"No, please," I told him, my manners recovering. "Hungry? We've got more chocolate scones."

  His eyes flickered to the half-eaten dessert on my plate. "Tempting, but unfortunately, I can't stay."

  The disappointment at those words was stronger than I would have liked to admit. "So this is a fly-by jump scare?" I teased, trying to cover the emotion.

  Grant's eyes crinkled at the corners, the soft hazel flecks twinkling at me, and I tried to ignore how good even the hint of a smile looked on him.

  "Actually, I just wanted to stop by and check in on you."

  "Check on me?"

  "After last night. I meant to come by earlier, but the day's been crazy."

  Truer words were never said. I could scarcely believe it had only been twenty-four hours ago that Ava had been taking those pictures at a party.

  "You holding up okay?" he asked, sincere concern lacing his voice.

  I nodded. "A lot better than Leah is," I blurted out. And immediately regretted it, as some of the hard angles came back to his jawline at the mention of his prime suspect.

  "I know she's your friend, Emmy, but this is a murder investigation."

  "A murder she did not commit!" I protested. "A lot of people had much better reasons to want Heather dead."

  He raised one eyebrow and leaned an elbow on the counter toward me. "Such as?"

  I swallowed hard. I hadn't intended to share the rumors with him until I had something to back them up. But with his questioning gaze pinning me, I felt the sudden and profound urge to confess. "Okay," I finally said, "how about her husband, for starters?"

  "James Atherton?" he clarified.

  I nodded. "He and Heather were having marital issues. She was asking for a divorce and alimony."

  The other eyebrow went north. "He told you this?"

  "Well, no, I haven't exactly talked to James."

  "Then Heather did?"

  I bit my lip. And shook my head. "No."

  "Where did you hear it?"

  "From the guy I think she was having an affair with."

  "You think she was having an affair?"

  I nodded again. "Unconfirmed but highly suspected."

  Grant ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so this highly suspected individual told you that Heather was asking for a divorce and alimony?"

  I paused as I thought back to my conversation with Cole. "Well, not exactly like that. He said he overheard Heather say the word alimony. To James. And they were arguing," I added.

  He sighed deeply, shaking his head at me. "Any chance they could have been arguing about the alimony James pays his ex-wife, Leah?"

  I felt a sheepish blush creeping into my cheeks. "I didn't know he paid Leah alimony."

  Grant nodded. "He does. Enough that I could well see his current wife being interested in it."

  "But Heather was having an affair," I defended. At least, I thought she was. Though, all Caroline had said was that Heather spent a lot of time at the club, and Cole had denied everything. As I sat in the crossfire of Grant's Cop Face stare, I realized all I had were a lot of theories and a lot of people not saying anything.

  "Emmy, where did you hear all of this?" Grant asked.

  "At the Links club."

  His eyes narrowed. "Develop a sudden interest in golf?"

  "No, I was just—"

  "Prying?" he supplied for me.

  My turn to narrow my eyes. "Following up on a lead," I corrected.

  Grant let out another deep sigh. Gee, you'd think I was exasperating him or something.

  "Look, Emmy, I am a police detective. I follow leads. You are a winemaker. And, I might add, a witness the prosecution may want to call to the stand in a trial."

  I bit my lip. "Trial? You mean, Leah?"

  "I mean, leave this alone," he said. While it was clearly an order, the tone in his voice was softer. Less Bad Cop than Concerned Hot Guy.

  I hated how my insides responded to Concerned Hot Guy. And despite my better judgment, I found myself nodding.

  "Promise me you won't get into trouble?"

  "What am I, twelve?" I gave him a wry smile.

  He grinned. "Point taken." He stood, stepping into my personal space. "But please stay safe."

  I licked my lips and nodded again. Mostly because with him standing so close, I wasn't sure my brain could formulate a word. I could feel the heat from his broad chest radiating just inches from me, and the subtle woodsy smell of his aftershave felt like it was suddenly all around me.

  Then he reached a hand out and tucked a bit of flyaway hair behind my ear, his fingers gently brushing my cheek. It was the softest of touches, but my skin sang with heat where his hand had been.

  "I'll call you later?" he said, phrasing it as if asking for permission.

  I nodded dumbly again.

  Then he sent me another small smile and walked away.

  Leaving me overheating faster than a chocolate scone in a microwave.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Through the crack in the curtains, sun streamed in, assaulting me awake Sunday morning. I glanced at my bedside clock. 9:15. I almost never slept that late, but the tossing and turning I'd done the night before could hardly be called sleeping. The green glowing numbers stared back at me, taunting me to try for another hour. My body wanted to stay right where it was for another few hours, but my mind was already alert. And once that happened, I knew there was zero chance of getting back to sleep.

  It had been after midnight by the time that I'd made it to bed, and even then sleep had been slow coming, visions of Heather's body mingling with Cole Jackson's smug smile and Leah's defeated posture. Not to mention Grant's scorching eyes and soft touch inspiring a whole host of other emotions. None of which were restful.

  I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror. As a testament to the amount of tossing and turning I'd done in lieu of sleep, my hair sat in a blonde bird's nest at the back of my head. My eyes were carrying baggage, and I had a pillow crease embedded on my cheek. No wonder I didn't have a boyfriend.

  I ignored the banshee in the mirror and threw on a pair of Ugg boots and a sweater over my pajamas then trudged toward the main kitchen. Being Sunday, Hector and Conchita had the day off, so I was on my own to brew a pot of coffee.

  "Well, good morning, sunshine!"

  The cheery and unexpected voice jolted me awake, and I might have even let out a scream at the sight of the man standing in my kitchen, cup of coffee in hand. He was short—close to my height—and had enough padding in the middle that someone might have referred to him as jolly. Especially with the large grin on his face, coupled with slightly larger than normal ears on either side of it. He was dressed in pressed slacks and a navy sweater, and I had absolutely no idea who he was or what he was doing in my kitchen.

  "What are you doing in here?" I asked, taking a step backward. Though, he looked almost too friendly to be a burglar.

  "Just making some coffee." He held up the cup as evidence.

  "I mean, exactly who are you?"

  "Eddie!" He grinned at me again.

  "Why are you here, Eddie?"

  He blinked at me, as if not understanding the question. "Here?"

  "Here in my kitchen, yes."

  More blinking. "Oh, well, the main door was locked, but the kitchen one was unlocked, so I let myself in here instead."

  I took a deep breath. "Why. Are. You. At. My. Winery?"

  "I-I'm Eddie."

  I felt a headache starting to brew and dearly coveted the coffee in the annoying man's hands. "Yes, we've established that."

  "Eddie Bliss. I'm here for the winery manager's position?"

  I closed my eyes and thought a dirty word. "We had an interview scheduled for this morning?" I vaguely remembered setting something up last week, though that felt like a lifetime ago now.

  His smile was back as I opened my eyes. "Yes. You said eight o'clock sharp, but no one was here, so I took the liberty of making some coffee. Would you like a cup?"

  More than life itself. "I'll get it myself, thanks," I told him, crossing the room to the machine. I grabbed a mug from the cupboard that said I wine without my morning coffee and poured a generous amount of the dark liquid into it. Steam rose, slightly lifting my mood.

  "I, uh, hope I didn't overdress," Eddie said.

  I turned around to catch him eyeing my pajamas.

  I pulled my sweater tighter around my middle. "No. You're fine."

  "Curtis is always telling me I'm too finicky about the way I dress. He says I should go for business casual, emphasis on the casual, but I prefer business to be business, you know?"

  "Hmm," I answered, sipping from my cup. The warmth seeping into my hands through the ceramic slowly cut through the fog in my brain.

  "Curtis is my partner, by the way." He paused. "Oh shoot. Curtis said I shouldn't tell you I had a partner either. I mean, the word partner implies things. I guess the name Curtis does too. Whoops, cat's outta the bag. I'm gay." He did jazz hands in the air, accompanied by a wide smile again.

  I swore this guy had, like, a hundred teeth.

  "Anyhoo, I hope I didn't get the time wrong. I thought the email said to come at eight, but no one showed up until nine. Ish," he added, glancing at the clock above the sink that clearly displayed the time as 9:29.

  "No. You had the right time," I assured him. "My fault. I had a long"—week? year? life?—"day, and I'm sorry the interview slipped my mind."

  Eddie's face fell. "Oh. So you don't want to interview me then?"

  Truth? That was the last thing I wanted to do at current. But considering he was already there—dressed for business, no less—and I sorely needed someone to fill the position, I figured I might as well get it over with. "Why don't we step into my office?" I suggested.

  Eddie's grin came back full force, and I think he might have even skipped once down the short hallway to my office. I sat behind my desk, mustering as much dignity as I could in pajamas with little unicorns on them.

  "So, Eddie, what previous work experience do you have in the wine industry?"

  "Oh, in the wine industry? None!" He practically beamed at me, his expression reminding me of an older version of Dopey from the seven dwarves.

  "None?"

  "Nope. Not a lick."

  Internal sigh. "May I ask why you're applying for a winery manager position?"

  "Oh, don't get me wrong—I don't have any experience in the wine industry. But I have experience with wine. I drink a lot of it."

  I was starting to wonder if he was drunk now.

  "And," he added, "I can manage the heck out of people."

  I picked up my pen. "Okay, so you have management experience then?"

  "Nope!"

  I put the pen down. "Eddie, why don't you just tell me your qualifications for the job."

  Eddie's smile faltered. "Look, I'll level with you, Ms. Oak. I really don't have any."

  I grabbed my coffee and took a long drag, hoping the magic warmth would do its thing against the headache that was blossoming into a full-fledged hammering at my temples. "Then why are you applying for this job?"

  "I've been a house husband for the last twenty years. Curtis was always the breadwinner, but his health has forced him into early retirement."

  "I'm sorry," I said, immediately thinking of my mother. She, too, had been forced from the life she loved much too early.

  "Thank you, but he's okay now. He had a heart attack just before the holidays, but as long as he doesn't overdo it, he's okay. So you see, I feel like it's my turn to take care of him now. Get out there in the workforce and make a splash!"

  Which was a lovely sentiment, but sentiment wasn't going to run my winery. I opened my mouth to say just that, but he continued on, clearly not yet done with his plea.

  "And before you worry, I know your wines."

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "You do?"

  He nodded. "I drank a whole case in preparation for this interview."

  I felt my other eyebrow rise.

  "Oh, not all at once. I mean, not today." He ended with a feeble laugh.

  "Eddie, you seem like a nice guy, but I'm not—" I started.

  "Hear me out!" he protested before I could get any further. "I also know how to run a household, which I admit is not the same as a winery, but I am superduper with organization, I am a stickler for cleanliness, and I am totally a people person."

  I sighed. A superduper stickler people person. Why couldn't he just be a qualified experienced person?

  Because, said my common sense, I wasn't paying enough for experience and qualifications. Superduper was about all that was in my budget.

  I looked up at Eddie's huge Dopey grin again, the hope in his eyes tugging at my chest even as the businesswoman in my head screamed No, no, no!

  "Fine," I said, much to that screaming businesswoman's dismay. "We can give you a two-week trial."

  Eddie clapped his hands and yipped with glee. Actually yipped. Like a terrier in a field of squirrels.

  "But," I warned, holding up one finger, "it's just a trial. No promises."

  Eddie nodded vigorously. "When do I start?"

  "Monday," I told him on a sigh.

  "I'll be right on time. Early even!" Eddie promised. "Wow, and to think Curtis said not to get my hopes up. That no one would hire someone without qualifications. Won't he be surprised?"

  Curtis sounded like a wise man. Too bad I couldn't afford to be a wise woman.

  * * *

  After working out the details with Eddie, I shuffled back into the kitchen, had another cup of coffee, and contemplated my breakfast options. Usually Conchita kept a stocked refrigerator, but this week we'd both been too busy with the Wine and Chocolate event to go shopping. Besides, it wasn't as if we had a high demand for gourmet meals at the winery lately. I contemplated a mushy apple and week-old indistinguishable leftovers, deciding maybe a trip into town for supplies was in order.

  I tossed the apple and leftovers (which turned out to be lasagna from two weeks ago—yuck!) into the trash and walked back to my cottage to shower. Then I dressed in a linen shirtdress with a brown leather belt and nude low-heeled sandals. I did a blow dry thing with my hair, hopefully applying enough product to turn it into something resembling a normal person versus a home for pigeons. While the bags were still present under my eyes, I added a swipe of red lipstick to detract.

  I grabbed my car keys, jumped into my Jeep, and made my way into town.

  The Sonoma Valley wasn't a huge area, though a large portion of our population at any given time was tourists flocking to the bed and breakfasts to enjoy the wine tours or Silicon Valley millionaires with vacation homes. The mountain backdrop, soft rolling hills, and warm environment were perfect for growing grapes, and as I negotiated the fifteen-minute drive into town, I was once again stunned by the beauty of the vineyards. I didn't think I would ever become immune to it. It was in my blood, and even though I had enjoyed every second that I had lived in LA, coming home had been the right thing to do for our winery, Mom, and most importantly for myself.

  My stomach had growled more than once on the trip, and as I drove past the Chocolate Bar and saw the Open sign, I made a fast U-turn and pulled to a stop out front. Groceries could wait. A slice of Leah's Chocolate Chip Coffee Cake and a latte were too enticing to pass up.

  The glass storefront glistened in the morning light, and the large chocolate colored logo written in swirling script on the door was my first friendly greeting as I pushed into the shop. The bell above the door jingling its hello was my second.

  The aroma of coffee and chocolate blasted me, and for a moment I stood in the doorway inhaling deeply, feeling my mood lift in earnest.

  At the sound of the bell, Leah emerged from the back, wiping her hands on her pink apron with the Chocolate Bar's name emblazoned on it. Relief was apparent in her face as she saw me. "Hey, it's you."

  "Expecting worse?" I joked.

  She shrugged. "You never know lately. This whole thing has got me on edge."

  "I'm sorry," I said, meaning it.

  "Well, I'm just hoping it blows over soon."

  I thought of Grant's visit the night before. I didn't imagine he'd let things just blow over.

  "So, what brings you by?" Leah asked.

  "I was hoping for a slice of chocolate chip coffee cake? Maybe a latte to go with it?" I glanced at the bakery display. "And maybe one of those for the road?" I added, gesturing to a box that resembled a pink egg carton. I knew from experience that it held six cupcakes, and did an excellent job of keeping them safe for the journey home. Not that mine always made it that far.

  "No problem. Take a seat. I'll bring the coffee out in a moment," she told me, disappearing into the back.

  I sidestepped the timber tables and metal chairs, and headed toward my favorite spot—the well-worn leather couch with the view of the road and the distant mountains beyond. A moment later, Leah approached and placed a large hunk of cake and a steaming mug on the coffee table before taking a seat in the club chair opposite me.

  "Got any calls for events from the party yet?" she asked.

  I shook my head. "Sadly, no."

  "Me neither. And business here has slowed to a trickle." She paused. "You're the first customer I've had in an hour. Turns out, no one wants to eat at the scene of a crime."

  I took a bite of cake, thinking that was a crying shame considering how tasty it was. The moist confection was studded throughout with creamy chocolate chunks that practically melted on my tongue.

  "Has Grant been back?" I asked, trying at nonchalant.

  Leah shook her head. "No. Thank God. Hopefully, he's moved on."

  That, I doubted. I set my fork down. "Leah, did Heather resent the alimony James was paying you?"

  She blinked at me, clearly taken aback by the question.

  "I'm sorry," I said, holding up my hands in a surrender motion. "I don't mean to pry, but Heather was overheard arguing with James about alimony."

  "As if it's any of her business! I was married to the man for ten years," Leah said, the color rising in her cheeks.

  "I know," I agreed.

  "I earned that money. It wasn't charity. Do you know how I put my own life on hold for his?"