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“He smells so good,” he exaggerated my swoony voice. At least, I thought he was exaggerating. Maybe I sounded like that. I hoped not.
“I have another customer. Gotta run. Thanks for listening.”
Garrett laughed, “I’ll tell you what, Burke,” he said to me. “What are you doing Saturday night?”
“This Saturday? It’s Halloween.”
“Are you trick-or-treating or something?”
“No. I’ll be at the estate. Cosimo’s fiancée thought to have a smallish Halloween party with VIP wine club members only.”
“Will Neo be there?”
“Of course. Why?” I was not sure I liked the sound of this.
“Perfect. I’ve been thinking of coming in for a visit. There are a few people I wouldn’t mind seeing.”
“Okay,” I hedged. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing special. Just get me invited to the VIP party. Do I need a costume?”
This was getting weirder and weirder by the second. “I guess. Garrett, what are you thinking?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just make sure Neo is there.”
Oh shit. “Garrett, you can’t say anything,” I said, beginning to panic. He should have known better.
“Seriously? You honestly think I’m going to out you?”
“I mean, no, but...tell me what you’re planning to do.”
Silence. And then, “Just trust me, will you?”
“I do, sort of. I gotta go.”
“See you this weekend.”
Garrett hung up. My mind was not on the customer or, thankfully, on how sexy Neo had looked this morning. It was firmly on Saturday’s party and Garrett, and I was sort of wishing I hadn’t called him. He was a bit crazy, and suddenly I was starting to dread this weekend.
FIVE
neo
“Aren’tyou glad we got it catered?” Brooke asked Grado’s chef.
For a change, not one of us was working. It was a BYOB event, the cases of reserve wine having shipped out to VIP members weeks ago. And because it was catered by an outside restaurant, neither the cafe chef nor any of our staff members were required to work tonight.
That was not to say my siblings and I were completely off the hook. Though we Grados were not manning tastings or dealing with food, we were still technically “working,” greeting guests as they strolled in, and mingling with them, the most loyal of Grado’s customers. But this didn’t feel like work at all. Telling them about this year’s harvest. Thanking them for their loyalty.
“Woah,” said Perry, the tasting room associate, looking exactly as I’d expected. He was dressed like a hippie, which wasn’t really out of the ordinary for him, just a bit more in-your-face than usual. “You look exactly like Tommy Shelby. Nice costume.”
“Thanks,” I said, tipping my cap to him. “And you look like you do on a regular Wednesday afternoon.”
Perry’s good-natured laugh reminded me why, despite the fact that he smelled like weed twenty-four seven and had a propensity to come late to work, I liked him so much. He’d been working for Grado for years and was a great guy. If a little spacey at times.
“Waistcoat, cuff links, tiepins. Love the attention to detail.” He pointed up at my hat. “Any razor blades in there?”
“Nope,” I said, spotting Owen Smith. He and his family owned half of Kitchi Falls, including the bar and general store in town. Currently he stood with his parents, who I hadn’t seen in ages. I turned my attention back to Perry. “Just a regular baker boy cap.”
