Page 10 of Bordeaux Bombshell
I knock on the door again and am met with silence. He must be upstairs. Thankfully, Maggie’s car isn’t here, so I know the reason he can’t hear me isn’t because he’s “busy.”
I have heard him and Maggie having sex more times than a best friend ever should—the last thing I want is to walk in on them in a compromised position. Again.
Fishing the spare key he gave me out of my pocket, I fumble with the lock a few times before it turns. I open the door as quietly as I can—just in case—when something hard hits me inthe face. Pain blooms across my cheek and the side of my head that ricochets off the door.
“Ow, Jesus fucking Chri—” I duck as something comes flying at my head again.
“Nate?” A loud thump echoes through the entryway as the blond nightmare who haunts my sleep stands in front of me, hazel eyes—exactly like my best friend’s—wide in shock. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Why the fuck did you hit me?” I rub my cheek, glaring at Sydney. She’s wearing one of Kel’s hoodies and a pair of sweatpants that are a few inches too short for her long legs. My head throbs to the beat of my heart, and my vision goes blurry for a second.
“Why the hell are you breaking into Kel’s house?” Crossing her arms, she leans back but doesn’t give ground, barring my way inside. She studies my face, and I brace myself for another cutting observation as I pull my wits together. “You look like shit.”
Kneeling down without taking my eyes off her, I swipe my keys off the floor and jingle them in her direction once I stand. “Wow, thanks. I didn’t break in, you psycho, I have a fucking key. Where’s Kel?” A heavy hardback book, lying open on the floor, catches my attention. “Did you hit me with a fucking encyclopedia?”
Sydney doesn’t move. “He and Maggie are at urgent care with Jordan. And no, it wasn’t an encyclopedia.” Bending, she swipes the book off the floor, giving me a clear view of the cover—a pair of kids with a train or lamppost between them.
It’s the same book, something about saving lost cities, I saw Olive reading the other day when the three of them came down to the winery. The day Kel asked me to be his best manandsmooth things over with Sydney. For the sake of the wedding. And our families.
Stifling the urge to growl, I ease back against the doorjamb. “What’s wrong with Jordan?” I sag against the wall, stars creeping in before I close my lids for a moment. Goddamn, Sydney has one hell of an arm on her—I suppose I should be proud. My thoughts are scrambled, concern about my winery, my godson, my best friend, and the hellcat in front of me jumbling together with the pounding in my face and head.
A light touch to my temple startles my eyes open. Sydney’s face is inches from mine, concern in the furrow between her brows as she traces a hand across my scalp. I hold still, afraid to breathe wrong and piss her off again.
“Did I really hit you that hard?” Her voice is as soft as her fingers. She bumps against a tender spot, and I wince with a sharp inhale. Shaking her head, she steps back. “Come on, let’s get you some ice.”
I follow her to the kitchen, glancing around to take in the blankets strewn across the couch, a hoodie on the floor, and baby toys scattered across the room. The kitchen is in no better condition, with a pile of dishes in the sink and pots on the stove. It’s like a whirlwind ripped through the house—a shock compared to the neat freak Kel has been since we were kids.
“Jordan has a fever, and Kel thinks it’s a double ear infection.” Sydney’s words drift back from the freezer, where she’s hunting for something. “He asked me to stay with Olive. I was just upstairs reading with her. She finally fell asleep, so keep it down.”
Sydney rounds on me, a hot-pink object in her hand. I snort at the unicorn-shaped ice pack but take it anyway and hold it to the side of my head. “Thanks. Have you heard from them?”
“They’re still waiting. Poor thing is miserable, last I heard.” She pauses and glances at the clock on the microwave, then gives me a hard look. “Why are you here so late?”
Without waiting for me to answer, she shoulders past me and opens the dishwasher. I stand in the middle of the kitchen, feeling useless while she loads plates into the bottom. “Um, I needed to talk to Kel.”
“Why didn’t you just call?”
Why didn’t I? Because I was so used to popping over at the end of my day to talk to him and Maggie that it hadn’t occurred to me not to drive out here when I had a problem? His and Maggie’s place is in Tigard, a compromise between being in Portland proper and close to the winery and his folks down in Newberg.
“I, uh…” I pause, reaching for a plausible reason. “I was in the area.” Technically, I was in the areanow. Sydney doesn’t need to know it’s because I drove here on purpose. “Can I help?”
She looks at me over her shoulder, still loading dirty dishes, and sniffs. “I can handle it.”
“For fuck’s sake, I didn’t mean it like that.” I grind my teeth, irritated at her stubborn streak. “I would like to help.”
Waving her hand around the kitchen, she makes an annoyed sound. “I’m not going to make you a list. You have eyes. Use them.”
Keeping the ice pack pressed to my head, I scan the room. She’s got the dishes under control, except for the large pot on the stove. It looks heavy, so I grab it and wait for her to move away from the sink before taking her place.
“You’re in my way.” A sharp nail pokes my backside, but I don’t move. “Nate. Move the fuck over.”
“Like hell. I saw you wince when you picked up that sauce pot. How’s the wrist?”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine if it still hurts.” I don’t move when she shoves at my side. “You said to use my eyes, didn’t you? Can’t get mad when I did what I was told.”
Throwing her hands in the air, Sydney stalks away a few steps before rounding back on me. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a whole-ass grown adult, Nathaniel Ridgefield.”
