Perfect Pairing (Love on the Vine #3)

1. Ezra

I drank way too much last night for someone about to enter a job interview.

My head pounded in time with my heart, and I could practically feel the bourbon oozing from my pores.

I just had to hope my future employers couldn’t smell it on me—or were willing to overlook it, given the hellscape my life had become in the last six months.

This “interview” was more of a formality anyway. The couple in question had been trying to poach me for years, but I’d never had any desire to leave New York City.

Now, I wanted to run as far away from this godforsaken place as I could get.

“Mr. Wendt?” a voice inquired softly, and I looked up to find a hostess staring expectantly at me. “Let me take you to your table. The rest of your party is already here.”

“Oh,” I said, hopping to my feet. “Thank you.”

As we wove through the tables to one near the windows, Manhattan sprawled below our perch on the fifteenth floor of the hotel, sweat prickled along my forehead, my gut churning. The last thing I wanted was to eat, but I needed something in my stomach before I purged bile all over the ugly blue carpet .

“Ezra, my boy!” Leon Delatou boomed, both he and his wife, Lena, rising to greet me.

I met Leon and Lena about three years ago. They’d been in New York on business and came into my restaurant. When they’d opted for the tasting menu, which consisted of courses I’d carefully curated and paired with different wines and cocktails, I’d emerged from my cave in the kitchen to greet them. The tasting menu wasn’t cheap, and I figured I owed it to them to show my face and thank them for trusting me.

Both had fawned over me and my food, endlessly singing my praises. It had done wonders for my ego, and when I found out they owned a winery in Michigan, I’d sat down to learn more. We wound up chatting for hours.

After all, food and wine went hand-in-hand.

We’d stayed in touch since then, and every time I saw them, Leon asked if I was ready to join the Delatou family and work at the winery.

That day had finally arrived.

Hopefully, given my less-than-composed state, the offer wasn’t off the table. They knew what I’d been going through, though. I’d explained as much when I reached out a few weeks ago to express my interest in finally making the jump, and they’d been sympathetic and understanding.

Leon heartily shook my hand, practically giving me motion sickness, and Lena pressed a kiss to my cheek. When she pulled away, her golden eyes narrowed.

Yeah, I knew I had bourbon seeping from my pores. I hadn’t even bothered to shower this morning after I dragged myself off the couch where I’d passed out the night before. I’d just popped some Advil, splashed cold water on my face, changed my clothes, put on deodorant, and brushed my teeth.

Honestly, the shower wouldn’t have helped. The bourbon in question, which had been full last night, sat nearly empty on my table in the light of day.

God, the thought made me want to gag.

I really needed to get my shit together—if not for my sake, then at the very least for Hansen.

Hence this meeting. I was trying .

“Are you okay?” Lena asked softly.

I simply shook my head. I wasn’t, and I didn’t know if I ever would be again.

But again…I was trying.

A moment after we’d taken our seats, a waiter appeared and passed out menus.

“Can I get you guys started with anything to drink?” he asked, his peppy tone doing nothing to quell my roiling gut.

“Wa—” I started, but Lena cut me off with a glare.

“We’ll each have a Bloody Mary,” she ordered, closing her menu with a snap . “Fully loaded. And the full appetizer spread.” She glanced at me sympathetically and added, “Plus a pitcher of ice water.”

The waiter winked at her. “You got it, ma’am. I’ll be right back with those.”

“I’m not sure—”

Lena once again stopped me mid-sentence. “I can smell the liquor from here, Mr. Wendt. A little hair of the dog won’t hurt. Frankly, you look—”

“Like shit,” her husband finished for her.

I choked on a laugh. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“Don’t be,” Leon said amiably, waving his hand. “You’ve been going through a lot, which is, I’m assuming, what prompted this meeting.”

“I need a change of scenery, and I can’t think of anywhere better to start over than Michigan.”

Leon cleared his throat. “We’re not a last resort, Ezra.”

“No, no,” I said placatingly, holding up my hands. “I know that. I just…” I trailed off, searching for the best way to say it without completely losing my shit. “I want Hansen to grow up happy and away from all this.” I twirled a finger in the air to encompass the city and our lives inside it, which had taken a steep dive into the gutter in recent months. “You’re parents,” I implored. “You have to understand that.”

The couple shared a look, Leon placing his broad palm atop Lena’s slender one on the table. Surely, they were thinking of their five daughters.

“We do,” Lena said, meeting my gaze. “And we don’t begrudge you wanting to protect Hansen. Life on the peninsula is a lot slower, though. Quiet. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“Yes,” I answered vehemently. “Slow and quiet is exactly what we need.”

“Well,” Leon said slowly, “as it turns out, our current chef is ready to move onto…greener pastures.” He practically spat the last two words, and I sensed some bad blood there.

“I don’t want greener pastures. I’ve had a charmed life, as far as my career goes, and look where it landed me. What I want is Chateau Delatou.”

The Delatous shared a look again before Leon looked at me with a broad smile. “Then welcome to the family.”

The lead weight on my shoulders lifted a fraction, and I returned his grin.

“There’s just one more thing,” Leon added, his expression quickly sobering.

There it was: the other shoe. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be so simple.

“Yes?”

“Stay away from my daughters.” I let out a surprised snort, but he plowed ahead. “You’re young, you’re…attractive, and so are they. But they aren’t available to you. Understood?”

I chuckled, the tension in my body easing. “Trust me, sir—that will not be a problem.”

After my marriage—a relationship in name only, our lives bound by a goddamn piece of paper and, of course, our son—and subsequent messy-as-fuck divorce, the last thing I wanted or needed was a new woman in my life, least of all one of my new bosses’ daughters. No, from now on, all my focus was on Hansen and pulling us out of this blackhole we’d found ourselves in.

“I’ve heard that before,” he grumbled, but his serious expression quickly morphed into a grin as he shook my hand over the table.

“You’ll just love Apple Blossom Bay,” Lena gushed, ignoring her husband’s thinly veiled threats. “It’s the most picturesque little town, and there are a lot of kids Hansen’s age who go to school in Traverse City. There’s a carpool system since the buses don’t run up there. I can put you in touch with the organizers.”

My shoulders lowered further. It had been a long time since I’d had anyone mother me, and in that moment, I was more thankful for Lena Delatou than I could ever say. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my dad, but he didn’t exactly have a woman’s touch. The man was gruffer than I was, which was saying something, considering my staff had routinely called me “Chef Cranky” behind my back.

I never called them on it because…they weren’t wrong.

A loveless marriage and growing up without a mother would do that to a guy.

Leon shifted around and withdrew a sheaf of papers from the inside of his sport coat. “And I’ve taken the liberty of printing some real estate listings for you. Are you interested in renting or buying?”

“Buying,” I answered quickly. “Something with a yard and three bedrooms.”

“And a large kitchen, of course,” Lena said knowingly.

“Well, that’s a given,” I told her with a grin.

Hell, it felt good to smile. Until that moment, I hadn’t been sure I remembered how.

“Three bedrooms?” Leon asked suspiciously.

“I’m hoping my dad will want to come with us,” I said. “I haven’t asked yet, but…”

“But he’s your father,” Lena said softly. “I’m sure he’ll jump at the chance.”

I smiled at her, hoping she was right. When everything with Shannon had gone down, Dad moved in to help with Hansen, and the transition had been seamless. After all, he’d been a single dad most of my life. He knew how it was. We had a nanny for when one or both of us had to work, but typically, at least one of us was always home with Hansen. My dad loved that little boy, and Hansen adored his Papa.

“How soon do you think you can get packed up and moved?” Leon asked.

“Well…I know it was presumptuous of me, but I’ve already put my two weeks in at work. My last day is Friday.”

Leon chuckled and softly shook his head. “Bold.”

I shrugged, knowing I had nothing to lose. Whether or not the Delatous had given me a job, I still planned on leaving New York. “I was hoping you’d take pity on a man down on his luck.”

Lena reached across the table and settled her warm palm over my hand. “I’m sorry, you know,” she said quietly.

Swallowing hard around the lump in my throat, I could do nothing but nod and offer her a grim smile.

Leon barreled ahead. “If you’re done here in a week, can we get you started at the winery the last week of June? If that’s not too soon.”

“That’s perfect,” I said quickly. “We’ll need some time to get settled, and if you have any ideas on childcare, I’d be happy to hear them.”

“We can help with that too,” Lena said. “In fact, I’d happily take him during the week until you and your father get settled and figure something else out.”

Already, I was opening my mouth to protest. “Absolutely not. You’re already doing too much for me. I can’t take advantage of you that way.”

“I’m a parent too, remember?” Lena said. “We had a lot of help with the girls while they were growing up and we were busy at the winery. Trust me, I don’t mind doing this for you. ”

“But—”

“You’d be wise to be quiet and accept her help, son,” Leon said. “She’s not going to take no for an answer.”

I snapped my mouth shut, heeding Leon’s warning. The whole thing was…overwhelming. Having a matronly figure in my corner, and having people who weren’t related to me genuinely care what happened to me and my son? It had been me and my dad against the world for so long, and then I’d gotten married, and my priorities had shifted to encompass my wife and Hansen.

And now, Shannon was no longer in the picture, but the Delatous stepping up to take some of the edge off that loss was enough to make me cry.

But I’d cried and raged and despaired enough over the last six months.

It was time to move on.

When I pushed through the door of our condo on the Upper West Side a few hours later, I found my dad and Hansen in the kitchen. Hansen was bellied up to the island in his highchair, a half-eaten stack of French toast in front of him. His face, hands, and bare chest were covered in syrup. My dad was at the stove, spatula in hand, also shirtless, a towel tossed over his shoulder.

Dad raised a brow at me in question, and I couldn’t help but grin in response. Still, I didn’t speak as I crossed the room to my son and dropped a kiss atop Hansen’s messy curls. The poor kid had gotten my genes, his head a deep brown mop perpetually in dire need of a cut.

“Well?” my dad prompted.

“Hey, Hansen?” I asked my little boy, ignoring my dad.

“Yeah, Daddy?”

“How would you feel about moving?”

Around a mouthful of bread, Hansen asked in that little boy voice of his, “Where?”

“I was thinking Michigan.”

“What’s that?” He never took his attention away from where he swiped his plastic fork through the remnants of syrup on his highchair tray.

“Somewhere far away from here.”

Hansen, who was barely two and thus perpetually unperturbed by the world around him unless it directly affected his sleeping and eating schedule, shrugged and said, “Okay.”

And that was that.

“When do we leave?” Dad asked.

I whirled on him, surprise raising my brows.

“You want to come? I mean, I planned on asking, but…”

“You guys are the only things keeping me here, Ez,” he assured me, settling a hand on my shoulder. My mother left him a long time ago, when I was barely Hansen’s age, content to sow her wild oats instead of staying to raise her son. To this day, I had no idea where she was, nor did I want to know. Since then, it had been me and Dad against the world. He’d always known what to do and say to bring me back to Earth when I spiraled, and that he was willing to uproot his life to follow me and Hansen across the country meant more than I could ever say. Still, my eyes watered, and I sniffed loudly .

“Are you sure?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything. Besides, I’m not getting any younger. It’s about time I retire, don’t you think? I can spend my free time taking care of our little rascal.”

I shrugged. “You don’t have to do that, Dad. I’m sure there are construction companies in Michigan.”

My dad had been a construction foreman for my entire life, getting his start as a day laborer when he was barely in his mid-twenties and working his way up. Now, at sixty, he more than deserved to retire and relax.

Apparently, his idea of relaxing was helping me raise my child, who, like me and through no fault of his own, was motherless.

“I want to,” he promised. “Plus, Michigan sounds like an awfully big adventure.”

“Like Peter Pan !” Hansen crowed.

My dad shot his grandson a wink. “Exactly.”

“Well…” I said slowly, eyes darting between the two. “How quickly do you think we can pack?”

Hansen cheered loudly, shooting upward in his chair so quickly, he nearly toppled out of it. After a scare when he was younger when he nearly choked because I couldn’t get him unbuckled fast enough, I was loath to strap him in. I caught him at the last moment and swung him around in my arms, joining in on his chant of, “Mich-i-gan!”

Even the thought of getting the fuck out of New York had my spirits lifting.

Michigan, here we come .

“Dada, I have to potty.”

From the passenger seat, my dad groaned, and I echoed the sentiment.

Obviously, I was all for Hansen learning how to use the toilet. He was nearly two and a half, and I was getting sick of changing diapers. I’d started potty training him about four months ago, shortly after he turned two, and to say it had been a struggle thus far would’ve been a gross understatement.

So when my boy told me he had to potty, I was scanning the interstate for signs indicating the next exit—even though we stopped not thirty minutes ago.

“You should’ve put him in a Pull-Up this morning,” my dad said.

“Shh,” I hissed. “That’s a dirty word in this family now. I’m not going to undo all the progress he’s made just because you don’t feel like stopping every ten seconds.”

“You don’t feel like stopping either!” he said through clenched teeth.

“Whatever,” I grumbled as I navigated us onto the off-ramp.

We were in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere Michigan, maybe twenty miles outside of Traverse City, and the drive had taken significantly longer thanks to my son’s tiny bladder and penchant for draining his water cup within thirty seconds every time we filled it.

On the way here, we’d spent a few nights in Niagara Falls. I’d lived in New York all my life and had never been. Before we’d left, Dad and I agreed some sort of family excursions beyond endless hours in the car would be good for us and Hansen. Once we’d crossed into Michigan, we also spent some time in Detroit, taking Hansen to the zoo. He was obsessed with the animals, particularly when it came to feeding the giraffes, and the photos would be memories I’d cherish for the rest of my life.

And yes, while the frequent stops were annoying, I wasn’t about to tell my kid he couldn’t have water, for fuck’s sake. What kind of monster would do that?

“If we stop now, do you think you can last the rest of the way without going potty again?” I asked Hansen.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

My dad snorted, and I couldn’t help but grin. I had no doubt the kid was only telling me what I wanted to hear, but we were in the home stretch of our trip to our new life in Michigan. A moving company was bringing all of our belongings to our new home, and all we’d have to do when we arrived was unpack.

Following the signs, I turned left at the end of the exit and immediately pulled into a gas station parking lot, easing to a stop in a space alongside the building.

“You want to take him?” I asked my dad.

“Hell no,” he said. “I love that kid, but you’re on piss duty. I’ll keep an eye on the car.”

I rolled my eyes but got out and went around the back to free Hansen from his car seat.

“I gonna go potty,” he said as I grabbed his hand and walked us inside.

“Yeah, bud. You’re gonna go potty.”

“Are you gonna go too? ”

I shook my head as we stepped inside the dimly lit restroom and locked the door before I bent to help him with his pants and underwear.

“Nope. This one is all you, kid.”

The problem with traveling and potty training a boy, I’d quickly come to learn, was that Hansen was too short to reach the toilet, which meant I had to hold him up and let him do his business.

Yeah, I had to hold him over the toilet so he could direct his little stream into the bowl instead of all over himself and the ground.

And who said parenthood wasn’t glamorous?

Once he finished, I helped him dress again then withdrew the bottle of hand sanitizer from my pocket and squirted some into his hands, which he enthusiastically rubbed together and said, “All clean!”

I laughed and grabbed his hand again, leading us back outside.

Five minutes later, we were back on the road.

We’d barely left our old life behind, but the more miles I put between my family and the city made the weight I’d been carrying lessen significantly.

My life may have been in shambles, the events of six months ago dragging me deep into a pit of despair I hadn’t been sure I’d ever find my way out of. But taking the first step into this new chapter was my way of digging myself out of that hole.

And for some reason, when we pulled up outside of our new home—a one-story Craftsman style on the edge of Apple Blossom Bay that had great bones and just needed some updating—I could already see the light.