Once and Forever Read online

  I am not making this up.

  Cooper was in the back so he didn’t see her at first, but his mother, Hazel, locked on her like she was the second coming. Hazel knew, as I did, that this was the woman for Cooper. Whether she was here for the restaurant, or to stay at the inn, was immaterial. She was here for Cooper, I’m pretty sure we all felt it.

  You could even somehow tell, despite that she hadn’t yet opened her mouth, that she was smart. There was something about her face, a look in her eye, an air to the way she held herself, that said she was not easily duped.

  As I helped her out of her coat, disregarding the shower of water that drenched my pants and made them stick to thighs that did not need such attention, she breathed, “Thank you,” in a voice that made the air shimmer with sexuality.

  Cooper was a goner.

  “Hello,” Hazel said, striding toward her across the hardwood floor, ignoring the puddles dripping from the woman’s hair, hands and shoes. Anybody else would have been tucked back onto the entry rug and admonished to stand still until a towel could be found.

  “How may I help you?” Hazel is an imposing woman herself. Tall and strong, with iron gray hair caught in a thick bun at the back of her head, she amplifies her already strong presence by wearing long beaded tunics with palazzo pants, and bangles and baubles that let you hear her coming a block away. She’s like a giant wind chime.

  “My name is Principessa Bella. I’m here for the sommelier position.” The dark eyes flashed, a pale hand rose, and she seemed to actually grow an inch as she and Hazel sized each other up.

  Here for the sommelier position. Not to apply, not to interview. No, she was here for the position. And there wasn’t one of us who didn’t believe she should have it.

  I glanced over at Roger, polishing silverware behind the bar. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Principessa,” Hazel repeated, “what a lovely name.”

  A gentle inclination of the head, the Mona Lisa smile, and another “Thank you” drifted out onto the air like a soap bubble.

  I hung her wrap in the coatroom by the door – it was the only one in there today; it being early and there being no forecast for the sudden storm – and picked up her bag to place it nearby when Hazel directed me to towel it off.

  “It’s clearly a Vuitton, am I right, Ms. Bella?” Hazel smiled indulgently at Principessa.

  “Indeed. But please, call me Prin.”

  I used the opportunity to slip into the back offices, to see Cooper for perhaps the last time when he would actually see me. For I knew that after meeting Principessa Bella there was not going to be one more cheeky grin or sly wink for me. No more kidding around at the tasting bar, no more private jokes, not another late–night bitch session after the restaurant closed. No, he would belong to Principessa Bella and that would be that.

  I’d probably end up going out with Roger, even though I’d known him since grade school and never suffered a moment’s desire for him.

  I was poking my fingers through the plastic that wrapped the clean bar towels fresh from the laundering company when I heard, “Psst, Kimmy.”

  My mouth curved into a smile; I couldn’t help myself. I never could.

  I pulled out a towel and turned. Cooper grinned at me from around the doorjamb, his dark curls tousled, blue eyes crinkling. But it was the dimples that always got me. Dimples so ever present they sometimes appeared when he pressed his lips together in concentration, or if he made that sarcastic face, the one with the one eyebrow raised.

  “What? Why are we whispering?”

  One hand appeared in the doorway holding a wineglass by the stem and swirling a healthy dram of red. “Care to taste the Belle Glos pinot?”

  I inhaled swiftly. “Which one?”

  The grin turned smug. “Las Alturas.”

  My mouth watered. “Does your mother know you’ve opened this one?”

  He shrugged. “I had to. The competition is not even two weeks away and I have forty–seven more bottles to write notes on.” He jerked his head, urging me over. “It’s pretty damned good.”

  “You know you don’t actually have to taste all those bottles. There’s plenty of information online.” I grabbed two more towels and joined him in the office, tucking the Vuitton bag under one arm. He handed me the glass and I swirled the contents, putting my nose into the bulb to inhale the aromas.

  Wine tasting is a curious thing. Completely individual and yet communal. Every palate is different, each person tastes things differently, but if one person says ‘licorice’ more often than not others will taste it too.

  “Mmm … plum,” I said experimentally. “And … something else … something …” I glanced at Cooper.

  He raised his brows. “I know. I can’t quite place it.”

  I inhaled again. “Root beer?”

  His face cleared. “Yes! Kimmy, you’re brilliant. I knew you’d get it.” He sipped his wine again, his eyes on me. “Root beer. Damn. What I wouldn’t give for your nose.”

  “But yours is just the same.” And it was true. Cooper and I had the exact same taste in wine, which was nice because whenever he splurged and opened a bottle it was usually something I wanted too.

  He laughed. “Every single one of these wines has been phenomenal.”

  I started to hand the glass back to him but he waved it off.

  “Finish it. I don’t need to drink the whole bottle to write it up.”

  I placed the Vuitton on the desk, daubed at it with a towel, while Cooper poured himself another healthy taste.

  After a moment his eye landed on the purse. “Nice bag. Is that yours?”

  He reached out to touch it and made an impressed sound in the back of his throat.

  My spirits sank. I picked up the glass he’d given me and took another sip, savoring the moment before Principessa Bella dropped into his life.

  “It belongs to a woman out front. She’s here for the sommelier position.” I glanced at him, he had his nose in his glass, eyes closed. Lashes dark against pale Irish cheeks. “Your mother’s talking to her. She’s actually, if you can believe this, fawning on her a bit.”

  That snapped his eyes open. “Fawning?” he repeated. “You’re telling me Hazel is fawning?”

  I shrugged, already unhappy at the interest he was showing.

  He put his glass down and stood up. “You said she’s here for the sommelier position? For what? The restaurant or the competition?’

  “Both, I think.”

  “Did my mother already hire her?”

  “If she didn’t before the woman got here, she surely has by now.” My resignation was complete. Both Hazel and Cooper were on this woman’s hit list, and I’d already seen Hazel go down without a fight. There was no question in my mind Cooper would be next.

  Cooper tilted his head, put his hand on his hip and squinted at me. “This is very strange.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant what I said or me, because I had to be exuding all kinds of negativity.

  Then he turned, opened the door to the office and left.

  A second later he popped his head around the jamb and asked with just a shadow of impatience, “Are you coming?”

  I sighed. Did I really want to witness the moment the man I loved fell in love with another?

  I shook my head. “Too much to do. You can report back to me later.”

  With a frown that still produced those to–die–for dimples, Cooper left again. I sagged back in one of the office chairs and pushed my wine glass away from me. Not even a 92–point pinot could console me now.

  About ten years ago, Cooper had come to the inn with his parents. This was before his father had died, when his parents used to come every year on their anniversary. Usually they came alone, but this time, for whatever reason, he’d come with them.

  On that visit, he and I had both been minors – he only by a few months; I think I was fifteen. We’d snuck into the barrel room late one night and opened up a bottle of cabernet sauvi
gnon. I’d been tasting wine ever since I could remember – starting with watered–down versions and working my way up – but Cooper was a typical American teenager. He’d had beer at parties, maybe some Gallo if they were hard up for beer, but he was not used to drinking fine, 90–point, fifteen–percent–alcohol red wines. We polished off that bottle and half of another together, and in the dim sconce lighting of the grotto he’d kissed me.

  It may sound silly but my heart was lost to him immediately. I still get chills when I think about it.

  After that visit he did not come back for their annual anniversary trip, though I never stopped thinking about him. Even his parents missed a couple of years, until his mother bought the inn three years ago. By then his father had died, and Hazel had decided she needed to live in the place where they’d been the happiest. Here at the Vineyard Inn.

  I don’t think Cooper even remembers that night. Shortly after the kiss he disappeared, I think to get sick. (I continue to hope it was just from the wine.) But every time I look at him I remember it. And, truth be told, I’d give anything for him to kiss me again.

  Unfortunately, as the years have worn on and we’ve gotten deeper and deeper into friend territory, it’s become obvious that’s never going to happen. And now, with Principessa Bella here, it seems he might be lost to me forever.

  “So that’s it, then?”

  I spun toward the voice, but found no one in the doorway where I thought it had come from. Must have been someone in the back room. I turned to the door through which Cooper had disappeared.

  “You’re just going to let him go?”

  I jerked to my feet and turned again. This time the voice was closer, male, gravelly, something a bit coarse in the accent. I felt a chill go up my spine. “Who’s there? Is someone talking to me?”

  “Right here, cupcake.”

  I looked down, and nearly inhaled my tongue.

  A short – no, not just short – a tiny, tiny man, I’m talking about the size of a Ken doll, and perfectly proportioned, well, except for the beer belly, stood before me. Beneath me. Actually trying to look up my shirt.

  I crossed my arms over my waist. “I – what –?”

  He was impossible. Too small to be a dwarf, or a little person, even a very extreme version. Could I ask what he was? Should I even believe he was real?

  No, this was some hallucination. My head started to swim. The hallucination used both hands to pull a rolling chair out from the desk. With his full body he pushed it into my shins.

  “Ow!” I stepped back, butt hitting the edge of the desk. “What – who are you?”

  “Take a load off.” He smirked at my hips. “I’m serious, sugar, you’re going to hit the floor, and a black eye and a lump on the noggin isn’t going to make you look any better standing next to the princess out there.”

  My knees threatened to give out so I sat in the chair. “What ... what do you know about the princess?”

  How in the world did he know about Principessa? Which was a stupid thing to wonder about a 12–inch man who was, I now noted, wearing a black leather vest, a yellowing white tee–shirt and motorcycle chaps over faded jeans.

  “See? Now that’s what I’m talking about. You gonna just give up like that? Hand him over to Miss Priss? Seems to me that just a minute ago he was wanting to share a very nice bottle of wine with you.” He stood on tiptoes trying to see on top of the desk. “Any of that left, by the way? Just a swig or two for a wayward soul?”

  I rubbed a hand over my forehead. What had been in that wine? I closed my eyes and ran my hand down over my face. “What is wrong with me?”

  I didn’t have to open my eyes to know he was still there, because he wheezed a smoker’s laugh and then, evidently, lit a cigarette. I opened my fingers and peered between them to see, yep, a miniature cigarette lolled from his mouth like saliva from a bloodhound’s.

  “Want me to start with the obvious?” He pulled a piece of tobacco from his tongue, looked at it while rolling it between his fingers. “Or begin at the beginning?”

  “Begin at what beginning?” I asked, wishing someone would come back here and confirm for me that I was talking with an actual, miniature human being.

  “Well, right there is your basic problem. You can’t even form your own opinions without having someone else verify them. Do I look like an actual human being to you?”

  My brows drew together. “Sort of,” I hedged, totally unnerved that he’d known what I was thinking.

  He dropped his jaw, crossed his eyes, and said, “Sorta” in a voice that sounded like someone mentally impaired.

  “Well, you’re human–being shaped,” I protested, galled. “But you’re small.”

  “Dingdingdingdingding!” he hollered, putting a finger to the top of his skull and turning in a circle. “She says what she thinks! Itsa miracle!”

  Surely somebody heard that, I thought, blushing.

  “Tell me what else you think, girly? And no, I’m not a figment of your imagination.”

  “I’m dreaming, then.”

  “Hell–OOO, dreaming is imagination. What else?”

  “I’m crazy.”

  He wagged a finger. “Imagination again. Jeez, for someone who talks about it so much you don’t seem to actually have one. What else?”

  “I don’t know, you’re some kind of horrible...rude…biker–type...” I waved a hand up and down, encompassing his tiny personhood. He took his cigarette from his mouth as he watched me, belched, and put it back. “Disgusting...”

  He rolled his eyes, then his hand in a gesture that said and...

  “Twisted little gnome,” I finished, angry.

  He stood up straight, the sarcastic hand now at his waist and his chest puffed out – though not as far as his belly – beneath his leather vest.

  “A gnome,” he spat. “Gnomes are fat and lazy, they wear ugly hats and, just between you and me, they’re stupid as all get out. I, my naïve new friend, am a fairy. More specifically, I am your fairy, at least for the time being. How’s that for luck?”

  It’s something that doesn’t come up a lot, but the word ‘luck’ often implies the word ‘good’, optimistically ignoring the fact that ‘luck’ can just as easily be bad.

  Chapter Two

  All right,” I said carefully. “So what does that get me, three wishes or something?”

  I wondered why it had to be me who went crazy. I mean, I already had enough problems.

  “Naw, you don’t have to wish, girly.” He scratched his belly with three fingers. I could hear the scritch scritch scritch of it. “I know exactly what you want. Hell, everybody here knows what you want. But the difference is – I can get it for you.”

  “Then you know that what I want is for you to be gone and me to be norm—”

  “Maybe,” he spoke over me, waving away my argument like smoke from his cigarette, “I should have said, I can get him for you.”

  Despite myself, my stomach flipped. Of course I knew what he meant. And my first reaction – literally my gut reaction – was hope. Hope? That a tiny made–up man could get Cooper for me? Cast some kind of spell? Make him love me?

  I started shaking my head. “No. I don’t care if you are real and you can work magic. I don’t want him that way. I don’t want something fake.”

  “Oh puh–leeze, you’ll take him however you can get him. And what is love but magic anyway? However it comes about?”

  His point might have struck me as having some truth if he hadn’t just wriggled something out of his ear and stood examining whatever it was on the end of his finger.

  “This is stupid. Why should I believe you when I don’t even believe in you?” I stood up, running my hands through my hair, messing up what had been a pretty good hair day for my chin–length bob. “I have to go. I have to see—”

  “Cooper falling for Prin? Be my guest.” He moved his hands forward as if pushing me out the door. “But how do you know I’ll be here when you come back, desperate for h
elp? After he sees that tall, thin, raven–haired beauty – a woman who is, truth be told, everything that you’re not – who’s going to help you then? Hm? Not Hazel. She fell like a ton of bricks for the woman too. Not Roger – we all know he has his own agenda.” He shook his head, sighing sadly. “Nope. Kimmy, Kimmy, Kimmy. Anybody ever tell you that name makes you sound like a fourth–grader? Anyway, all you got is me. But besides that, what have you got to lose?”

  I sat back down. The figment was starting to make sense. Disturbing on all levels.

  “How?” I folded my arms across my chest.

  He grinned, revealing nicotine–stained teeth. It struck me that if he were bigger, he’d probably smell bad too.

  “Now we’re talking!” He threw up his hands. “She does have some sense! Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen. You ready? You ready to actually get the man of your dreams, girly?”

  My stomach did that flip again. I pressed my lips together and narrowed my eyes.

  He nodded agreeably. “I can see that you are. Okay, first, you’re going to befriend Prin. This’ll be easy for you, because that’s what you do, right? You get along with everybody? Miss Kimmy–you’re–bag–and–I’ll–dry–it–for–you? Miss Kimmy–shelter–and–I’ll–work–for–nothing? Miss Kim–I–help–you? Miss—”

  “You’ve made your point.” I picked up a pen, rolled it in my fingers and accidentally broke the cap off. I dropped the pieces and put my palms together between my thighs.

  “Have I? Have I really? Because what’s in a name is a real question. You got a weak name, you’re gonna be a weak person.”

  “I do not have a weak name!”

  He gave me an exaggerated look, then said, deadpan, “Kimmy? Really?”

  “It’s Kim. Kimberly. So what’s your name?”

  Both his hands went to his heart. “My name? Well, I’m glad you asked. It’s Harry!”

  I scoffed. “Harry the Fairy?”

  He giggled like a girl. “Like it? Makes you wonder what I’d be if I’d been called, say, Dan. Dan the…?” He looked at me expectantly. “C’mon. Dan the…?”