Boy. Some people’s problems.
Then again, it was a problem she hoped to have one day—worrying about whether she was going to win that Grammy. And she could certainly sympathize with wanting what she didn’t currently have.
“The Emmy could still happen, right, for your role inThe Rush? Or some other show?”
“Sure. But J.T. McCord got one and I didn’t. I can’t turn back time and get it before he did.”
Men.
“Well, tenacity is sexy.”
“Tenacityis a pretty good word for someone who never went to college.”
“What makes you think there’s a relationship between college and vocabulary? Maybe I just read a lot.”
“Yeah? So do I, as it so happens. Can’t really read you, though.”
That was an interesting observation. She studied him with a faint smile.
He smiled back at her. He seemed to have realized he’d finally said something that officially intrigued her. “Did you know I’m pretty good friends with Wyatt Congdon?”
Glory’s lungs seized up.
She lowered her wineglass carefully.
“Was...thata smart, insightful thing to say?” Franco said mildly.
She couldn’t speak yet. She surreptitiously released a shuddering breath.
“You do know who Wyatt Congdon is,” he pressed.
“Of course. If you’re a musician, you know who Wyatt Congdon is,” she said quietly. “Come on.”
“He’s actually my godfather. He’s got an estate in Napa. Beautiful... you should see it. Lawns like velvet carpets. Vineyards. Soft rolling hills. Spectacular sunsets, just unreal. Hot tubs and saunas. He’s flying up to it next week from Los Angeles. He’ll be there off and on through Thanksgiving, give or take a few meetings in New York.”
Kismet. Maybe itwasa thing. Maybe this was why Franco Francone had blown into her life. Shouldn’t she feel more elated, though?
“Napa’s just a couple of hours away,” she said faintly.
“Yeah. He invited me to go up there the week before Thanksgiving. And he said to bring anyone I might want to bring.”
She was pretty sure she knew where this was going.
“I’d like you to come with me. If you want to,” he added.
Yep. And there it was.
A rather loud silence ensued.
“That’s a very kind invitation,” she said as formally as someone accepting the collection plate at church.
“I expect you’ll want some time to mull,” he teased.
“If that’s all right with you.”
The waitress brought over a charming appetizer, unrecognizable as food, frilled with some sort of green vegetable, floating in a shallow pool of some artfully scribbled dark sauce.
It was delicious and she didn’t let on that she didn’t quite know what it was as she ate it.