Page 30 of Most Likely to Score
“When will you be in Napa? In case I feel a disturbance in the Force.”
“It’s about an hour and twenty minutes.”
“By my estimate, that gives you a full hour to snooze in the car.”
Briefly, I glance away from Jones. “Dad, I only did that in cars when I was younger.”
“I bet you fall asleep now,” he says, then his line goes quiet for a second. “Sweet pea, I need to go. That’s the delivery company. I’ll talk to you later.”
After I end the call, Jones gives me anI’m waitinglook. “What?”
He gestures for me to keep talking. “Tell me about your dad.”
“You want to hear about my father?” I ask, my brow knitting in curiosity.
He crosses his arms. “Yes. Contrary to my party-boy reputation and the word on the street about the size of my hands, I have a big heart, too, and I want to know about Mr. Moore. You said he teaches?”
I can’t help but smile at the way he makes light of himself at the same time he earnestly seems to want to know about me. My heart warms. “Yes, he’s an adjunct professor at a community college in Napa, teaching digital journalism to freshmen. He loves it. I think he was antsy being retired and needed something to do with all his energy.”
“That’s awesome. Good for him to find an outlet like that. Do his students love him?”
“I get the impression they do. They seem pretty engaged.”
“And it sounds like he’s chosen wisely when it comes to sports. Did I catch on correctly that he’s a Renegades fan?”
“He goes to every home game.”
“I love him already. You’re pretty close to him? You see and talk to him regularly?”
“Yes, I try to visit him at least every other weekend. We’ve always been close. He’s the person I’ve turned to for career advice over the years. He’s never led me astray.”
A huge smile crosses Jones’s face. “Love that. Just love it. That’s how it should be, you know? Being able to lean on and depend on your parents, your brothers, your sister.” He tilts his head and scratches his chin. “But I’m curious about something. What did he think you’d do on the drive up?”
I grumble, “Sleep in the car.”
“You managed the ride to Stinson the other day without napping. But that was a much shorter drive.”
I wave a hand and fix on a grin, giving my best perky face. “I won’t fall asleep. I’m wide awake.”
But in thirty minutes, I’m yawning as we pass the San Rafael exit. As we cross to Novato, my eyes flutter shut.
True to form, I wake up forty-five minutes later in Wine Country with my head in Jones’s lap.
My head is in his lap.
I don’t move. This might be a dream. I blink. The world is sideways, and Jones’s hand is in my hair. He’s actually running his hand across my hair. Gently. Casually. Sweetly.
It feels better than it should.
It feels so incredibly good. Like comfort I didn’t know I needed. Like friendship I wasn’t sure we had.
I close my eyes, and pretend to sleep until the car pulls into the lot at the winery. This is all I will ever get of him, and I want to savor these last few minutes with his hands on me.
A curious orange kitten scampers over a wine barrel then climbs to the next one above it, balancing beautifully. He’s like the king of the jungle—or the king of the winery where we’ll shoot today’s picture for the month of March. The winery is attached to a hotel, and we’ll be spending the night here.
As the humane society rep watches the furry-faced creature, my phone beeps with a text message. I slide it open to see a note from Liam McHenry, the guy who owns Paleo Pet and is overseeing the new deal. He’s arriving any minute, he says. I excuse myself to wait for him out front.
When a pickup truck pulls up, and a tall, trim, and surprisingly handsome sandy-haired man with a fair complexion steps out, I’m surprised he’s Liam. But the license plate—MEOW ARF—is a big tip-off.
