Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
He wasn’t cruel, but all he’d cared about was having fun.
And no matter how much I thought about him in private, I vowed back then I was never going to be one of those girls—fooled by those eyes and that smile and the promise of a good time.
It was a vow I intended to keep.
FIVE
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.”