Page 5 of Come Take Me Now

“What’s your name?” I ask shyly.

“Enzo.”

I nod, not knowing what else to add. It’s a unique name. I don’t want to assume his name is Italian or Spanish, but this vineyard has a subtle Italian influence to it. Like the architecture to the olive undertones of his skin.

“Do you work here?” I ask after a silent moment. I’ve never liked quiet either. Mostly because it leaves me alone with my thoughts and memories. I never ran without my iPod for that reason.

“Yeah, I manage this place.” He shakes his head slightly at his phone screen. “Uh, I’m not having much luck here.”

The manager?

No wonder he looks like a walking art museum and wears a watch that’s worth more than my car. “You’re probably busy. I’ll just keep driving around,” I say, backing away. “I’ll eventually find it, but thank you for trying.” I open the driver’s side door.

More like I’m going straight back to Sac.

I should have enough in my bank account to cover gas to get home, and I have that emergency credit card Dad set up for me…if it still works.

“Wait, you’re–”

I try starting my car, but the engine just won’t turn over. I turn the key again and again, but it only makes a single click under the hood each time.

“Oh, no,” I groan.

Enzo appears at my driver’s side door. “I think you might need help. Sounds like your starter is shot.”

“Not a dead battery?” I ask.

“Nope. This happened to my old Tahoe.”

I bury my face in my hands. “Oh, my God, I can’t do anything right.”

“It’s okay. I can tow you to my friend’s shop, and we’ll figure it out. Or I can call a tow truck for you?” Are my odds better with this guy or a random tow truck driver? Rick would be livid if he knew the situation I was in. He knew I didn’t want to go to Napa and was in my corner not to come, but it wasn’t up to him. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”

I press my forehead to the steering wheel. “At the risk of sounding like a Gen Z, I don’t know any phone numbers off the top of my head. Except mine.” I turn my head enough to take in his expression, but he’s unreadable. If he’s judging me, he’s doing so internally.

This guy must think I’m a joke.

“Come on, let’s get your car towed. You can charge your phone in my truck,” he adds with his tone untainted.

Every logical cell in my body is telling me not to go with him. Isn’t this how people get kidnapped or murdered? But we’ve been alone this whole time, and he’s normal enough. He’s clearly highly ranked at this winery, and a sociopath wouldn’t be that successful.

Most likely.

“Why do you want to help?” I whisper.

His shoulders lift and drop in a shrug. “Because I have a truck, trailer, and a buddy in town who can fix this,” he answers.

“Okay.”

I get out of the car, and he invites me to wait in the office while he hooks up a trailer to his truck. The AC is a refreshing change from the bright California sun, and I sit in a chair by the exterior door to avoid overstepping. It’s still an unknown environment. The office seems recently updated, with two main hallways branching off, and I can hear voices on the phone and the faint sound of fingers tapping on keyboards. I haven’t come across anyone else, which isn’t a bad thing. It occurs to me I left my wristlet in my car, but Enzo didn’t give off any shady vibes.

He probably has more money than I do.

Well, not if I count the trust I haven’t touched. And never fucking will if I can help it. I drop my eyes and dip my head. Being a ‘trust fund baby’ is the last thing I want to be considered.

Ugh.

The fabric of this chair is itchy on my bare thighs.