simple.
The only problem is that it would require levels of time and patience, which I currently don’t have when I’m working on borrowed time.
If I’m going to schedule this ChatVideo meeting for the four of us on Monday, I need to prepare and send the invite this weekend to show up without my anxiety rioting in my chest.
That’s just how I work.
Order, structure, details—they’re all important for me to function and feel ready to tackle whatever curveballs come up. A fact, which, unfortunately, Morgan is also privy to.
Thus, I bite the bullet.
Kicking off my fluffy slippers, I recline back against my chair, and prop my feet on the edge of my desk.
“What would you like to know in exchange for Stefano’s contact?” I ask.
“Mm-mm, you really thought I was going to let you glaze over that silver-fox comment without checking in later?” She releases a truly wicked laugh.
“You’re so lucky I can’t yell at you right now.”
She all-out cackles.
My friend is diabolical to the greatest power.
“Precisely.” Her laugh tapers off, and I sense the other shoe about to drop. “Dante and I have been talking about this all night. Y’all sitting there, acting like you despise one another while undressing each other with your eyes like we weren’t even there…”
“That is not what happened.” That is exactly what happened. “Whatever, y’all are so underhanded. Instead of Moscato and movies, I was forced”—I emphasize the word for her benefit—“to endure an ambush dinner with an old-acting, too-serious, jaded man.”
“Who just so happens to fit your type to a T,” Morgan helpfully supplies.
“Shhh…”
My ear is stretched to the living room, where it’s grown too quiet for a six-year-old hopped up on pancake syrup and Disney.
Slowly, quietly, I swing my legs off the desk and push to my feet, inching toward my office door just as “Life is a Highway” blares through the speaker, giving me a mini heart attack.
Peeking through the door crack, I take one look and slap my hand over my mouth to keep from bursting at the seams.
“Girl…” I whisper. “This child has skipped back to his jam, and now he’s in there singing into the remote.”
Morgan joins in, crooning like a dog in heat.
Because my nerves are acting up, I sit on the edge of the desk to give my best friend a small chunk of my mind.
“Now, as far as Stefano Fortemani goes, much to yours and Dante’s dismay, I’m sure, there’s undeniably nothing there.” Morgan snort-laughs at this, but she needs to get this out of her head. Quickly. “Can I appreciate his beauty? Absolutely, the man is fine as hell.”
“Okay, let’s hear this alleged but.”
“Yes, but, he’s grieving his marriage. Hard,” I add to drill in my point. “And did I mention, the day of the tea party, this man was in the driveway listening to a freaking Johnny Timmons podcast? He was practically taking notes about sex and dating. Like, sir…be for real. What are you doing?” I shake my head way too many times. “So not my vibe.”
Morgan quiets for a moment, and for a second, I think the call failed, but no such luck.
Not by the longest of shots.
In fact, when Morgan Elaine Forster, my closest friend, even more so than the entire Sister Circle, blindsides me with a whopper.
“I don’t care if Stefano listens to Johnny Timmons while having sex, that man left here last night dazed and confused, like you reminded him he was fine.” She blows out an amused sigh. “Shoot, he couldn’t have been five miles down the road, and he’s calling D to talk about you…”
Naturally, this is the moment Ace decides he wants to sneak into my office and ask for a grape juice box, which I decidedly do not allow on my beautiful cream carpet. So, at the literal worst moment of this conversation, I pause to pop into the kitchen for a spill-proof sippy cup, then get him settled back in his lap of stuffed animals and cars luxury.
At this point, once the door is shut, I need details.
Sitting is overrated.
“Okay, I’m back.” I lean against the wall, my heart beating a million miles a minute. “So, you said Stefano called Dante to talk about me?”
Try as I may not to sound too eager, I’m failing miserably.
“Excuse me, but what happened to I don’t care about that old man?”
“First of all, forty-anything is not old. I said old-acting,” I clarify. “And second, I’m curious what he had to say about me. So, don’t make a big thing about it.”
She hums her disbelief but continues anyway.
“D and I immediately picked up the vibes y’all were throwing down at dinner.”
“What we were throwing down?”
“Mm-hmm. We’re convinced those schoolyard games you play—all the bickering, supposed resentment, and name-calling—all for show.”
I’ve got to laugh because if my best friend is going to do one thing, it’s support her claims with unfounded theories.
“Admit it, you’re completely turned on by how much you supposedly hate each other.”
“I never said I hated him. You are too much,” I say, chuckling.
Her breathing shallows.
“Ooh, child, what I am is tired. I’m about to close this fitness ring, then climb my happy self right onto the couch and watch Netflix.” Her laugh bellows through the line before it morphs into a loud, yodeling yawn.
Every bone in my body warns, do not press her about what the guys discussed. Remind her about the contact information, then end this call. Quickly. Knowing will only prove exactly what I already know.
Stefano and I are two wrongs that absolutely do not make a right.
Nothing’s going to change that.
He’ll still be a beautiful, pompous, self-important suit who thinks his opinion matters more than that of others. Schoolyard games or not, we’ll continue to clash. More importantly, he’ll still be the other half of the dream team, who I’ll be working alongside in a spectacularly uncomfortable professional capacity.
Those are the facts.
It certainly doesn’t matter that I haven’t dated since I lost Justin, and Stefano’s the first guy who’s jumpstarted my…lower regions?
Damn.
I slide the tip of my fingernail between my teeth, tapping gently as I consider maybe my aversion to this man isn’t as cut and dried as I’d thought. And now we’re going to be stuck together almost three months, representing a wedding that could explode my business onto the event-planning scene.
We’ve got to keep it on the up and up.
Period.
But…
“Ugh. Okay, please don’t make me regret this.” I cringe, bracing myself for the backlash. “But what did Stefano say to Dante about me?”
At this point, this is no longer a want. I need to know what this man thinks about me.
“Shame, shame, shame, I know your name.” Morgan feigns disappointment, but secretly, I know she’s loving every second of torturing me.
“Yeah, yeah, what did he say?”
“In my book? Just know this is certified proof you’re crushing hard on Stefano Fortemani, and the feeling is mutual.”
Heat curls down my spine.
For the next five minutes, I cling to the phone like Morgan’s words are my lifeblood.
Not only did she eavesdrop from the pantry where she could hear Dante chatting in the kitchen, but she took notes for my benefit.
I make a mental note to thank her when I can breathe.
Truly, this is the stuff on which lifelong friendships are built.
“Short story, long, their conversation was a brotherly one,” Morgan segues, then gives me highlights that aid in my conclusion that it was about—shocker—dating and sex, the running theme of Stefano’s new single life. Apparently, with his ex-wife debuting her new boyfriend, then seeing me watch him at dinner, somehow, he realized that maybe he wants to dip his toe back in the dating waters, too.
Lucky me.
All of which make him sound annoyingly more adorable and endearing than I’ll ever admit.
I perk up, antsy for the rest.
But here’s where I gasped and almost choked.
After Stefano told Dante he wasn’t sure it was the best idea for us to team up because I’m, and I quote, “young, naive, and need more life experience.” Which, to that I say, spend a week in my shoes. Still, Dante advised him to stay open to any relationship with me. Open, as in, even if I end up being just a friend, he should use our upcoming working relationship and wedding-planning interactions to get reacquainted with a woman who isn’t his ex-wife (i.e., hello, my name is guinea pig!).
Now, obviously, he didn’t say this to me, otherwise he’d live to regret it. But does he really think this is cool?
“He really said all that?” I ask, still reeling.
“Yes, but…” Morgan prefaces, and I suspect a silver lining caveat is loading. “It’s all lip service. That man wants you, Avery.”
I feel myself clamming up as I slide down the wall into a puddle of conflicting and frankly confusing emotions.
So, I’m immature and unexperienced, but I’m qualified to be the friend who reintroduces him to women?
Not to date or have sex with, but to befriend me.
He wants to study our interactions to gather data from which he’ll use to theorize some ridiculous hypothesis and test the results.
Every inch of me burns with humiliation.
This man doesn’t even know me. He’s never spent any real time with me, or else he’d know age doesn’t equate to life experience.
What is nine years in the grand scheme of strife?
“Listen, Ace needs me, so I’m going to run now.” Guilt consumes me the second the lie is out. “I’ll check in with you later, but will you send me Stefano’s contact information? That way, I can send out the ChatVideo invite to everyone before we meet on Monday.”
“Damn, I’m such an idiot.” Morgan pauses, and I sense she’s scrambling. “Should I not have told you? I mean, I didn’t want to upset you. He had no solid reasons, and Dante shut him down. It was so obvious Stefano didn’t want to admit to his attraction, so he projected his anxieties as a divorced man onto Dante.”
“No, I’m good.”
Except, even as the words roll off my tongue, I feel myself slipping into business mode because this is what I do.
I hold it together.
I make decisions with everyone’s best interest in mind. I set responsible examples and take my duties seriously. I worry, so they don’t have to.
“Seriously, I thought we’d laugh at their warped thought process…” She breaks off. “Are you really good?”
I’m not.
But because I’m hearing this secondhand, damn right, I’m going to let this fuel my fire to prove him wrong.
“Great, actually,” I say.