No Ordinary Fortune. Judy Duarte
“I had more fun than any of the attendees.” And standing outside under a canopy of twinkly lights adorning tree branches with a handsome Latino made it all the better.
It was, however, getting a little chilly. She took another sip of merlot, hoping it would warm her from the inside out. Yet she still gave a little shiver.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“Just a little. It’s not bad enough to run back to my car for a sweater.”
“I’m not sure if I told you that’s a pretty dress. It was perfect for the tasting tonight.”
“I have plenty more like this one at home.”
“I’d be disappointed to learn that you didn’t. I assume that means you like to go out on the town.”
“Every chance I get.” She offered him another spunky grin, noting his playful expression. Apparently, he was enjoying her company as much as she enjoyed his.
“You’ve got to be hungry,” he said. “I certainly am. Why don’t you join me for dinner?”
“I’d like that. Just give me a chance to freshen up. I’ll use the hotel restroom.” Ten minutes later, after running a brush through her hair and reapplying her lipstick, Schuyler stopped by the registration desk in the front lobby. She needed a place to stay while she was in Austin, and the Monarch was certainly convenient.
After checking in for the night and getting a key, she returned to the garden, which was now empty—thanks to the efficiency of the hotel cleanup crew.
“Ready to go?” Carlo asked.
“Yes. Are we walking or driving?”
“If you’re okay with Italian food, we can walk. There’s a great little restaurant a few blocks from here.”
“I love all things Italian.” And Latin, it seemed.
“Then let’s go. It’s close to the office, so you can get a sweater or jacket from your car, if you want to. Either way, it’s a short walk.”
When he offered her his arm, she took it, hoping to absorb some of his body heat. “Lead the way.”
Carlo blessed her with a dazzling grin that could turn a girl’s knees to mush. Then he guided her along the sidewalk to the street.
Her heels and the soles of his loafers tapped a steady beat, and while she should probably remove her hand from his forearm, she enjoyed his warmth, as well as the taunting scent of a masculine soap that complemented his sea-breezy cologne.
“How long have you worked for the temp agency?” he asked.
Uh-oh. She hadn’t minded playing along with the identity mix-up at first, but she wasn’t ready to reveal her hand quite yet. What if he had some kind of commitment with the agency that he thought had sent Schuyler as a substitute hostess this evening? What if he reneged on the job offer to hostess future tastings?
She’d have to face that possibility, but maybe it would be best to tell him over dinner—or even dessert.
“Would you believe this was my first time on the job?” she asked.
Okay, while that wasn’t an out-and-out lie, it wasn’t completely honest. But still, it was somewhat truthful. She’d never been a hostess for a wine tasting before.
“Well, you’d never know it from my vantage point. You were a champ.”
Moments later, they approached Rossi’s, a small brick building with a black wrought iron railing that provided an enclosure for curbside dining. Several portable heaters supplied warmth for a few couples who’d taken a seat outdoors.
“Inside or out?” Carlo asked.
“It doesn’t really matter to me.”
“Then let’s take the first available table.” He opened the green door for her, just like a gallant Latin lover, and she entered the small restaurant that boasted white plastered walls and dark wood beams.
The place had an old-world charm, right down to a colorful mural on the east wall and a rustic fountain in the back. And if the aroma of tomatoes, basil and garlic was any clue, the food had to be good.
“Two for dinner,” Carlo told the hostess.
“This way.” The hostess reached for two leather-bound menus, then led them to a linen-draped table, which was adorned with a red rose in a budvase and several flickering votives.
Carlo pulled out Schuyler’s chair, and she took a seat. Then he sat across from her.
The hostess handed them the menus. “Your waiter is Alfonso. He’ll be with you in a moment.”
Moments later, a short balding gentleman in his fifties stopped by their table, introduced himself and took their drink order.
“We’ll have a bottle of Mendoza merlot,” Carlo told Alfonso.
“Nice choice, sir.”
Schuyler couldn’t help but smile. “Did you choose this place because of the food they serve—or because of their wine selection?”
He leaned forward and said, “The food is excellent. And for that reason, we offered a tasting here a couple weeks ago. The customer reaction was so positive that the owner placed an order. So I’d also like to be supportive.”
Schuyler set her menu aside. “So tell me. What’s it like working for a family business?”
“It’s pretty cool. We all get along—and we have a common goal. We want to see the winery be the best it can be.”
“That’s nice.” Schuyler supposed Maddie felt the same way about Fortunado Real Estate.
Carlo studied her for a moment, and a slow smile stretched across his gorgeous face. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”
“So do you,” she said. “Some women would trade just about anything for long, thick lashes like yours. I hadn’t noticed until I saw them from this angle—and in the candlelight.”
“Thank you. As a kid, my brothers used to tease me about them.”
Siblings could sometimes be cruel without meaning to. “I’ll bet that made you feel bad.”
“No, it made me double up my fists and let them have it.”
She laughed. “I’ll bet it did. So did you guys fight a lot growing up? I’d imagine, with all that testosterone flowing, there’d be some pretty big power struggles.”
“Sometimes, but it was usually just in fun.”
When Alfonso returned with their wine, they grew silent, waiting for him to uncork the bottle and pour them each a glass. Then, after telling them he’d be back with water and to take their order, he left them alone.
They’d hardly taken two sips when Carlo’s phone rang. He glanced at the display, then said, “I don’t normally take calls at the dinner table, but this one might be for you.”
Schuyler arched a brow. What made him say that? Who knew she was here—other than his father and brothers?
“Yes,” Carlo said. “Speaking.”
His brow furrowed as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Oh, yeah? No, that’s not a problem. At least, not yet. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” After a moment, he nodded. “Thanks.”
Schuyler leaned forward, wondering if he’d tell her who’d called—and why he thought they’d want to speak to her. She’d never been especially patient.
“That was the temp agency we’ve been working with,” he said. “They were apologizing because they couldn’t find a fill-in for the hostess who canceled out on us.”
Uh-oh. Schuyler