“We’re closed,” he replied shortly.
“Oh. What time do you open?” she asked hopefully. “Because if it’s soon, then maybe …”
“We’re closed,” he repeated.
“Well, since I’ve already poured …” Jules flashed what she hoped was a winning smile and raised her glass. “Want one?”
The man picked up the bottle and checked the label. He snorted. “No thanks.”
Jules took a sip—and winced. The wine had a metallic tang, like it had already turned. “Good call,” she said, but she took another gulp, all the same. “I didn’t mean to come barging in,” she continued. “But I got a flat tire, just down the hill, and I was hoping for some help.”
The man looked at her, clearly exasperated. “You want me to change your tire?”
Jules narrowed her eyes at his condescending tone. “I can change it myself just fine. I need to borrow a jack, that’s all.”
“I’m kind of busy right now,” the man said with a sigh, even though she could have heard a pin drop. “Maybe try walking into town.”
He turned to go, and for some reason, this was the final straw for Jules. All the frustration, disappointment, and rejection she’d tried so hard to hold back suddenly burst to the surface. Why was she always the one left to try and clean up the mess alone?
What was it about her that made her so damn disposable?
“Are you serious?” she demanded, fury flooding hot in her veins. “Because look around: I’m the only customer you have. And I’m not even asking the world here, just one small act of kindness to make up for the crap-ton of terrible things that have happened today. But no, apparently, that’s asking too much. Because you would rather have me hike another five miles in the pouring rain than take that stick out of your ass and actually be a decent human being!”
The man stared at her like she was a crazy, ranting idiot. Which, to be fair, she was.
Jules’s temper melted away as quickly as it had come. Way to make a fool of yourself, she cursed. It wasn’t his fault she was in this mess. No, that was all on her and her legendary bad taste in guys.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she sighed, resigning herself to that wet, muddy hike. “Like I said, it’s been a bad day.”
“Then the last thing you need is that lousy excuse for a cabernet,” the man replied. Jules watched in surprise as he moved to join her behind the bar, rummaging around in the back of a shelf for a few moments before pulling out a bottle of something amber-colored. “Forty-year scotch ought to do the trick.”
He poured two glasses and slid one over to her before lifting his own. “To spectacularly bad days,” he said—and gulped it down in one.
Jules blinked, thrown by his sudden change of tune. She took a sip—and then another. “Wow, you’re right, that is better than the wine,” she said as the liquid rolled down the back of her throat, warming her from the inside out.
“The twenty ten is a mess,” he said in response, nodding to her abandoned bottle of wine. “And the twenty eleven. And pretty much any vintage from the last ten years.”
“So you do work here,” Jules said, intrigued. “Although, some friendly advice: your sales pitch could use some work.”
He gave a wry chuckle. “I guess it could.”
“I’m Jules, by the way.” She stuck out her hand.
The man paused a moment before taking it. “Reeve.”
“Nice to meet you, Reeve,” she said, enjoying the warmth of his hand and the blue of his eyes now that they were up close. “So why are you having such a bad day?”
He refilled his glass. “Long story,” he said, with a rueful smile. And even though his lips barely lifted at the edges, it was enough to transform his face and make Jules forget about the cold water dripping down the back of her shirt.
Wow.
“Try me,” Jules said, moving to sit on one of the barstools. “Because I bet you a million dollars, it can’t be worse than mine.”
“A million bucks, huh?” Reeve asked, looking amused. “If you’ve got that kind of cash to throw around, there’s an eighty-nine Haut-Brion in the cellar with your name on it.”
Jules laughed. “Afraid not. Because as of this morning, I’m out of a job. And a boyfriend. And since his name was on the lease, I’m out of an apartment, too.”
“Ouch.” Reeve refilled her glass. “That’s careless of you.”
“Of me—” Jules spluttered, before she saw he was kidding. “Ha ha, very funny,” she said, taking another gulp of scotch. “But I suppose it was. I knew something was off when he went on this latest business trip. We usually go together, make a vacation of it, but this time, he was just … squirrelly.”
“Squirrelly?” Reeve repeated.
“You know, just a tiny bit evasive, but not enough to really be a big deal. So I would look paranoid if I asked about it.” Jules sighed. Reading that man’s mixed signals had become an art form. “Anyway, I had a feeling something was up, and sure enough, I look online, and Becky has checked in at the same hotel, and oh yes, Becky’s tagging him in all the fun drinks photos, and then they posted identical sunset pictures just minutes apart. Didn’t you used to have to hire a private investigator to figure out if your partner was cheating?” she asked, bitter. “Now, it’s all right there in their Facebook feeds.”
Of course, there was something horribly poetic about it: she was the social media maven, after all. Rory hadn’t known his livestream from his likes before she came along. She’d set up his profiles, built his following … and then had to sit there, clicking through the evidence of his betrayal.
“He denied everything,” she added. “Swore it was just professional. But that’s almost worse! He hired her to replace me.”
Yes, she was babbling about intimate details of her life to a total stranger, but she couldn’t help it. She should get a pass, just for today. “Enough about me,” she said, fixing her gaze on Reeve. “What’s your long story of woe? Girlfriend run off with your buddy? Dog get hit by a train? Come on, you can’t be more pathetic than me.”
Reeve paused, swirling his scotch around the glass. For a moment, it looked like he was about to tell her something, but then he shook his head. “Just family drama, nothing to tell.” A shadow passed over his face as he looked around the room, like he was replaying an old memory. Then he set his glass down. “I’ll go find you that jack, and you can be on your way.”
He left the room, and Jules tried not to be disappointed. He was doing her a favor, after all, and a tool kit would be way more useful than gossip. Still, she couldn’t help wondering what was troubling his mind.
And if, perhaps, she could make him forget those troubles …
Down girl.
She gave a rueful smile. It was way too soon to be thinking about a rebound fling, and besides, Reeve didn’t exactly seem like he was falling over himself to flirt with her. Yet. Jules spied a dusty mirror by the door and scurried over to check—
“Noooo …!”
She stared at herself in horror. Her mascara was dripping, her hair was a tangled mop, and her wet T-shirt was plastered to her chest.