Page 11 of Lochlan

“Busy,” I respond.

“Well, Ms. Busy, I'll swing back by after I do my business to see if you've changed your mind.”

The door closes and I'm left to figure out which glasses have a round bowl; they all look the same to me. I pull some out to do an inspection, but I'm still lost. This isn't helping, so I fish in my pocket for my phone to search the internet for wineglasses with round bowls. Thumbing through the search results, I hit images to bring up examples. I'm comparing stemware with the photos and have it down to two choices. I have a fifty-fifty chance of screwing this up. If it's not right, I can always jog back until Lochlan is satisfied. I slip the phone back in my pocket, heft a gray rack, and head for the door. I'm two steps from the exit when cowboy Connell returns. His wet hair is finger-combed back, but it's the navy button-down and kilt that says he's an employee.

“Why didn't you say you worked here?”

“You were too busy not being a damsel in distress. I thought we'd play this your way.”

“Then you carry the rack, Prince Charming.” I shove the rack toward him and he grabs it before I let go.

It's not heavy, but he fakes straining under the weight, like he can barely keep it up. “It would be an honor,” he rasps, “but this is the wrong stemware. Lochlan wants the pinot glasses; we're pouring two today.”

I throw up my hands. It feels like a conspiracy to make me look incompetent. “Fine, whatever. Where does he keep them and why do you need different glasses? It's just wine.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Whatever you do, don't say that to Lochlan. It would be like waving a red flag at an already angry bull.” Connell sets the rack of glasses back into place and pulls out another rack, while shaking his head. “I'm sensing you're new to wine. It would be better to say nothing and keep out of his way.”

“If I stay out of his way, how am I going to learn my job?”

“I'm on until seven, so you can follow my lead. We all help each other around here to get through our shifts. The tasting room manager left a few weeks ago and Lochlan's been filling in. Let's just say he's barely a people person and always has a burr under his saddle.”

I detected a soft twang before, but now he's done a full-on John Wayne. I expected him to add “little lady” at the end of the sentence. “Are you really a cowboy or do you just think you look good in western wear?”

He gives a chuckle, and the dimples on his cheeks are visible. “I'm a bona fide Texan,” he says, drawing the statement out. “Although I've lived in Davis since I was ten. Maybe you'd call me a Texacali for Texan Californian.”

If this is a line, it's the worst one I've heard, but he's cute and seems familiar. “I'm Kenzie. I guess you should know that if we're working together.”

He tucks the rack under one arm and extends his hand. “Glad to meet you, Kenzie,” he says and gives me a wink.

In a flash, I remember where I've seen him. “Do you do side gigs?”

“Yeah, I do modeling, commercial work, stuff like that. Why, do you have a gig for me? Need an escort to a wedding, a heavy to keep an annoying old boyfriend away, or someone to listen? Whatever it is, it's a yes.”

Moving in front of him, I grab the handle to open the door and we step out onto the path to the tasting room.

“No, I don't need anything at the moment, but I think I've seen you at one of your gigs.”

His face brightens. “You probably caught that commercial where I'm standing next to an insurance spokesperson and I'm worried how to bundle my car, home, and boat. I get recognized all the time for that spot.”

I pull the door open for him to enter the tasting room. Lochlan is charming about thirty people, but you can see that he's at his limit. He glances over at us with a stare that says,get your asses over here now.

“It was at the Novik Mansion,” I whisper to Connell. “Poppy and I are in the same volleyball club. I was there last week, and I think you served me a glass of champagne.”

A smile sneaks across his lips; maybe he remembers. Yeah, this guy is the Viking Prince I stared at all night at Poppy's initiation party.

I slip behind the bar, Connell just on my heels. He places the rack on a shelf underneath the bar and stacks the glasses on top, where we can easily grab them. The bar is a U-shape and right now it looks overwhelming with people in various states of tasting, and the volume is rising. Lochlan lowers his voice. “You'll serve the customers in the front,” he says, chucking his chin to new arrivals. “Connell and I will do the customers on the sides so we can keep an eye on you. If you get a question that's over your head, call me and I'll sort it out. Smile, and keep track of what you've poured for whom. At the end, ask them if they'd like to revisit any of the wines for a last taste. When they're done, ask for the sale.”

There needs to be more direction on how to approach the money question, when he answers as an afterthought. “Say to the customer: ‘What wine will you take home today?’ I'll show you how to ring up when you get a sale. Do you have a question?”

Nerves slice through the last bit of my confidence that I'm about to approach a group for the first time.

Lochlan leans in. “Don't worry, lass,” he whispers. “You'll do fine. I'm right here if you need me.” He says this in his normal voice, not the rough, working-class Scot character he uses for the customers. The heat of his words brushing my ear sounds sexy as hell. My reaction to him surprises me, and was that an attempt at a pass? Not from the guy who almost chased me out of the tasting room for screwing up; he's just trying to bolster my resolve. Before I can thank him, he turns toward his waiting customers.

The women I approach are in their forties, celebrating their friend's birthday. The pink cone hat with fluff around the base skewed on her head is a dead giveaway of who's having the birthday. They're nice, undemanding, and toss around inside jokes that have the birthday girl turning beet red. After the tasting, each woman buys wine and they buy three bottles to share on the patio. I think I impressed Lochlan with my first sale, because all six women buy at least half a case of wine each, and one asked for two cases to be sent to a relative. Connell gives me a thumbs-up while Lochlan is demonstrating how to work the register. I smile back at him until I notice Lochlan frowning at me for my lack of attention.

The three hours I spend pouring for a steady stream of customers have the shift over before I realize it. Lochlan is closing out the register, while Connell and I are stacking glasses in the dishwasher and cleaning off the bar. I'm asked to do a final sweep of the entire tasting room as part of closing. It appears customers like to hide glasses everywhere. During my reconnaissance, I find stemware tucked behind a stack of sweatshirts, two on the floor in the corner, and on a top shelf. We think the last one has been there for a while, because the wine is a red dry residue in the glass.

“If there's nothing else, I'll be leaving,” I say to Lochlan, who's studying something on an iPad. He glances around the room at the restored order. “Aye, Layla will contact you to go over your schedule.” Then he walks away, mumbling under his breath.

---