Robby was tucking in his shirt when I pulled open the door of the winery. The second car we heard drive up had stopped, forcing us to get a move on. I don't know how long we would have laid on top of the pallet of wine. I took a moment to brush off any dirt my t-shirt had accumulated while it was on the floor. Satisfied, I looked up to greet the new customers.
Before I could shout, I heard Robby say quietly behind me, "I plan on continuing this tonight."
Inwardly, I grinned. Outwardly, I recognized the customers as the Baines. They were long time friends of my mom and loyal fans of the wine. I moved forward without replying to Robby. As it was, being seen close to a non-local would spark a firestorm in the little town where I grew up. Their lives were so boring that they had nothing to do but spin tales about others and advertise them as the truth.
"Hi Betty. Tom. How are you?"
"Hi Kate! I didn't know you were up this weekend."
"Just came to train the new guy. This is Robby."
Their eyebrows raised in unison, and the air went out of my Hope balloon. He would be my mysterious older lover, a sugar daddy even, by noon tomorrow. That it was partly true was beside the point.
It was about 1pm when I invited the Baines into the tasting room, after they had had as much free wine as they could get away with. At the same time, I was showing the ropes to Robby. Pouring wine isn't that complicated, but he had to know the intricacies of making sure the fridge didn't stick open, using both the yellow and the white receipts on the pad, and how to work the credit card machine. Plus, he had to familiarize himself with all the lingo that went with each wine. The Syrah was more peppery than the Merlot, which had more flavor than the Cabernet. That kind of thing.
While the Baines were there, I did my best to treat Robby like just another acquaintance. Someone I didn't know very well. Behind the bar, there was plenty of opportunity for casual contact or the occasional "accidental" brush. I kept a wide berth, not wanting to give anything away, but every time Robby came near me I hoped it would find a way to touch me. Anything. A stroke of my thigh when he bent to retrieve something from under the counter, or a pat on the ass as he passed behind me. When he didn't, I was disappointed, but I agreed that it was the best way to stay out of trouble. The less gossip fodder I gave them, the better.
The Baines left by 2:30, but by then another car load had come in. Robby and I were both busy chatting and pouring, making the occasional sale for the rest of the afternoon. Every time the door opened and more customers came in, I was a little more disappointed. If they would just leave, we could go back to the winery, or just do it right there on the bar. Or we could go inside. Two different customers shook my out of my reverie, and I did my best to ignore the flaming desire between my legs.
We were still hobnobbing with customers when my parents drove up in the pickup after 5pm. Mom came in and did her hostess routine, asking how everyone was liking the wine, if she could answer any questions. When someone directed a question at Robby, I stepped aside to ask Mom what happened.
"It was a false alarm. Some big warning light had gone off, and they thought they were going to have to fix it within the next 24 hours to stay on schedule, or something like that. Naturally, everyone got there, and it only took about four hours to fix. And it wasn't even the big alarm, like they thought it was. Then we had to chat with Steve and Mary for a while when they got back to the house. Sorry it took us so long. How are things here?"
"We're fine. Sold about three cases."
"How's Robby doing?" She said this lower, so he couldn't hear over the ambient chatter.
"Doing pretty good. He pours a little heavy, but I can fix that."
"Good. You think he'll work?"
"So far so good. You want to work with him a while?"
"Not right now. The kids wore me out. I'm going to go have a glass of wine."
"Did you guys have dinner yet?"
"No. I think Dad is going to whip up some burgers."
I just nodded. An older lady had stepped up to the bar with an empty glass, and I moved to pour a taste of the next bottle.
Thankfully, we ran out of customers not too long after that. Then Robby stayed outside by the barbeque to bull-shit with my father while I went inside to put the rest of dinner together. The head of lettuce and tomato I found in the fridge were salvageable, if not large. The zucchini in the veggie drawer was fresh though. I quickly shut the drawer and tried not to think about what it reminded me of.
The chips in the cupboard were old, but at least they weren't open, so they were relatively fresh. After setting everything out, I got a glass of wine for myself.
We sat outside to eat dinner. All of us had a beer. Wine and hamburgers just isn't classy. That, and the fruit flies are easier to keep out of a container with a smaller mouth. We swapped stories while we were eating--mostly the standard fair, and thankfully staying away from anything blatantly embarrassing from my childhood.
Dad was finishing a fishing story about Tom Baines when I spoke up about seeing Tom and Betty that day.
"Oh we know," Mom said.
"You do?"
"We saw them at Steve and Mary's place. They dropped by just when we were leaving. They said they'd been out."
"Oh."
"They tried to get us to tell them that you and Robby were an item."
"Oh God." I groaned, but my mom chuckled. She knew I was thinking about the gossip hotline.
"Are you?" Dad looked suddenly serious, and a little grumpy, if not outright angry.
I laughed out loud. Almost too loudly, but I kept going before he saw the gears in my head turning. "Are you kidding? We're coworkers for Pete's sake. Besides, I already told both of you we weren't."
"I know that," Mom insisted.
"I was just checking," Dad said. "Tom thought he sensed something going on."
"Those two always think something is going on. Remember when Tom thought Mom was having an affair with Marcus?"
A wry grin crossed Dad's stubbly face. "Yeah. I suppose so."
Robby cleared his throat quietly and said, "Who's Marcus?" He didn't sound any different than he had just a minute earlier. No wonder he'd made a good lawyer. He could fake it with the best of them.
"Marcus was a cat I took in one spring," Mom explained. "Its mother had died before it was ready to be weaned, and I had to take care of it. Tom swears I got all nervous when he asked about this Marcus person, but I don't have the faintest idea what he's talking about." She shook her head and took a sip from her beer.
I finished the story. "Tom confronted Dad about it, and was quite sheepish when Dad explained why he was laughing so hard."
We all chuckled, and Dad started an "it reminds me of the time" story. I quietly got up and started gathering the dishes. Robby was Dad's only real audience, so he stayed behind while Mom helped me take as much as we could carry into the house in the near-dark.
When we got inside, we were making room for leftovers in fridge when Mom suddenly stopped. "You aren't together, are you?" She asked.
"Mom!"
"Sorry. I just wanted to make sure. You know you can tell me if you are."
"We're not. He's just a friend from work. Besides, the age difference is a bit much, don't you think."
"I suppose."
We both quieted when we heard the back door open just a few feet behind us. Robby walked in and asked, "where should I put the rest of the chips?"
"Just in the cupboard over the counter," Mom said, and went to open it for him.
Dad came in last, after the dishes were done, naturally. We sat in the living room for a little bit, but it was after 9pm, which was pushing my parents' bedtime. Mom and Dad said their goodnights, a bit reluctantly on my Dad's part I think. I told them I should do the same, and went to brush my teeth.
It was probably for the best that Robby didn't follow me directly to the dressing room where all our toothbrushes were. If either of my parents had found my hands on him, all my protestations would have been for nothing. And I wasn't sure that I could keep my hands off. I'd been acting like everything was fine, just like any other day at the winery, but I couldn't stop thinking about him.
I had thought of a thousand ways I could catch him in a private corner for just a second so I could steal a kiss. Unfortunately there were a thousand and one ways we would get caught. I couldn't risk a casual gesture. I didn't even trust myself to look directly at him. Not that I thought I was in love with him or anything. Let's be serious. It was only that once. Well, twice. But I was pretty sure that the evidence of a shared secret might be enough to make my parents suspicious. And the last thing I needed was to be fending off two offended parents. I was old enough that they couldn't do anything about it, but Robby was old enough for them to blatantly discourage the relationship in front of both of us. And then there was the little problem of not knowing if we had a relationship at all. A quick screw in the corner hardly counted as "dating."
I heard Robby walking toward the dressing room. Looking up, I tried to catch his eye, thinking that had to be safe now that Mom and Dad were in their bedroom. He didn't even look up—just walked past. It's probably for the best, I silently agreed. Don't risk it.
He shut the door behind him. I spit into the sink, wiped my mouth, and walked deliberately, and not very quietly, upstairs to my old bedroom.
I looked critically at my wardrobe. I hadn't planned on anything happening this weekend, so I didn't have much to choose from. I just shoved a bunch of clothes in a backpack and walked out of my apartment. My box of old clothes in the closet weren't particularly helpful either. The old summer nightie I used to wear no longer fit around my chest.
In the end, I just put on a T-shirt. If it worked this afternoon, it would work tonight. Then I snuck out into the hallway to turn on the fan. The second floor of the house wasn't air conditioned, and it would help cover the sound of Robby's steps on the stairs.
I curled up and leaned against the headboard of the full bed. My eyes were practically glued to the door. I could almost smell him—his skin, his sweat—and the memory of his mouth on mine and his hands as they undressed me was enough to make me fidget with impatience.
But he wasn't coming. I looked at the clock. Only 10 minutes had passed. He was probably going to wait a while until he was sure my parents were asleep, I told myself. He had more self control than I did, apparently.
