of thousands of dollars that this town needs,” Gabe said, as though Marc didn’t already know. The Summer Wine Showdown was elaborate, exclusive, and at a thousand dollars a plate, the dinner and wine tasting raised close to a million dollars every year for the local hospital and schools. Which made it a high-visibility event, and if it went bad, it would go bad under the watchful eyes of every media outlet in the food, wine, and travel industries.
“Did you even think about how this will affect the family if it goes south? Ryo Wines is one of the main sponsors, and the last thing Abby needs right now is her company connected to another disaster.”
Marc wanted to laugh at his brother’s family-first speech. Hell, just last Christmas Gabe had given the family an ultimatum: either welcome Regan and her daughter, Holly, into the family or he’d walk. A hard thing to ask since Abby’s husband, Richard, who had been carrying on an affair with Regan for over a year, was Holly’s biological father. Regan hadn’t known that Richard was married, but the affair had shattered Abby’s world regardless. Now that Regan was officially a sister-in-law and expecting the first DeLuca great-grandbaby, Marc was surprised that Abby hadn’t relocated to one of their Santa Barbara properties.
Not wanting to argue in front of half the town, especially on a topic as delicate as Regan and Abby, Marc picked up his beer and took a drawn-out pull, making sure that Gabe saw every last drop disappear. Then he licked his lips and considered ordering another one just to mess with his brother.
“I want to see this work,” Gabe finally said. “For everybody.”
“I can do this.” Marc had to do this. It was the only way to prove to his family, and himself, that walking away from his role in DeLuca Wines was a smart move. That he wasn’t that same impulsive screwup he’d been after his parents died. That he’d grown into the kind of man his father would have been proud of.
“I don’t doubt that you will. I’m just afraid that one day you’re going to play it too fast and too risky and end up blowing something important.” Gabe shook his head, then changed his tone—trying for light. “At least tell me you found a caterer.”
“Handled,” Marc lied.
Gabe took one last look at Marc’s beer. “Hopefully better than you handled announcing a dog as a fucking judge.”
CHAPTER 4
Saturday morning, with her eyes barely open, two trays full of pastries in her hands, and a light dusting of flour in nearly every crevice, Lexi pushed through the back door of the bakery. She made her way to her car and managed to locate her keys and pop the trunk, only to realize that there was no way all of the pastries were going to fit.
The grannies were already at the Book Walk. Her best friend, Abby, wasn’t answering her phone. And Lexi still had two dozen trays left in the kitchen.
She checked her watch and wondered what the time limit was before Nora Kincaid, who had been adamant about timeliness, was justified to act on her promise to publicly pop Lexi’s cream puffs. Not long, she imagined, since the event started in ten minutes.
Maybe if she dropped the backseat down she could make it in two trips.
Lexi set the trays on the roof and crawled into the car. Unlatching the seat locks, she pulled. And pulled. With a frown, and a whole lot of stomping, she went around to the trunk, leaned in, and started pushing.
“Well, look who it is, Wingman. Our friendly neighborhood backside.”
Lexi looked over her shoulder, surprised to see Marc, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement as he leaned out the widow of his pickup and watched her struggle. She was less surprised, however, at the annoying fluttering that started low in her belly just because she looked at him. Irritated, but not surprised. The man was sexy as sin, and he knew it.
He wore his dimpled grin and enough stubble to show that he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning. Which shouldn’t have bothered Lexi. But it did. And that made her nervous.
“Go away,” she mumbled, focusing on the back seats again. Because divorcées who couldn’t make it work with the sure thing had no business getting bothered by the hometown playboy.
“Heard you might need a hand,” he said. “Actually, heard you might need a truck to lug all of the pastries.”