Page 14 of Legs

Maybe my actions were subconscious, too. The blackout at the club could have been more than coincidence. It could have bewitched our wishes, a higher power guiding our lives. The embarrassing stunt that had led me here could have been a mortifying type of fate.

Fate that became clearer when my eyes locked on a poster.

The same flyer I’d seen at the bar with Bad Boy was taped to the wall—the sommelier contest to earn a position at three San Francisco restaurants. Vibrating with nerves and the urge to touch Bad Boy that night, I’d busied my hands by plucking at the corner of the page, reading and re-reading the advertisement. I read it again now, more intently.

Working in a restaurant wasn’t ideal—my waitressing gigs in school had involved many forgotten orders and bad tips—but my current predicament shrunk my options. I had no job, no prospects, and being a sommelier wasn’t like being a server. Talking wine with customers could be fun. Exciting even.

A seed of possibility planted itself behind my breastbone and grew. There was no going back from here. Only forward.

I also had a resolution to fill by next April.

I returned to my seat and clasped my hands on the table. “I wasn’t fired,” I told my mother. “I quit.”

Which was in fact true.

Her hand shot to her heart. “You were doing so well. Finally working toward something. I’m sure if you explain it was a lapse in judgment, your boss will rehire you.”

“Ma…”

“Tell him you haven’t been well. Take a week off if needed.”

“Ma…”

“Promise it won’t happen again. A reasonable man will understand.”

“Ma, I’m not groveling for my job. I quit because I hate being a loan officer.”

More truth offered.

She sagged, her shoulder pads curving forward. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you so unsettled. I only want the best for you.”

A heartfelt admission that echoed my father’s last words.

I wrapped my hand around her clenched fist. Her wedding ring nestled between my fingers. “I appreciate your concern, but I quit because…I have something lined up. Something I’ll actually enjoy.” I sipped my Riesling, notes of honeysuckle and wet stone lingering on my tongue, the memory of Bad Boy lingering, too.

My mother tilted her head and studied me. “If you have a job lined up, why lie about it?”

“It’s something new. I wanted to get settled before mentioning it.” There was no point discussing the sommelier contest unless I won. Admitting I’d failed at something else would only add fuel to her overprotective fire, and the lie tangled with enough fact to be passable.

She nodded, appeased. “If this doesn’t work out, I’m calling in a favor with Uncle Charlie. You’re twenty-seven, Rachel. It’s time to plant some roots. Mitchell works his tail off at his firm. It’s not fun, but he knows what he needs to do to succeed. You’ll have time for the fun stuff later.”

I may have earned enough diplomas to start a forgery business, but my younger brother’s law degree and stellar job poked holes in my confidence, his every leap forward a floodlight on my stalled career.

Thankfully our food arrived before she could go on about Mitchell’s success or Uncle Charlie’s funeral home. I’d been avoiding that particular connection for the whole of my adult life. Working around death, dressing lifeless bodies and watching people sob, was not happening. Still, the disappointment in my mother’s eyes hit home. I’d worked hard to keep her spirits up since we’d lost Dad. The first two years had been hell for her. For me, too. But she’d been a shell of her former self. Five years later, her happiness remained priority one.

“Fine,” I said, eager to appease her and switch topics. “If this new venture doesn’t pan out, we’ll talk to Uncle Charlie.”

Since that wasn’t an option, the sommelier gig had to work.

Five

Jimmy

The first day of the sommelier contest arrived without fanfare. Considering I’d waited two years to hatch the perfect plan and would finally deal with my family, I’d expected a bit more ceremony. A James Bond soundtrack, maybe.

But calm was fine. All I needed was the outcome.

The restaurant hadn’t changed since it had opened four years ago. Egos inflated, the Adriano brothers had spared no expense and followed up their first two restaurants, Aroma and Blend, with Crush. Rave reviews piled up, and the wait list grew, all three hot spots offering killer wines and cool vibes. Crush still had a small tree growing in the center of the room, decorated with tiny white lights. The world class wines lining the back wall were as impressive as ever, the sleek wooden tables and white chairs cool and stylish.