10. Not That Bad

10

Not That Bad

Zane

I’m not exactly sure why I agreed to attend a wine tasting with Ivy. All I know is I couldn’t bear to see her cry. Taking her on a sled ride this afternoon was . . . well, nice . I’d gotten so used to riding by myself, I forgot how gratifying it can be to share the experience with someone who’s new to it. I know first-hand how cathartic it can be. Sledding heals all wounds, especially emotional ones. Why do you think I love it so much?

I spot Belinda and Daisy coming back from the grocery store, so I run to give them a hand. Belinda flashes her signature warm smile when she sees me approaching. “My boy, there you are.”

“Hey. Sorry, I got held up,” I say, picking the bags from her hands.

“Right,” Daisy says while rolling her eyes.

I throw her a dark look before following Belinda into the house. “I was on a ride.”

“I know. How wonderful,” Belinda says. “It’s been a while.”

I shoot another look at my sister—an annoyed one this time. Of course she told on me. “Why can’t you mind your own business?”

“My family is my own business,” Daisy fires back as we drop the bags on Belinda’s kitchen table.

“Not when you’re only here a week out of the year,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Settle down, you two,” Belinda snaps with a stern look, the one a mother would give her children when they’re fighting. Which is fitting, considering she pretty much raised us.

Breathing out a long sigh, I start putting away the groceries .

“I don’t need Daisy to tell me anything,” she says, propping a hand on her hip. “I live across the street. I see it’s Seth and not you on that sled every day. I may be old, but I’m not blind.”

“Fine,” I mutter.

“Besides, you’ve been spending most of your time here. And I don’t think you can split yourself in two yet.” She casts me a warm, motherly look. “But I’m glad you’re back out there. That’s where you belong.”

She’s not wrong.

“So, why did you go?” Daisy asks, an annoying smirk plastered on her face.

“Do I need to write it in big letters on my forehead or something? None of your business. ”

“It’s that girl, isn’t it?” she presses, her eyes gleaming.

Belinda’s head snaps toward me like a hawk. She’s been on my case about finding a girlfriend for months, so of course when Daisy mentions a girl, she’s already getting giddy. “What girl?”

“No one.”

“Ha!” Daisy says. “I knew it. If it was really ‘no one,’ you would have just shrugged and said she’s a client.”

I brush my hair out of my face. “She is a client.”

She narrows her eyes. “But you’re not shrugging . . .”

I lean back against the counter. Crap. Why am I not shrugging? In lieu of an answer, I underline the imaginary sentence written on my forehead.

“Tell me more about this girl,” Belinda gushes, sitting down at the table and patting the seat next to her. Then, Daisy mimics her.

“Nope.” Placing a kiss on Belinda’s head, I get out of there as fast as possible.

It feels weird visiting the touristic part of town at night. I barely go during the day as it is, but I never go at night. As I wait in front of Ivy’s hotel, I feel like a teenager waiting for his first date. At least, that’s what I assume he’d look like. I didn’t really have the typical teenage experience. But I’m pretty sure sweaty palms, dry mouth, and a racing heart would make the cut. Truth is, I’m a little nervous to go wine tasting. I’ve never done it before. I’ll probably look like a fool. Though I did make an effort on my appearance for once. I tied my bushy hair into a man bun, I’m wearing jeans instead of my ski pants, and I swapped my fleece sweater for a flannel shirt—the only one I own. I threw on a black jacket with a fleece interior because, even if I rarely feel the cold, it’s particularly chilly tonight.

“Hey,” Ivy says from behind me.

I turn around, and my skin prickles as I lay eyes on her. She looks breathtaking. She curled her hair at the bottom, making the copper highlights even more vibrant, and she has some makeup on. Even if I think she’s just as beautiful without it, I’m flattered that she did all that for a night out with me.

“Hey,” I say with a smile. “Ready?”

She adjusts her pink scarf around her neck. “Yup.”

We start our stroll toward the bar, and I take in the strings of beautiful lights twinkling around us. I’m not big on Christmas decorations, but I have to admit, it does look pretty cool. The street is filled with tourists walking to dinner or coming from it, and the atmosphere is relaxed and serene. Far from the Christmas madness I’d been expecting at this hour.

A couple of minutes later, we step into the bar.

“Hi,” a young blonde greets with a warm smile. “Do you have a reservation?”

Ivy tenses next to me. “Yes. It’s under Ross.”

The hostess checks her tablet. “Right. Here it is. Ivy and Dan Ross for wine tasting with a food pairing. And congratulations. Pl—”

“Oh no. He’s not the husband. This is Zane,” Ivy says, red flaring to her cheeks. “But I’m Ivy, the bride. Well, not really.” Her eyes start to water.

“We’re friends,” I say to the hostess, who gives me a slight nod.

“All right. Please follow me.”

Ivy throws me an apologetic look, and I give her a nod, letting her go first. With every step I take in the cramped bar, I feel more and more like a bull in a china shop. Who knew such a place existed in Winter Heights? A sprawling marble bar with a set of green velvet stools occupies the middle of the room, taking up most of the space. The wood paneled walls bear framed paintings of the mountains, and gold-brushed ceiling lamps cast a dim light over the space. A couple of clients look me up and down, but I couldn’t care less what they think. I just hope Ivy doesn’t feel embarrassed to have me here with her. After all, I did kind of impose my presence.

We’re seated in an alcove table, and while I appreciate not being on full display at the bar, the candlelight and “congratulations” card on the table are a bit much. How romantic.

“Good evening,” says a tall guy wearing a gray suit. “I’m John, and I’ll be your server today. You’ve booked the deluxe wine-tasting experience, which comes with a sampling of eight of our best bottles as well as some food pairings. I’ll bring the first glass over along with some water.”

Eight glasses? Geez, are we supposed to slide back home after this?

We thank him politely, and a silence falls between us.

“So, thanks for coming with me,” Ivy says, lacing her hands in front of her. “You must think I’m such a loser.” She lifts her eyes to me, and my heart softens. I can’t imagine the pain she’s in right now. Suddenly, I want to break this Dan guy’s face in two.

I stare back at her, my gaze latched onto her beautiful eyes. “You’re not a loser.”

“Of course I am,” she says with a lopsided smile. “It’s normal to pity someone like me. I pity me. Why else would you be here with me tonight? I have a feeling this isn’t your typical scene.”

I wince. “What gave it away?”

She laughs, and the sound starts to mend the broken pieces inside me.

“I’m here for the booze, by the way. Didn’t you hear the guy? Eight glasses of their best wines. Who would say no to that?” I joke, leaning back in my chair. Yeah, like I care about the wine, or know anything about it .

Right on cue, our server comes back with our glasses. The first wine is a Chardonnay. He gives us information about it, but it’s beyond my vocabulary. Or my interest, to be honest. When it comes to wine, I’m a simple guy. Either I like it, or I don’t.

“Cheers,” Ivy says, holding up her drink, and I clink my glass with hers.

“Cheers.”

I take a sip of the crisp wine and pick out a few of the nuts the server brought along.

“Thanks again for this afternoon. I had a great time,” she says, her expression softening.

“You have to stop thanking me for everything,” I tease, suddenly feeling uneasy.

She glances away, biting her lip. “Right. So, your sister seems nice. Does she work with you?”

“Oh no. She’s an architect in Chicago and a total nerd. She stayed in school forever. I don’t even know how many degrees she has now. She’s just here on vacation, but she helps out a little. I only have one employee—Seth, the young guy you met.”

She takes a sip of her Chardonnay. “And your brother is a ski instructor?”

“Yes. He got the teaching genes,” I say, chuckling .

She narrows her eyes at me, then laughs, and the sound sends tingles through my body. I wish she’d do that more often. “Oh, come on. You’re not that bad.”

“What about you? Any siblings?”

She nods, grabbing a handful of nuts. “I have a sister, Hazel. She used to be a food critic, but now she’s a sous-chef.”

I take another long sip of my wine. “Fancy. She lives in Florida too?”

“No. Actually, she lives in France now.”

“ Very fancy. I bet she knows all about wine.”

“Yup. Champagne is more her jam, though. But gastronomy has always been part of our lives. Our mom was a foodie, and she made it her mission to pass it on to us. I love food and good restaurants, but it’s more Hazel’s thing than mine.”

“Wow, okay. Full disclosure, I know as much about food as I know about wine.”

She chuckles. “I’ll teach you what I know.”

Her offer makes me smile. Now that I’m starting to get to know her, I realize she’s pretty easygoing despite her undoubtedly fancier education compared to mine.

“Have you ever been to France?” she asks, twirling a strand of copper hair around her finger .

“Nope. Never even left the state,” I say, rapping my knuckles on the table. “I’m fine right here, in the cold.”

She laughs again, the sound bringing a warmth to my chest. “You’re pretty much a Siberian husky yourself, aren’t you?”

She’s not entirely wrong. I don’t have a chance to answer because the waiter is now switching our glasses of Chardonnay for Pinot Grigio.

“Maybe I am, but this place is all I know . . .”

“Yeah, I get that. I’ll have to go apartment hunting when I get back, and I’m not looking forward to it. Changing your habitat isn’t fun,” she says, drinking more wine, and I do the same.

I can sense her mood has shifted again. I’m guessing her upcoming move has to do with the deserting husband, so I don’t ask. “What do you do for a living? I’ve ruled out water-skiing instructor, but other than that, the coast is pretty clear.”

“Haha. Very funny. I’m a nurse.”

I cock my head to the side, studying her. “I can see that.”

Her eyes meet mine. “How so?”

“You’re nice to people, always in a good mood, and you have empathy.” I’m sure she’s an excellent nurse. Her patients are lucky to have her. A single smile from Ivy is probably enough to get them back on their feet .

“Well, so do you. You just hide it well.”

I bark out a loud laugh, and the old lady sitting next to us shoots me a look of disapproval. I can’t help it. No one has ever, in my twenty-eight years of life, called me “nice” or said I had empathy. But I don’t disagree. I’m not the warmest guy on the planet, but I am nice, and I do have empathy.

“Well, except maybe for the ‘good mood’ part,” Ivy adds with a wink.

With another chuckle, I finish my drink. “You’re right about that.”

Ivy

“So, how did you get into dog sledding?” I ask when the waiter hustles to our table with our third glass of wine along with a cheese and cold-cut board and warm bread. “That’s an unusual job.”

“I grew up with it, I guess? The former owner of the farm, Bruce, was my neighbor—he passed away a few years ago—and he took me under his wing. Actually, both Bruce and Belinda helped us out a lot when we were young,” he says, taking a slice of cheese .

“Oh, Belinda. The lady who lives across the street?”

He nods. “Yes. They were kind of like substitute parents for us. Our mom was sick all her life, and she died when Daisy was two years old. My dad wasn’t really around much.”

I’m surprised he’s sharing something so personal, and he must feel the same, because he sits up straighter, waving a hand in dismissal. “Anyway, we spent a lot of time with them. I was close with Bruce, so he made sure I behaved. I was the rough one of the lot.”

“Really?” I arch an eyebrow. “I would have never guessed that.”

“Haha.” He casts me a playful glare. “Yeah. So, Bruce let me play with the dogs whenever I skipped school.”

“Oh, Bruce was cool .”

“Very.” He laughs, and it feels like the first time I hear his real laugh. It’s low and husky, but also warm and sexy. Stop, Ivy . It’s just a laugh . “Bruce believed in real-world education instead of schoolwork, which worked great for me. He taught me how to mush, which is a lot harder than it looks, but I preferred being out in the snow, taking care of the dogs—even if it was just cleaning their kennels—instead of being cooped up in a room all day. I still do.”

“You’re not at all like your sister, then. ”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Nope. Darwin and I used to joke about how we couldn’t possibly be related given how studious she was, but that got her pretty upset, so we stopped. With our past, anything’s possible, so . . .”

“Well, she has the same eyes as you, and she seems tough, so I’d say she’s a Harden all right.”

His eyes light up. “That’s what we always tell her.”

“So, you’re pretty close with your siblings too? I know losing our mom and not having a dad made Hazel and me inseparable.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he says before taking a sip of wine. “And your dad.”

“Thanks,” I say, averting my eyes for a second. The last thing I need is to start crying in front of him. Again . “I’m sorry too.”

He scratches his beard. “To answer your question, I guess we’re pretty close. I see Darwin every day. With Daisy, it’s a little different, since she doesn’t live here—and because she’s a pain in my neck.”

I shake my head. “Ah, sisters. That’s what they’re for. Especially younger ones.”

He squints at me. “I take it you’re the youngest.”

My hand flies to my chest. “I’m offended. Why would you assume that? ”

“Because if you were the oldest, you wouldn’t say that,” he jokes.

I laugh a little too hard, but it’s probably the wine. “You’re right. I’m the youngest.”

He shakes his head. “Knew it.” Then, he barks out his sexy laugh again.

Yeah, I’ve reached a verdict. Zane Harden is not that bad after all.