Her nausea actually seemed to calm down when she opened the coffee, as if the scent alone was enough to calm her quickly escalating anxiety.
You’re pregnant, Toni Dusi, and the father of the baby is cleaning up your garden and has no idea.
“I can do this.” She repeated her mantra from the day before. “Katherine says I’ll be a great mom, and she’s like the smartest person I know.” She got two filters from the cupboard and filled the first with decaf and the second with regular. Then she poured the piping-hot water over the ground coffee and let it sit.
She went to her bathroom, washed her face, and put on a pair of work pants and a long-sleeved shirt. She wasn’t going to let Henry do all the gardening alone, and she’d already been planning on digging out some of the weeds on the far side of the house.
The little stone house had a decent-sized porch and a wide, stone-covered patio under the oaks on the north side. When the weeds were cleared out and the grass grew back between the stones, it would be a shady spot perfect for a dining table and chairs. Maybe she could even host Wine Wednesday at her house someday.
You’re going to have to unless you find a babysitter.
Toni sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the cracked plaster wall. The enormity of changes threatened to pull her under a rising wave of panic.
“Toni?”
She blinked hard, pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Yeah?”
“There’s an old rose in the middle of one of the rows. It’s pretty beat up, but I can transplant it if you have a spot.”
She took two deep breaths. “Yeah. Sure. That sounds good. I was going to turn the bed in front of the porch into a rose garden.” Actually that had been her mother’s idea, but it was a good one. Toni wasn’t a fan of cut roses, but she liked the ones on bushes. They were pretty and they were hard to kill.
“Okay great. I’ll move it over there. It’s thorny, but it’s a really beautiful red.”
“Great.” She stood and slapped her cheeks, pulled on some socks, and walked down the hall, only to see Henry standing in front of the mantel, staring at the fireplace.
“It turned out great.”
“Yep.” She refused to think about that day. Things were too complicated. Toni turned to the kitchen, and Henry reached for her wrist.
“Just tell me why,” he said quietly. “Is there someone else?”
“No. That’s not it.” Toni shook his hand off and continued to the kitchen to finish making the coffee.
“Then why?” He walked over to the kitchen, bracing his arms in the doorway. “Because I work for Nico?”
“I mean…” That was part of it. Toni pushed the filters down and let the dark brewed coffee drain into the mugs. She had a feeling Nico wouldn’t be too thrilled that she and Henry—
“He knows, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Toni spun around. “Nico knows what?”
Henry held up his hands. “Just… that I’m into you. That’s all. I asked him if you had a boyfriend and he asked me if I was thinking of asking you out and I told him yes. So like… he knows that I’m into you. That’s all. Not that we… you know.”
She could tell from his expression he was telling the truth. Who was she kidding? Henry always told the truth. She was the one lying. “What did Nico say when you told him you wanted to ask me out?” She was surprised her older brat of a cousin hadn’t said anything.
“He just laughed.” Henry frowned. “I don’t know why.”
“Probably because he thought you were joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
Because big handsome hunks don’t generally ask out older women who routinely make grown men cry. “I just… don’t date a lot.”
“I know you’re busy. I just think—”
“Yes.” She went with that. “I am busy. So… damn busy right now. You know the car show is coming up and we have, like, four different clients we’ve been juggling.”
“Right.” He knew she was lying. “It’s fine. I can be patient.”
“Good. I mean” —she cleared her throat— “patience is a virtue and all that.”
What was she going to do with him?
Kiss him. Tackle him to the floor, tear off his shirt, and—
“Coffee’s done.” She handed Henry his mug and reached for the milk in the fridge. She dosed her coffee and opened the jar of biscotti on the counter.
“Are you done with the…?”
“Yeah.” She handed him the milk. “Do you want the…?”
“Yeah.” They moved around the kitchen in a dance that was a little too familiar for Toni’s taste. Henry was too accustomed to her home; he fit into her routine a little too easily.
Is that a bad thing?
Yes?
“So does Nico know who messed with the tractor yet?” She took a bite of the homemade biscotti. It was her grandmother’s recipe and the one thing she could bake and not ruin.
“The police haven’t said anything, but you know Nico. He always blames Fairfield.” Henry reached for the jar of biscotti. “It’s not just the tractor either.”
“What do you mean?” She grabbed her coffee and walked to the door.
Henry followed her and waited for Toni to slide on her garden boots before he shut the door behind them. They sat on the two creaking chairs that faced the barn.
“There’ve been a lot of little things lately,” he said. “Uh… the tractor. A fermentation tank that was tampered with. A call to the labor contractor that changed the day we were supposed to start the pinot harvest. That was the one right before the tractor.”
“Seriously?” Toni frowned. “So someone is definitely trying to mess with him.”
“The pinot we bottled last year is looking good, and the conditions this year look even better. The other varietals are our bread and butter, but the pinot is the one that’s going to start winning consistent awards for us, I’m dead sure of it.” He finished his biscotti in two bites. “That’s why Nico was kind of pushy the other day.”
Toni kicked her feet up on the low railing around the porch and let her senses settle. Dog flopped on the porch and cat sunning in the window. Tall drink of man lounging next to her. Morning birdsong, the wind through the trees, and silence.
Forget Megan’s meditation. This was all she needed.
“Did you end up getting all the grapes in the other day?”
Henry nodded. “The pinot, yeah. Some of the last boxes might be a little high on the Brix, but I can work with it. I have some ideas.”
“And Nico blames Fairfield, huh?”
Whit Fairfield had been the bane of Nico’s existence for nearly five years. He’d originally come down to Moonstone Cove as a Silicon Valley millionaire looking to pour money into a winery as an investment. He quickly realized that there was still land available in the hills of the small but growing wine appellation that he could obtain at a bargain if he offered cash. He had pressured landowners to sell and amassed a commanding amount of acreage before he poured a bunch of money into a high-end tasting room and a Napa Valley marketing team.