No Ordinary Fortune. Judy Duarte

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      “Well, you’d never know it from my vantage point. You were a champ.”

      Moments later, they approached Rossi’s, a small brick building with a black wrought iron railing that provided an enclosure for curbside dining. Several portable heaters supplied warmth for a few couples who’d taken a seat outdoors.

      “Inside or out?” Carlo asked.

      “It doesn’t really matter to me.”

      “Then let’s take the first available table.” He opened the green door for her, just like a gallant Latin lover, and she entered the small restaurant that boasted white plastered walls and dark wood beams.

      The place had an old-world charm, right down to a colorful mural on the east wall and a rustic fountain in the back. And if the aroma of tomatoes, basil and garlic was any clue, the food had to be good.

      “Two for dinner,” Carlo told the hostess.

      “This way.” The hostess reached for two leather-bound menus, then led them to a linen-draped table, which was adorned with a red rose in a budvase and several flickering votives.

      Carlo pulled out Schuyler’s chair, and she took a seat. Then he sat across from her.

      The hostess handed them the menus. “Your waiter is Alfonso. He’ll be with you in a moment.”

      Moments later, a short balding gentleman in his fifties stopped by their table, introduced himself and took their drink order.

      “We’ll have a bottle of Mendoza merlot,” Carlo told Alfonso.

      “Nice choice, sir.”

      Schuyler couldn’t help but smile. “Did you choose this place because of the food they serve—or because of their wine selection?”

      He leaned forward and said, “The food is excellent. And for that reason, we offered a tasting here a couple weeks ago. The customer reaction was so positive that the owner placed an order. So I’d also like to be supportive.”

      Schuyler set her menu aside. “So tell me. What’s it like working for a family business?”

      “It’s pretty cool. We all get along—and we have a common goal. We want to see the winery be the best it can be.”

      “That’s nice.” Schuyler supposed Maddie felt the same way about Fortunado Real Estate.

      Carlo studied her for a moment, and a slow smile stretched across his gorgeous face. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”

      “So do you,” she said. “Some women would trade just about anything for long, thick lashes like yours. I hadn’t noticed until I saw them from this angle—and in the candlelight.”

      “Thank you. As a kid, my brothers used to tease me about them.”

      Siblings could sometimes be cruel without meaning to. “I’ll bet that made you feel bad.”

      “No, it made me double up my fists and let them have it.”

      She laughed. “I’ll bet it did. So did you guys fight a lot growing up? I’d imagine, with all that testosterone flowing, there’d be some pretty big power struggles.”

      “Sometimes, but it was usually just in fun.”

      When Alfonso returned with their wine, they grew silent, waiting for him to uncork the bottle and pour them each a glass. Then, after telling them he’d be back with water and to take their order, he left them alone.

      They’d hardly taken two sips when Carlo’s phone rang. He glanced at the display, then said, “I don’t normally take calls at the dinner table, but this one might be for you.”

      Schuyler arched a brow. What made him say that? Who knew she was here—other than his father and brothers?

      “Yes,” Carlo said. “Speaking.”

      His brow furrowed as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Oh, yeah? No, that’s not a problem. At least, not yet. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” After a moment, he nodded. “Thanks.”

      Schuyler leaned forward, wondering if he’d tell her who’d called—and why he thought they’d want to speak to her. She’d never been especially patient.

      “That was the temp agency we’ve been working with,” he said. “They were apologizing because they couldn’t find a fill-in for the hostess who canceled out on us.”

      Uh-oh. Schuyler bit down on her bottom lip. Too bad she hadn’t been up-front with him when she’d first arrived. Or given him her cover story about wanting to make an investment. He probably would have accepted her help anyway. And she would have saved herself from an awkward moment.

      His eyes narrowed as he speared her with an assessing look. “So who are you?”

      * * *

      Schuyler’s eyes widened, and her lips parted. Apparently, Carlo wasn’t the only one who’d been thrown off stride by that phone call from the temp agency.

      He leaned forward, his arms braced on the table, and waited for her answer, which she seemed to be pondering. That wasn’t a good sign.

      Several beats later, she brightened. “You know...” She lifted her index finger and gave it a little twirl in the air between them. “It’s funny you should ask.”

      “I don’t find it funny. Why did you lie to me?”

      “Whoa, now just wait one minute. The only thing that was the least bit dishonest was the fact that I never set you straight when you assumed I was the woman sent by the agency. But other than that, I was up-front with you. My name is Schuyler Fortunado, I know a little about wine and I spent two summers at a friend’s Italian villa.”

      At this point, he questioned everything about her.

      “All right,” he said. “Then assuming that’s true, why’d you let me believe the temp agency had sent you?”

      “I can be a little impulsive at times, and I like to have a good time. Serving wine at a classy event sounded like fun. Besides, it was pretty obvious that you needed my help.”

      He didn’t doubt any of that, especially the part about his needing her help. And while he was still suspicious, he had to admit that she fascinated him. Why not enjoy his time with her this evening, even if only to discredit her?

      “Okay, I can buy the fact that you had fun tonight. You’re also a natural at serving wine and schmoozing. What kind of work do you do?” Modeling immediately came to his mind. Acting, too. And if that were the case, she had to be pretty successful at it. That car she drove and the purse she carried weren’t cheap.

      “Actually, I’m currently unemployed.”

      He wondered why. She’d admitted to being impulsive. Had she walked off her last job? Had she been fired? Temporarily laid off? And what position had she held up until that time?

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