Chapter 9
Clay
I exit the restaurant onto Laurel—Oak Creek Canyon’s main street—and glance around. It’s Saturday night, which means there’s a decent amount of foot traffic, but I quickly spot Legs standing beside her car, digging for something in her purse—her keys, I assume as I break into a quick jog. “Allegra, wait.”
“No,” she says, removing her hand, with the key fob, from her bag just as I reach her side. “Go away.”
“Please,” I say pressing my palm against the car’s door to keep it from opening. “Just hold on a minute. You can’t just?—”
“I can’t just…what?” she snaps, then her expression changes. “No. Oh, no, you don’t,” she says angrily. “I am not drunk, damn you. You had even more to drink than I did. So, don’t you dare try and say that I can’t drive or I’m gonna call in a citizen’s complaint on you !”
“What? No! That’s not— I wasn’t—” I shake my head. “Would you give me a chance to explain? Please?”
“You mean give you a chance to lie some more? No. Thank you. I’ve already bagged my quota on liars for this season. Actually, I think I’ve exceeded it. So, if you don’t mind?—”
“I’m not lying,” I insist, although—technically, I suppose I am. A bit.
“Oh, really? So then explain this: Miles Henderson is a deputy, too, is he not? Right here in Napa? You do know him, don’t you?”
I nod. “Yes, of course I do.”
“Of course, you do,” she mimics. “Great. So, then you probably also know that he got married today—yes?”
“I was there. I was one of his groomsmen, in fact.”
“Okay, well good. So, then you know who else was there, don’t you? My sisters! So, if there are all these rules, and regulations, and conflict of interest clauses, and you’re all so untouchable, or sacrosanct, or whatever word you want to use, then how come he can socialize with them, but you can’t go on a second date with me?”
“Because it’s an entirely different situation, that’s why.”
“How so?”
“Well…there are several reasons,” I tell her. “For one thing, as far as I can tell, he’s known your family for years, right?”
“Maybe. Sort of.”
“For another, why do you think he transferred out of Oak Creek Canyon in the first place? It was for this very reason, so that he wouldn’t get stuck investigating his friends, or having to recuse himself, or whatever. Also, if I understand the situation, your sisters are Millie’s friends, primarily. Miles just gets them by association.”
“Close,” she says, crossing her arms and glaring at me—much as her cousins had been doing. “Bianca and Millie are friends. And Miles has been hanging out with Jansen, so I guess they’re friends, too. But Millie only gets Rosa by association and Jake by…I don’t even know. What’s another step out from that? Default?”
“I have no idea,” I admit. “But you see my point? There are degrees of connectedness, and?—”
“And my connection to your investigation is very slight—we’re barely acquainted. Ships passing in the night.”
“I’m investigating a series of potential crimes that have been happening at your winery—remember that part? You were very clear about being one third of Caparelli. Which means you’re up to your ears in connectedness. Your ship ain’t passing anything. It’s docked and anchored.”
“Bullshit.” She leans her shoulder against her car, as though she’s settling in to fight. “I was in Europe the whole time this nonsense was going on. In fact, I haven’t been back home in about five years. So, whatever’s been going on here—and I’d bet every last penny in my bank account it’s nothing worth investigating, I haven’t been part of it.
“Plus,” she says, lifting a finger to keep me still when she senses that I’m about to interrupt and point out that she would still be responsible, still be involved, still be off-limits. “No, listen. You wanna know the truth? Technically, it’s not even mine yet. I mean, yes, it was left to me, and ultimately it will be mine, but there’s a shit-ton of paperwork I need to sign first. And I haven’t gotten around to doing that yet, so…at this point, minimal connection. Association level connection—if that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say wearily.
“No, of course it doesn’t. Because you’re not interested. Which I get. So, why don’t you move out of the way and let me get into my car now so I can go home?”
“You’re wrong about that,” I tell her. “And I can prove it.”
“Really? What? What can you prove?”
“I can prove that if things were different, I would definitely want to go out with you.”
“Oh, you cannot. That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not and I can.”
“All right, go ahead then. This should be good.”
“The thing is, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“Noooo?” she mutters, blinking quickly as she glances away. “I can’t believe it. What a shocker.”
“The thing is, that traffic stop was not the first time we met.”
She looks at me blankly for a moment—clearly this was not what she’d been expecting me to say. Then her scowl returns. “Oh, nice try Romero,” she says rolling the second R dramatically. So that, even though she’s not saying Romeo, we both know that’s what she means. And not as a compliment. “But that’s ancient history, so you can fuck right off.”
“What exactly do you think I’m talking about?”
“My sketchy past, what else?”
“Okay, then, no. That’s not it.”
“Look, we both agreed that barring any dead guys in Nevada—which, sorry to disappoint you, but there aren’t any—I’m in the clear. That was years ago; so, statute of limitations, or whatever it’s called. Whatever I did, or whatever you think I might have done, is in the past. Plus, I was a minor, at the time. So?—”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I ask, losing my temper just a little. “That’s not what I’m talking about either. Five years ago, I was also a minor. And probably getting into even more trouble than you were.” Although, come to think of it, that might not be true. I never stole a crate of wine, that’s for sure.
“Okay. Cool. Good for you,” she says with a shrug. “So, then what are you talking about? And make it fast. I want to go home.”
“There was a party. I think it was something to do with Midsummer? Down by the river. There were lights in the trees, and music playing, and you were dancing all by yourself, and?—”
“Yeah. I remember. So, what are you saying—that you had some kind of vision? Are you a psychic, or something?”
“Am I what? No! I’m saying I was there!”
“You were…” She trails off, and gazes at me searchingly. “You know, I actually don’t remember much about that night, but…” Her eyes widen abruptly. “Omigod. No way. You were the boy with the beer?”
“I was…what?” The boy with the beer ? I stare at her in disbelief. “ That’s how you’ve been thinking about me, all this time?” It’s safe to say I’m a little underwhelmed. “That’s what stuck in your memory—the fact that I was drinking beer?”
She laughs then, soft and warm. “I didn’t say that’s all I remembered about you.”
“I would hope not,” I say. And yes, it comes out sounding sulkier than I’d like. I’m feeling more like the hapless, blundering boy I’d been back then than I could ever have believed. Teetering on the edge of a serious crush, desperate to impress the pretty girl who’d come apart in my arms.
“How did you want me to remember you?” she asks. Then her smile falters. “Oh, shit. Now I get it. That’s why you got so mad when I called you Romeo. You thought that I knew who you were and was making fun of you.”
I nod, chagrined. “Something along those lines, I suppose.”
“I hurt your feelings,” she says—catching on a little more quickly than I’d have liked. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble. “Like you said, it’s ancient history.”
“Hmm.” She shoots me a look. “More like unfinished business, if I’m remembering correctly.” And damned if my body doesn’t agree.
I clear my throat. “Listen, Legs—Allegra, I mean. I?—”
“Oh, no,” she says sliding closer, twining her arms around my neck. “No excuses—save those for someone else. You’ve just made it very clear that we did not meet ‘in the course of an investigation.’ You and I have been acquainted for years and years—just like Miles and my sisters. More so, in fact. Which means we’re golden. And like I said, I haven’t stepped foot on Belmonte property in years and I was in Europe when you began investigating Caparelli. So…”
“Yes, I know all of that. However, I doubt anyone else will see it that way. Especially since I’m guessing neither of us wants to explain the circumstances under which we met.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” she says after giving the matter a second’s thought. “Statute of Limitations, remember?”
“Well, I’d mind. I am not going to tell my bosses that the reason dating you wouldn’t be a conflict of interests is because we met as teenagers during the course of breaking multiple laws.”
I try to sound firm, but I feel like the fact that my hands have settled—all too comfortably—around her waist somewhat diminishes the effect.
Legs smiles at me knowingly. “Yeah, no. That doesn’t sound good, does it? We’ll have to think of something else.”
“Or we could not. We could just forget it ever happened and go on with our lives.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes, as though I’d been making a joke that was too stupid to even laugh at. But then I guess she realizes I’m being serious. She bites her lip and asks, “Is that really what you want to do?”
“Of course it’s not,” I say, trying not to focus on her mouth, on how much I want to kiss her, to taste her again. “But it is what it is.”
“Is it, though?” Her eyes are agleam with mischief. Her lips are curved in a knowing, secretive smile.
I know a challenge when I see one and I can’t keep from groaning. “Legs, c’mon.” Because yes; it is. It has to be. “Be reasonable.”
“So, how long have you known?” she asks, abruptly changing the subject. “About us, I mean. Tell the truth; did you really recognize me right away?”
“Not immediately. It wasn’t until I saw the picture on your license,” I say, not mentioning the vague, but instant recognition her smile had evoked. “Also, your name—Legs, Allegra. That’s when it all made sense.”
Mm,” she murmurs. “So, you know what I think.”
“Nope. Not a clue.”
“We’ll just have to be each other’s sneaky links until you finish your investigation. Who knows? It might even be fun.”
“I’m not sure about that,” I say, still trying hard not to stare at her mouth, still failing miserably. “And, what about you? Aren’t you worried at all about your family finding out?”
“No. I told you. I don’t care what they think—not about something like that. Besides, it’s always been inevitable that your people and mine would be against our hooking up.”
“How d’you figure that?”
“It’s what you told me.”
“What? When?”
“Five years ago. You said then that my family wouldn’t approve of you. And you’re right! We’ve got the whole, ‘ my only love, sprung from my only hate ,’ thing going on.”
She’s quoting Shakespeare again and I groan in despair. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”
“I’m not doing anything,” she says shaking her head and gazing at me pityingly. “It’s this thing; it’s bigger than both of us. Do you really think it was just coincidence that I called you Romeo when you pulled me over?”
“You said it was dyslexia,” I remind her.
“It was. And jet lag, and sleep depro. But it was also fate.”
“Oh, fuck me. For real? You think we’re fated ?”
“Well, yes,” she replies, looking surprised. “Duh. Of course, we are. What would you call it?”
“Uh, I dunno. A really terrible idea?”
There’s a slight pause, and then she smiles, “Yes. Don’t you love those?”
Between the pause, the wicked smile, the expectant gleam in her eyes, there’s only one conclusion I can draw. “Let me guess,” I say as I roll my eyes. “Another movie line?”
“See?” she says, smiling even more brilliantly. “You know me so well.”
And maybe I’m just looking for an excuse at this point. But it really is starting to feel like fate and I’m tired of fighting it. So, I give into the inevitable and do what I’ve wanted to do for far too long. I draw her close. “Maybe,” I murmur as I lower my face to hers. “But not as well as I’m going to.”
And then I kiss her. And it’s…Jesus Christ. It’s fucking earth shattering, is what it is. It’s life changing, soul-searing. It’s everything I remember—and more. The taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against my own, her breasts, her butt, her hair, her scent—they’re all so familiar, shockingly so. Familiar and perfect and irresistible. She’s everything I’ve been missing, everything I’ve been longing for—without even realizing that was the case—for five long years. Five and change, but really, who’s counting?
I bend her over my arm, tugging at her hair to expose her neck. I run my tongue up the length of it before returning to her mouth, losing myself in her kiss once again, content to dive in and drown there. She whimpers and sighs, clutching at me with her fingers, hooking one leg around my thigh. The world around us disappears.
Eventually, the need to breathe reasserts itself. I pull my mouth away from hers and straighten up—but I continue to keep my hold on her.
Sighing, she lets her leg slide to the ground. Eyes still closed she murmurs, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose…would smell as sweet.”
I huff out a laugh. “Your obsession with that play is starting to concern me.”
“ That play ,” she replies mockingly, as her eyes meet mine. “You can’t even say its name, can you? Why? It’s not Hamlet, you know.”
“Hamlet?” I feel myself frown; even I know that’s wrong. “No, that’s not the play that people are superstitious—” I stop mid-sentence. “You know what? Never mind. We’re getting sidetracked. All I’m saying is that Romeo and Juliet is not a love story.” That’s a hill to die on—or, preferably, to not die on.
“You don’t think so? Tell that to the Swifties.”
“It’s a three-day relationship that results in six deaths.”
“So? What’s your point?”
“It doesn’t end well—that’s my point. Don’t you think we should at least try and find something a little more hopeful to model our relationship on?”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure. Who says we can’t? We can be the Romeo and Juliet from the Taylor Swift song, that doesn’t end so badly, does it?”
“I don’t know,” I answer cautiously. “How does it end?”
“Really? You don’t know that either? How’s that possible?”
“Guess I’ve never been much of a fan,” I tell her.
She leans in close again, smiling as she goes up on her toes—taking the initiative to kiss me this time—as she murmurs, “Well then, I’m clearly going to have to broaden your horizons. But for right now, listen up; it’s simple. Just say yes .”