5. Gianni

gianni

. . .

I did my best to blend into the background and let Ellie shine, but it was a struggle.

It was like she was invisible.

Every time she started to talk about the wine she’d just poured, someone would ask me about Lick My Plate .

Every time I tried to steer the conversation back to Abelard, someone would mention a rave review they’d just read about the food at Etoile.

Every time one of the guests would compliment the wine Ellie had paired with a particular dish, Hadley would say something like, “Oh, enough about the wine already! I want to know if that chef from New Orleans was really that mean, or if that guy from Dallas really threw a pot at your head.”

I grinned. “No, that was all fake drama, but Ellie here once threw eight pies in my face.”

Finally, Hadley looked at Ellie with interest. “Why’d you do that?”

“Uh, it’s a long story.” And one she obviously did not want to tell.

“I want to hear it,” the teenager insisted. “How old were you?”

“We were seventeen,” Ellie replied.

The girl beamed. “That’s how old I am!”

“So you’ve known each other a while,” Fiona remarked, looking back and forth between us.

“All our lives,” I confirmed.

“Wait. Were you, like, a couple?” Hadley narrowed her eyes at Ellie.

“No,” she said emphatically.

“We grew up together,” I explained. “Our mothers are best friends, but I’ll admit I was pretty terrible to Ellie when we were kids.”

“Is that why she threw the pies in your face?” Hadley asked.

Ellie and I exchanged a look. “You’d have to ask her that,” I said.

“I’ll ask her,” said one of the other women at the table with a laugh. “Why did you throw so many pies in his face?”

Ellie cleared her throat. “I threw the pies in his face because I was mad at him for dunking me so many times.”

“Dunking you?” The guy with the bow tie looked intrigued. “Okay, now we have to hear the rest.”

Ellie reluctantly told the story about the dunk tank and the pie-throwing at the Cherry Festival, and it was the longest anyone let her speak all night. They were roaring by the end, and at first I was glad I’d brought up the incident—then I looked at her face, and I knew she was furious with me.

“Oh, that’s priceless.” The woman who’d encouraged Ellie to tell the story wiped tears. “I can just picture you in that sash and crown, soaking wet and steaming mad.”

“Good thing you got him back.” The guy wearing glasses smiled at Ellie and lifted his glass in a toast. “This Riesling is divine, by the way, but I think my favorite wine tonight was the pét-nat.”

A little of her sparkle reappeared. “Thank you. That’s one of my favorites too. I’m really interested in natural wines, and I convinced my dad and our head winemaker to try a pét-nat last year.”

“Now what’s the difference between a pét-nat and other kinds of sparkling wine?” his partner asked. Then he smiled guiltily. “Sorry for the ignorant question.”

Ellie stood even taller, her smile genuine. “It’s not an ignorant question at all. Pét-nat is short for pétillant naturel , which is the original method of making sparkling wine. The process involves bottling and capping wine that’s not finished, allowing it to ferment in the bottle. It’s a little unpredictable, but it’s a really fun, refreshing, uncomplicated wine. We made ours from a hybrid grape called Melody, which was biodynamically farmed, grown without pesticides, herbicides, or other chemicals?—”

Hadley blew a raspberry. “No more about wine. Mom, I think you should put Gianni on the cover of Tastemaker . Don’t you all think she should?”

Everyone at the table spoke up enthusiastically, and Ellie deflated like a week-old balloon.

“I mean, seriously, you’re always complaining that people don’t read magazines as much as they used to,” Hadley went on. “Why not put someone on the cover who will actually sell copies?”

“That’s enough, Hadley.” Fiona gave her daughter a stern look. “Why don’t you go turn on the coffee pot?”

“I can do that,” I offered, grateful for a chance to leave the room. Maybe if I wasn’t in there, Ellie would get one more chance to talk about her work at Abelard.

But it wasn’t even a full sixty seconds later that Ellie came into the kitchen carrying a few empty wineglasses, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “They want you back in there. I was asked to bring out the coffee and dessert.”

My heart sank. “Fuck. Really?”

“Of course, Gianni. Who really wants to listen to me talk about wine when they have a celebrity chef here to entertain them?” She placed the dirty wineglasses into the storage box. “Just go. I want to finish up and get out of here.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie.” I touched her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known it would be like this.”

She glanced at my hand and shrugged. “I’m not surprised. Go do your encore so we can leave. This dinner already went later than I planned, and the storm is getting worse. I don’t want to end up stranded here.”

“Me neither.” I grinned at her. “I don’t trust that teenager one bit.”

Ellie didn’t even crack a smile.

While the guests drank coffee and ate dessert, Ellie and I bundled up and loaded the car. The snow was knee-deep and still falling. The wind howled out of the north. The temperature made our noses turn red with cold.

I started the car to warm it up, but I wasn’t looking forward to the drive—visibility would be shit and the roads were going to be a mess. It was ten-thirty already, and I guessed we wouldn’t get home until after two in the morning. I wondered how Ellie would feel about staying at my place in Traverse City, since the drive up Old Mission Peninsula would probably be horrific. I could give her my bed and sleep on the couch.

Trying to remember if my spare sheets were clean, I closed the hatch of my SUV and went back inside, stomping the snow from my boots.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Ellie said, slipping past me with her bag over her shoulder. “Can you get the check from her? She just went to write it.”

“Sure. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She went out the door, gently pulling it shut behind her.

I felt terrible she was so disappointed—I’d seen Ellie mad a million times, but I didn’t often see her sad, and I wished I knew how to make her feel better. It occurred to me that for as long as I’d known her, and as much as I saw her at work, I didn’t really know her on a personal level.

What were her favorite things? What made her happy? What did she see for herself five, ten, twenty years down the road? What were her guilty pleasures? What did she think about when she was alone in bed at night?

My mind started to wander—as it often did—down a slightly dirtier path.

What was she like in bed? How did she want to be touched? Had she ever been with anyone who knew what he was doing? Given the jackasses she’d dated during high school, I doubted it, unless her taste had drastically improved in college. The side of herself she showed me at work ran cool and tart, but I had a feeling she ran sweet and hot beneath the surface.

Most importantly, why had she been staring at my crotch in the car on the ride up? I chuckled to myself at the way she’d denied it, because it had been obvious that’s what she was doing. Not that I hadn’t stared at parts of her body from time to time, but I’d at least been stealthy enough not to get caught. And mostly when I thought about her body, I was alone with my pants off, my dick in my hand.

I had this one fantasy of her that I loved, where she crawls across the kitchen floor toward me wearing nothing but that Cherry Princess crown and a smile. I tell her we can’t, I insist that we shouldn’t, I warn her if she comes any closer, I won’t be able to hold back. But she refuses to accept my gentlemanly caution and confesses that she’s only pretended to hate my guts all these years and she can’t hold back any longer—she has to have me or she’ll go crazy.

She reaches my feet and looks up at me, her eyes on fire. She licks her lips and says?—

“Gianni?”

Fiona Duff stood before me holding out a check folded in two.

I realized I’d been staring at the door Ellie had just closed—and also that I’d started to get hard thinking about her. Luckily my coat was long enough to cover the crotch of my pants.

“Thank you.” I took the check from Fiona and stuck it in my pocket.

“Thank you for coming tonight. Everything was wonderful.”

“Glad to hear it.” I glanced at the door. “I should get going. The drive might be a little rough.”

“Of course. I’m sorry we kept you a little later than planned.” She winked at me. “I added a little to the check to cover the extra time.”

“Ellie will appreciate that. Thanks again.” I pulled on my gloves just as Hadley burst into the kitchen.

“There you are! Did you ask him yet?”

“I was just about to,” said Fiona, moving closer to me. “Gianni, I wonder if I might get in touch with you about a feature in Tastemaker magazine we do called 30 Under 30. We have one spot left, and I’d like it to be yours. I also think my daughter was right about putting you on the cover—that’s something I’ll have to discuss with my editorial team, of course, but assuming you say yes to the spot, I don’t really see a reason why it wouldn’t be approved. What do you say?”

“Say yes!” Hadley shouted.

My heart had lurched the moment I’d heard 30 Under 30 . “Uh, I’m not sure.”

“It’s a great opportunity,” Fiona went on smoothly. “It’s always our biggest-selling issue and our most popular online article. Tons of hits. Granted, you already have more name recognition than anyone else on the list—and facial recognition, which is why it would make sense to put you on the cover—but I still think it would be great for you. We aim for more of a pop culture audience these days, but lots of industry insiders still read. Your name might catch the eye of the person who can rocket your brand to the next level. I’m sure you’re not planning to stay at Etoile forever.”

“No,” I said honestly.

“So what’s your next move? A Michelin Star? A James Beard Award? A line of cookware? Being on the cover of Tastemaker and at the top of the 30 Under 30 would be fabulous publicity—it could give you some leverage.”

“Mom, those things are so boring. He needs his own show ,” said Hadley. “And, like, merch. Not just pots and pans, but like sweatpants and T-shirts and hoodies with his signature line from the show! Gianni Lupo: too hot to handle .” She dragged her hand down the side of her leg where the lettering would go. “I could totally design it all for you. My friend got famous on TikTok and I did all his merch. Are you on TikTok?”

“Uh, no.”

“Oh!” Hadley snapped her fingers. “What do you call those things you wear on your hands when you take stuff out of the oven so you don’t get burned?”

“Oven mitts?”

“Yes. How cute would it be to have some made with a pic of you and too hot to handle on them? Your fans would go crazy!”

I had to laugh at the idea of my face on people’s hands in kitchens all over America—my mother would think it was hilarious.

Ellie would not.

“Listen, this is fun to think about, but...” I glanced at the door again. “Have you thought about asking Ellie to be on your 30 Under 30 list? She’s doing really cool things at Abelard, and Michigan wines are gaining popularity.”

Hadley rolled her eyes. “ Wine again. No one cares.”

Fiona sighed. “I’ll be frank. We don’t have anyone on the list who’d get the attention you would—and that means better ad dollars for us. I only just started watching Lick My Plate in the last couple weeks or I’d have approached you sooner. And I hate to say this, because Ellie seems very knowledgeable and we always love to feature women in the industry, but I really need a name . What do you say? Can I call you later this week? Set up an interview and photo shoot?”

“Do it,” prodded Hadley.

For a moment, I entertained the idea—being on a magazine cover would be pretty cool, and my agent would love it. Maybe Fiona was right, and the publicity would mean I could ask for more in negotiations with the network who wanted me to sign a contract with them...not only more money, but more creative control, more of a say in my role on the show, or maybe a different show altogether. I’d be little more than a prop on Hot Mess.

But the thought of a bunch of Hadleys running around with my name on their sweatpants was a little weird.

And accepting Fiona’s offer would crush Ellie.

I shook my head. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I have to say?—”

Fiona held up a hand. “Don’t answer yet. Take a few days and think about it. I realize I just ambushed you on your way out into a storm.”

“I don’t really need to?—”

“The issue won’t come out until June, so we don’t have to shoot you until spring.” Fiona moved past me and pulled the door open. Snow rushed in on a blast of cold air, and Hadley shivered. “Be careful out there. I’ll be in touch this week.”

“Wait!” Hadley ran at me. “Can I have a hug?”

I was nearly knocked over backward when she threw her arms around me, but I recovered my balance and awkwardly tapped her back once with a gloved hand.

“And a selfie?” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone, snapping a bunch of photos of us before I even registered what was happening. “Thanks!”

“No problem.” I ducked out the door before she could ask me for anything else.

Hurrying toward my SUV through the wind and snow, I yanked the door open and slid behind the wheel. The interior was cozy and warm, and the windows were fogged up. Ellie was staring out the passenger window, arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t even look at me when I got in.

I tossed my gloves in the back seat and pulled the check from my pocket. “Here. She paid us extra.”

Ellie took the check from me without a word, stuck it in the bag at her feet, and resumed her previous pose.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Just drive.”

“Not until we talk this out.”

“I don’t want to talk, Gianni. There’s nothing to say, and the longer we sit here, the worse the storm is going to get.”

“I can’t even see,” I told her, switching the defroster to blow cool air. “You’re so steaming mad at me, you fogged up the windows.”

“I’m not mad at you .”

“No?” I cracked a window and she did the same.

“No. I’m just . . . mad.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself as the air in the front seat grew icy cold and snow blew in. “I know you did me a favor by making the drive, I know my dad felt better knowing I wasn’t alone on the road, and I know everyone had a much better time at dinner with you there than they would have had with just me. So thanks, and let’s just leave it at that.”

I was silent a moment. “I thought you did a great job, and I’m sorry you didn’t get more chances to talk about what you do.”

“Well, who wants to listen to me talk about wine when they can listen to you tell tales of reality TV?” She blew a raspberry like Hadley had. “ Bor-ing .”

“I didn’t think you were boring. And they loved the actual wines. That’s good, right?”

“You were supposed to stay in the background!” she burst out, finally looking over at me. “It was my show for once, not yours!”

“I tried! Swear to God, Ellie, I tried—they just kept passing me the puck.”

“And you had to shoot instead of pass it back?”

I opened my mouth to defend myself and closed it again. Hadn’t I sort of done what she was accusing me of? Told all my best stories? Landed all my favorite jokes? Charmed the women and bumped elbows with the men? It was my usual way when I was in front of a crowd.

I held up my hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry, okay? Once I get going, it’s hard to turn it off. I don’t know how to do anything else. I thought I was helping you by entertaining them.”

“Forget it. Let’s just go home.”

I could tell nothing I said was going to cheer her up tonight, and possibly the more I talked, the more I might upset her. I didn’t want to offer false hope about the 30 Under 30 spot, now that I knew it wouldn’t be offered to her—although I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her Fiona had offered it to me . Not tonight, anyway.

Exhaling, I rolled up the windows, and slowly swung around so I could pull forward down the long drive. Snow crunched beneath the tires. At the foot of the driveway, the street wasn’t visible. No other vehicles were on the road.

“They haven’t plowed the neighborhood,” I said, turning onto the street. “I wonder if the trucks are on the highway.”

“Let’s hope so.”

My knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and I could hardly see five feet in front of us. When we reached the highway, I could see some tracks, but no other headlights or taillights. If the trucks had been here before, whatever they’d plowed or salted was buried now. “Fuck,” I said, leaning forward and trying my hardest to stay on the road. It was a near total whiteout. “This is worse than I thought it would be.”

“Me too.”

I started sweating beneath my clothes. If it didn’t let up, no way would we make it all the way back to Traverse City tonight. But I didn’t want to give up yet. I switched on the radio. “Maybe this is the worst of it. Let’s listen for a weather report.”

But the forecast was dire—in fact, the advice for drivers was to get off the road and find shelter.

“Shit.” Ellie was nervous too, her legs bouncing up and down, her thumbnail in her mouth. “Do you think we should do what they say? Get off the road and wait it out?”

“I’m not sure where we’d go,” I said grimly, wiping my forehead. “Fuck, I’m not even sure where we are exactly.” My GPS signal was weak, and I couldn’t see road signs until we were right beneath them—and even then, it was tough. “We might not make it home tonight.”

“Let’s just get off the road.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to keep going?”

“Can you see?”

“To be honest, no.”

“Then get off the road.”

I managed to spot the next exit at the last second and swerved to take it, the SUV skidding a little. Ellie gasped and grabbed the dash.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine. Just—just find somewhere to pull over so we can figure out where we are and what to do.”

I kept the SUV crawling forward, my jaw clenched.

“I see a neon sign!” Ellie pointed at the passenger window. “I think it might be a gas station. Up there on the right.”

I couldn’t even see the road to turn right on, but I spotted the sign Ellie had seen and followed it like the North Star, praying another car wouldn’t come out of nowhere and hit us.

“The lights are on inside,” Ellie said with relief. “I think it’s still open.”

I pulled into the station’s service lot and put the car in park. “I’ll go in and ask what’s around here.”

“Okay,” she said. “If I can get service, I’m going to try to call Winnie and let her know we might not be back in the morning.”

I jumped out and hurried into the store. The old guy at the register was watching the news on a television behind the counter. On the screen I saw cars buried in snow, drifts that reached the tops of front doors, and radar showing that the storm was still building in intensity with no signs of letting up, from the Dakotas across the Great Lakes.

“Where’s that footage from?” I asked.

“Minnesota.” The guy scratched his grizzled gray beard. “They’ve gotten fifteen inches so far, and it ain’t stopping. That’s what’s coming our way.”

“I thought we were only supposed to get ten inches or so.”

The guy cackled. “When have those idiots ever been right about anything? You can’t know what Mother Nature’s gonna do before she does it. She’s a woman!”

I nodded grimly, eyeing the snowfall predictions that showed our edge of the state with possible lake effect snow reaching twenty-four inches over the next couple days. “Right.”

“You’re not on the road in this, are you?”

“I was.”

He shook his head. “Best take shelter while you can, and maybe stock up on some groceries. I’m closing here soon. I just live over there”—he gestured toward the store windows—“but the walk’s only gonna get worse.”

“Is there a hotel or anything nearby?”

“There’s a motel just up the way, but it’s usually full up this time of year with cross-country skiers.” He shrugged. “Worth a try, though.”

“Okay.” I glanced out the door at the headlights of my SUV. “You gonna be open a few more minutes?”

“Sure. Name’s Milton, by the way.”

I headed for the door. “Thanks, Milton. I’ll be right back.”

It took some effort to push the glass door open in the gusting wind. When I was back behind the wheel, I looked at Ellie. “Did you talk to Winnie?”

“I left her a message.”

“What did you say?”

“That it’s possible we might not be home tonight and to ask Desmond to cover my eleven o’clock tasting tomorrow just in case.”

“We might not even be able to open tomorrow. I saw the news. It’s bad.”

“How bad?”

“Like two feet of snow coming our way bad.”

“Shit! What are we going to do tonight?”

I exhaled. “There’s a motel up the road, but the guy said it’s usually full this time of year.”

“Should we try it anyway?”

“We don’t have much choice. I can’t drive in this.”

“Okay.”

“And I think we should get some groceries. Given what’s coming our way, things might not be open tomorrow. And who knows how long we’ll be stuck here?”

Her eyes widened. “You really think it’s that bad?”

I shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. And I’m starving.”

“Me too.” Groaning, she dropped her head back on the seat. “God, why didn’t I cancel that stupid dinner?”

I opened my mouth and closed it again. No point in saying I told you so —she was miserable enough.

“And why did you have to talk so much? If you hadn’t stood around regaling them with the story of how you dunked me fifty times, we’d be home by now.”

Okay, fuck nice.

“Excuse me, but I was the one who said you shouldn’t try to drive three hours north in a blizzard.”

She fumed silently for ten seconds, but she couldn’t argue.

“Come on,” I said, taking the edge off my tone. “It won’t do us any good to fight. Let’s grab some snacks. We’re both hungry and tired.”

We hurried into the store, where I waved at my friend Milton behind the counter. After grabbing some chips, cookies, protein bars, a toothbrush and toothpaste, I placed everything on the counter and found Ellie in an aisle stocked with protein bars and bags of granola. She studied each package, occasionally picking one up, reading the ingredients, and putting it back, like we had all day.

“What are you looking for?” I asked her impatiently.

“I don’t know. Something that hasn’t been on this shelf for two years?”

“Pick something, okay? I want to get over to that motel and see if they have room.”

She looked at me. “What will we do if they don’t?”

“Just hurry up.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Stop bossing me around. I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, sorry to say, we’re stuck with each other for at least the night, maybe longer.”

“Great.” She snatched a couple of bars off the nearest shelf without even looking at them. “There. Happy?”

“Do you want me to buy a toothbrush for you?” I asked.

“I have one. But I need something I can wash my face with.”

“Go find it.”

She stalked over to another aisle, and we met up at the register, where she refused to look at me as she set her things on the counter—two protein bars, a bar of Ivory soap, and a giant bag of M&M’s.

Milton eyed us with interest. “You two married?”

“No,” we both said at the same time.

I looked at her. “We just work together.”

Ellie stared right back at me. “We don’t even like each other.”

Milton chuckled. “Heck of a night to be out with somebody you don’t even like.”

“I’m having that kind of day,” she told him.

“Well, hope your luck turns around soon.”

I grabbed the plastic bags full of junk food. “You said the motel is up the road?”

Milton nodded. “Yup. The Pineview Motel. Got a big sign. Normally, I’d say you can’t miss it, but tonight might be another story.”

“We’ll find it.”

“It’s run by Rose and Bob Jenkins. Good people. They’ll take care of you.”

“Thanks, Milton.”

He lifted a hand. “Be safe.”