Susan Johnson - Wine, Tarts & Sex

May the wind always be at her back.

And to her own life, newly becalmed and restored to normal.

Now, it was all well and good to rationally assess her feelings, and by and large, Liv was successful in locking away any confusing emotions during the daytime. In the bustle and activity of the vineyard, she successfully kept thoughts of Jake Chambers at bay. Her crews were back, and she and Chris were occupied with myriad tasks. They’d just purchased a new stainless steel vat that had to be squeezed into the limited space in their winery and incorporated into their production line. They were propagating new grapevines, monitoring new hybrids they’d developed, and adding new plantings to the fields. Deliveries had to be made, along with the ordering and invoicing that never went away. Life was hectic, and for that Liv was grateful.

The night hours were the problem.

She decided a week or so after her blowup with Jake that the reason she was still thinking about him was probably just a matter of physical withdrawal. She’d never spent so much time with any one man. Or, more pertinently, spent so much time having sex with any one man. As a remedy for what she perceived as these withdrawal symptoms, she’d seriously considered accepting one of the many invitations for dates that constantly came her way. Hadn’t she always enjoyed her social life? But when she should have said yes to a date or hanging out, she didn’t.

She’d make some excuse; generally she’d blame her heavy schedule. “Maybe later,” she’d politely say, “when the grape harvest is in.”

As if her work had ever stopped her from dating before.

But there was no point in going there. Opening that can of worms would require she admit to something she didn’t want to-that she missed Jake. Or needed him. Or worse, was infatuated with him more than she wished. And since he hadn’t called once since she’d walked out of his restaurant. And since he was probably real busy with his drop-dead good-looking Miss Peru assistant chef or whatever, it looked as though she was missing him a helluva lot more than he was missing her.

Damn.

It was like seriously bizarre. She didn’t in the least feel like going on a date-having to be nice and chat up some guy she couldn’t care less about. For sure, she wasn’t in the mood for sex. This from a woman who had always viewed sex as part of a healthy lifestyle.

Correction. She was in the mood for sex all right, but the list of candidates was extremely short-and therein lay the rub. Jake wasn’t looking to have sex with her; he was busy screwing his sexpot chef.

One day, Shelly called and said in a voice that one would use to upbraid an employee who was a perennial fuck-up, “I’m only going to say this once. I have been extremely patient with your moodiness and, quite frankly, full-blown denial the past three weeks. But if you don’t come into town tonight, I’m going to drive up there, forcibly throw you into my car, and bring you back to the cities for a girls’ night out.”

“First, you can’t throw me anywhere,” Liv replied, clearly unafraid of a woman she’d known since grade school. “I outweigh you. And secondly, I really do have a tremendously busy schedule, so thanks, but no thanks.”

“Like hell you have a busy schedule. You don’t work at night. I know, ’cause I talk to you almost every night, and you’re moping around, drinking wine and eating ice cream and pizza. We can throw one of your bottles of wine in the car, and I’ll get you a pizza down here, if that’s what it takes. You’re never going to get over him if you don’t even look at another man.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no one to get over.”

Shelly snorted. “When was the last time you had sex? Let me answer that question for you. It was twenty-two days ago. That’s a record for you.”

“It is not.”

“Whatever-the point is, you’re in the dumps. Amy called me. Okay? So it’s not just me who’s noticed. We’ll go out on the town tonight. Betsy said the new bartender at Quantum is so-o-o hot, he’s worth fighting your way through the crowd to the bar. His name’s Sonny, he’s ripped, and has the longest lashes anyone’s ever seen. So get dressed. I’m not taking no for an answer. Wear something sexy. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“It’s Thursday. Let’s at least wait until the weekend.”

“Nope. You’ll have some other excuse then. I’m coming up.”

“Don’t, don’t-okay, okay. I’ll drive down.”

“If you’re not here in one hour fifteen, I’m on my way north. No more excuses. I’ve heard them all the last three weeks. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea, and I’m taking you fishin’ tonight.”

Liv laughed. “You’re a pain, but you’re probably right.”

“ Probably? It’s either this or a therapist, and they cost more than they’re worth. At least this way, you get to drink one of Sonny’s famous libations in the bargain. Wear your Issey Miyake-that chartreuse number with the halter top. I’m hanging up. You’re on the clock.”

Jake hadn’t been moping around, but he’d not been exactly his old self, either. Unlike Liv, who’d been playing the hermit, Jake and his colleagues had been out every night. They’d eaten at every restaurant of note in the cities, they’d gone to all the hip bars and night spots. They’d even availed themselves of the various invitations to sleep over they’d received.

Or three of them had.

Jake had turned monkish.

Elena didn’t believe it and was still in hot pursuit, even though he’d turned her down.

“I don’t want to be rude,” he’d said when she’d climbed into his bed the night of her arrival, “but maybe we should leave things where they were when I left L.A.”

Shrugging faintly, she’d moved away. But only to the edge of his bed, where she’d surveyed him with a lazy smile. “Is it about that blonde who left in a huff?”

“Nah. It’s a Zen thing.”

“So this Zen thing requires celibacy?”

“Let’s just say it does right now.”

Her brows rose. “You are burned out.”

“Something like that.” He must be burned out. He’d never been selective about his fucking. It had always been anyone, anywhere, anytime.

“Would you mind terribly if I just slept here tonight?” She nodded at his crotch. “If I promise not to attack your spiritually converted cock?”

“Be my guest.” He could be tactful; he wasn’t completely off his nut. Other than not wanting to fuck Elena, who had always been eminently fuckable. But he wasn’t joking about the Zen thing. He just wasn’t in the mood.

Had he been less secure in himself, he might have been shaken by his sudden volte-face. But self-confidence had never been an issue, and right now he didn’t feel like fucking anyone.

Oh really, a damnable voice inside his head had snidely intoned.

“I need a drink. How about you?” Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he’d quickly risen. No way was he going to lie in bed and obsess over her .

In the following days, the frantic construction schedule aside, they all spent hours in the kitchen working on menu choices for the River Joint. They cooked old favorites and far-out fusion dishes, they experimented with drinks and desserts, baked a variety of artisan breads, constantly tasting and discarding, agreeing and disagreeing, choosing finally the bare-bones items that would be regulars on the menu. To those would be added seasonal dishes, creative whims, and frequently asked-for foods from customers.

Each day brought Jake’s dream of a neighborhood joint closer to fruition.