And thanks to my sommelier, Jean Luc, being six degrees of separation from the TV celebrity chef Tyler Daniels, we'd been able to convince Daniels to act as MC for the four-day festival. Tyler was a wine country native who'd made good, becoming the star of the Cooking Network's Eat Up. While his flagship restaurant was here in his hometown of Sonoma, he now owned a chain of Tyler's Place restaurants, including locations in Chicago, Los Angeles, and Atlanta. On his fame alone, we'd been able to sell out tickets for the event, and we were looking to draw a small crowd. One that I hoped enjoyed the wine enough to tell a friend about us and bring our revenue into the black so I could fix our fritzy appliances.

  "Sounds like all the festival is missing is the host," Ava said, nodding toward me as she nibbled on her brownie. "Time to go get dressed for your public, Miss Oak."

  I glanced down at the jeans and navy blouse I was wearing. "I am dressed."

  Both Ava and Eddie stared at me as if I'd suggested we pair our Petit Sirah with fish tacos.

  "What?" I asked. "This is a designer silk blouse." Which was met with more stares of disbelief. Okay, so the designer was Target, and it had been on sale. But it was silk.

  "I'm doing casual chic," I informed them.

  Eddie clucked his tongue and shook his head.

  "Honey, do you think Gabby will be doing casual anything?" Ava asked.

  She was referring to Tyler Daniel's sidekick on the television show Eat Up, and our co-MC for the event, Gabriel Genova. She was known for her delectable Italian cooking, her warm Italian personality, and her sultry Italian looks that were usually encased in something tight and cleavage enhancing. I'd never see the woman without a three inch pair of heels on, and I'm pretty sure she was born wearing false eyelashes and cherry red lipstick.

  "No," I admitted. "I don't think Gabby does casual."

  "So, do you want to stand next to her for press photos wearing that?" Ava reasoned.

  I sighed. "Fine. I'll go change."

  Eddie shot my jeans—which may or may not have had a small hole in the left knee—a nervous glance before turning to Ava. "Maybe you'd better supervise."

  * * *

  Under Ava's watchful eye, I swapped my jeans for a flattering fit and flare lavender dress and a pair of low-heeled Grecian sandals. I added a little extra mascara and blush just for good measure before adorning my ears with a pair of silver hoops of Ava's creation. While her style might be a bit more boho than mine in the clothing department, she knew my taste in jewelry to a tee. In fact, Ava knew most everything about me to a tee, having been my bestie since childhood. Some people even thought we looked alike, though my blonde hair tended a bit more toward the frizzy side than Ava's smooth locks, and my hips might betray the fact that I liked soufflé a bit more than my lithe, athletic looking friend. But by the time the first guests started arriving, we both looked ready to face the hordes of wine enthusiasts (still working that optimism thing) that would soon descend upon our little winery.

  As the tourists and weekenders started pursuing our stalls, Ava and I did the same, walking among them to make sure all was running smoothly. Hector had set the booths up like a small village, two wide aisles of wares winding toward the center of the meadow where he'd constructed a low stage that would house the twice daily cooking demonstrations by our celebrity guests. A variety of tempting scents wafted through the warm, morning air—sweet confections mingling with the savory tang of onions and garlic sautéing on portable cook tops. I heard several murmurs of approval and even a few groans of pleasures as foodies began sampling the chefs' creations, giving kudos on seasoning and spice. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and my nerves ticked down a notch.

  Until I heard a shrill female voice carrying over the din of the crowd.

  "I cannot work like this. This air is too dry. I can feel it sucking the moisture out of me!"

  "Is that Gabby?" Ava gently tugged on my arm, pointing toward the center stage where several pots, pans, and utensils sat atop of a long, low counter, ready for the first demo of the day.

  Rifling through them was the female half of our celebrity chef duo, waving her arms at the young man standing next to her wearing a harried expression. As suspected, Gabby was dressed to the nines in a bright red, body hugging dress that ended well above her knee and dipped far below the modesty level in the front. Her perfectly tanned legs ended in spiky red stilettos that looked in danger of sinking into the dirt the second she stepped down from the stage.

  "Why didn't anyone tell me we'd be outside?" she complained. "There are bugs!"

  "This should be fun," I mumbled, to Ava before pasting a bright smile on my face. "Hi. Gabriela Genova?" I asked, approaching the woman.

  She gave me a blank look. "Sorry, no autographs."

  I cleared my throat and thought I heard Ava snicker behind me.

  "Uh, actually my name is Emmy Oak. We spoke on the phone. I'm the owner of the winery." Technically my family owned it, but with Dad gone and Mom losing more of herself day by day, I was the only Oak left to pull it up from its sinking bottom line. But I figured Gabby didn't need details. "Do you have everything you need for the demonstration?" I asked her.

  "Well, finally someone comes to check on us. And no, I don't have everything I need, thank you very much."

  "Is there something I can get for you?"

  "I'm sorry, but this weather doesn't work for me." ​

  "Th-the weather?" I looked up at the thankfully cloudless blue sky above us. While it was warm still, not yet having hit the chill of autumn, the majestic oak trees surrounding the meadow gave enough shade that it felt pleasantly sunny rather than sweltering as our summer had been.

  "Yes," Gabby said, repeating herself. "The weather. My hair is lifeless. Look at it. Flat!" She ran a hand through her long dark hair that many women would kill for. Or at least pay their stylist extra to achieve.

  "I told you, you look great, babe," the young man beside her piped up. While he was several inches over six feet, he appeared at least a few years younger than Gabby, maybe in his mid-twenties at the latest. He had a smooth baby-face, a hard gym-dedicated body, and a shock of blond hair that fell over his forehead in a stylish cut. He shot me a wide smile showing off a lot of white teeth and a cute little dimple in his right cheek. "I'm the boyfriend. Alec Post," he said, offering his hand.

  The name clicked immediately. "You have that cooking webcast, right?" I asked as I shook his hand. "The Digest?"

  If it was possible his smile widened. "Yes. You've seen it?"

  I nodded. "Several times in fact. It's a fun show." While it was aimed more at the millennial audience with things like liquid nitrogen ice cream and pizza inspired ramen bowls, Alec's fresh take on food was actually quite entertaining.

  "Well, unless someone can do something about the weather, this is not going to be a fun show today," Gabby whined, pulling my attention back to her.

  "Babe, no one can control the weather," Alec reasoned.

  "But no one told me it would be bone dry here!" Gabby shot back.

  I'd had to wage a battle against my own frizz, just barely winning with the help of an army of hair products, so I'd hardly call it bone dry. But, I was happy to report I kept the smile pasted on my face as I responded. "I'm so sorry. Can I get you a bottle of water perhaps?"

  She blinked at me as if I were stupid. "I need a humidifier."

  "A…" I trailed off wondering where we'd get one of those.

  "Hi, I'm Ava," my best friend jumped in, sticking her slim hand out toward Gabby. "You are amazing. I'm a huge fan!" she gushed.

  Gabby acknowledged my friend for the first time, flashing her a sunny smile. Apparently playing to her ego was all you needed to get one.

  "Thank you," Gabby answered. "You watch Eat Up?"

  "Every morning at 8 am," Ava replied. "Your banter with Tyler is almost as delish as the recipes you two cook."

  Gabby smiled again. "I appreciate that. But, as you know, Tyler does most of the cooking."

  "Oh, but my favorites are the recipes you bring from your family's life in the Italian countryside. You're so talented at weaving a story with the food."

  "Tell that to my network." Gabriela laughed sarcastically.

  "What are you planning to make today?" Ava asked. I could have kissed her for seemingly defusing the diva.

  "Easy Mediterranean Chicken." She paused, the smile dropping. "If Tyler ever decides to make an appearance."

  "Wait—Tyler's not here yet?" I asked, a small surge of panic hitting my belly. He was the main draw of the event, and I knew I'd have a mob of angry foodies on my hands if he was a no-show.

  Gabby shrugged. "He hasn't graced me with his presence. Now about that humidifier…?"

  "I'll see if I can find one," Ava promised her.

  I mouthed a silent thank you in her direction before leaving Gabby and Alec to search for our star.

  As I wove through the stalls again, I noticed the crowd had grown, including not only tourists, but also several Sonoma locals and a few food critics and bloggers. I spied Bradley Wu, a syndicated food columnist who often covered the wine country scene, and I prayed that he enjoyed our Chardonnay pairings as he tipped his wineglass back, only spilling a slight dribble down the front of his tweed jacket.

  Having ascertained that our star was not partaking of our offerings, I made my way into what I was delighted to see was a packed tasting room. Our sommelier, Jean Luc, was pouring with flourish, laying his French accent on as thick as the wax he used in his mustache. If Hercules Poirot had a slimmer, fussier, cousin from Paris, Jean Luc would be it. He was currently putting on a show for a woman in a tasteful little black dress and dark hair cut short in a stylish bob. As he slid the glass along the bar to her, I caught his attention.

  "You haven't seen Tyler Daniels, have you?" I asked.

  He shook his head, his slick black mustache twitching. "No, mon amie. Why do you ask?"

  "He's…" I paused, hating to admit our star was missing. "…late," I decided on.

  The woman at the bar must have overheard, as she snorted loudly. "Typical Tyler."

  "Uh, Emmy, zees eez Ashley Daniels," Jean Luc said, making introductions.

  "Charmed," the woman said, holding her drink up in a greeting that jangled the gold bracelets at her wrists.

  "Pleased to meet you," I told her. "You said Daniels? Any relation to Tyler?"

  "I have the unfortunate distinction of being his first wife. Ex that is," she added with emphasis.

  "I see," I said, not sure if I should congratulate her or sympathize with her.

  "Ashley eez also a food critic," Jean Luc told me, sending me a meaningful look. "For zee LA Times."

  "Oh, I see," I told him.

  "Yes, I heard about your little shindig here, and I thought, why not treat myself to a weekend in wine country?" she said. Then she winked at me. "On the paper's dime, of course."

  "Well, I hope you're enjoying our Pinot Blanc."

  "It's delightful. Like drinking sunshine," she said, her words slurring slightly as if perhaps she'd been in the sun just a bit too long. Which I took as a good sign, as long as the words "light" and "fresh" ended up in her review in the LA Times.

  "You haven't heard from Tyler today, have you?" I asked them both again.

  Jean Luc shook his head.

  "Sorry," Ashley told me, "but I try to hear from my ex-husband as little as possible." She sent me another wink.

  "Understandable," I agreed. "We're set to start the demo in half an hour, and I'm just getting a little nervous."

  "Don't be," Ashley assured me. "Trust me, if there is any chance of attention, Tyler will be here. He never misses an opportunity to preen for an adoring crowd." She ended the comment with sarcastic ha at her own joke.

  "I hope so," I said, excusing myself to continue my search.

  I stepped outside where Eddie was playing greeter to the guests as they trekked from our small parking lot to the festival site.

  "We're getting a fair crowd," he told me, smiling and waving at a young couple with a baby in a carrier.

  "That's good news," I told him. "But the bad news is we're missing our star."

  Eddie turned to me. "I thought I saw Gabby arrive earlier. She was with this delish little boy toy with dimples." He paused, quickly covering his mouth with a pudgy hand. "Oh, don't tell Curtis I said that. He's got a wicked jealous streak ever since I made the mistake of saying I thought Derek Hough looked hot on Dancing with the Stars."

  Despite my worried mood, I couldn't help a grin. "Your secret's safe with me. But I don't suppose you've seen our other star, Tyler Daniels?"

  To my immense relief, Eddie nodded. "As a matter of fact, I believe that's him arriving now."

  I followed the line of his well manicured finger to see a man in his midforties stepping out of a Ferrari and running a hand through his trademark shock of red hair styled in an old fashioned pompadour. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt in a deceptively casual style, and took a moment to survey the crowded front lot before taking his mirrored aviator glasses off.

  I felt relief flood me as I rushed forward to greet him.

  "Mr. Daniels," I called.

  His gaze turned my way, his blue eyes even brighter in person than they sparkled on TV.

  "Emmy Oak," I introduced myself, approaching. "I'm the owner and coordinator of the festival. Thank you so much for being here."

  "Let's make this quick, huh, doll," Tyler said, gaze going somewhere beyond me as if completely disinterested. "I'm not here to chit chat."

  I cleared my throat, glossing over the whole "doll" thing. "Uh, right. Well, we're setting up for the first demo now, and it's about to start, so let me show you—"

  "Yeah, we'll be postponing that."

  "Excuse me?"

  He shot me an annoyed look. "Do I look ready for a demo right now? Huh? Do I?"

  "I-I'm not sure," I stammered. While I knew Tyler Daniels was known for his hotheaded persona on TV, I hadn't expected to bear the wrath of it before even making it out of the parking lot.

  "Where can I put my trailer?" he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest as he barked at me.

  "T-trailer?" I asked. "I'm not sure I—"

  But I didn't get to finish as he gestured to the tree lined driveway where a large RV was pulling up. Along the side of the trailer was a huge image of Tyler's face—white veneers grinning for the camera in a much more charming fashion than the scowl I was currently encountering—along with his famous catchphrase, Now we're cookin' with heat!

  I blinked. "Oh. I didn't realize you planned to stay here."

  Tyler threw his head back and laughed, though the tone was more mocking than humor. "Honey, you couldn't pay me to stay here."

  I tried really hard to keep a placid look on my face at the insult. Not that Tyler seemed to care what effect he had on little ol' me, as he rambled on.

  "I have a condo in town. Overlooking the river," he added. "This," he said, gesturing to the monument to his ego, "is just to give me somewhere to escape my fans."

  I sighed. His own trailer. Of course.

  "So," he said. "Where can my crew set up?"

  "Crew? You brought a camera crew too?"

  Tyler shook his head, frowning at me. "No, this is my hair and makeup crew." He paused. "You didn't expect me to go on without my stylists?" He did a smirk that said I was so naïve in the ways of the televised and famous.

  "No. Of course not," I covered. I quickly surveyed the packed lot for anywhere to put the fifty-foot monstrosity. "Um, why don't you have them pull it around the back? We have some space where deliveries unload behind the kitchen.

  For a moment I thought he was going to protest the back door placement, the frown deepening, but finally he must have realized space was at a premium as he just barked out a quick, "Fine." Then he spun and stalked to the RV.

  I let out a breath, having diffused the second diva of the day, and asked Eddie to direct the RV around the back of the building as I took over his greeter duties.

  * * *

  It took Tyler at least half an hour to have hair and makeup release him in the same white T-shirt and jeans, looking almost exactly the way he went into the trailer. Then he required an extra half hour to go over the recipe they'd be demonstrating with Gabby, who complained the entire time about how her makeup was melting in the moisture from the humidifier that Ava had miraculously found. By the time the cooking demo started we were a good hour behind, but Tyler pulled on a welcoming smile, loud and booming voice, and jovial, humorous banter that had the crowd applauding and ohing and ahing at his culinary creations. Gabby's warm laughter floated down to us as she seared the chicken on the grill, and as Tyler tossed a handful of red pepper flakes at the dish and yelled his catchphrase, the audience cheered with delight. For all the headaches, the two stars were consummate professionals on the stage, doing exactly what I had hoped they would to entertain and entice the crowd. I felt my nerves dissipating as the murmurs of approval rang all around me.

  Once the demo was over, the crowd applauded heartily before dispersing to enjoy more tasty bites and sip the afternoon away. Tyler retired to his trailer, and Alec was able to convince Gabby to step inside the tasting room to get out of the "wretched outdoors."

  The rest of the afternoon went off without a hitch, a couple of local bands taking the stage to play mellow country and then soft jazz as the crowd continued to grow. Tyler emerged from his trailer and camped out in our tasting room, drinking Pinot Noir like it was going out of style. Which I didn't mind in the least—if I was lucky, he'd order a couple of cases. If I was really lucky, he might start serving it in his restaurant chain. Ava sold several silver pieces to patrons, a couple of booths were so popular they ran out of food, and even Gabby seemed to enjoy herself, dancing with Alec as the jazz band encouraged amorous couples to gather in front of the stage.

  By the time the sun was starting to set, we were ready for our second demo of the night—a final dessert dish to pair with our Zinfandel before the guests made their way home.