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across from me at ZuZu, a tapas restaurant in Downtown Napa.
    “Nothing. Scarlet and I were driving around, looking for boutique wineries and places off the beaten path. Did you know there are over four hundred wineries in Napa Valley, and ninety-five of those are family owned? There are a ton of these smaller wineries that produce fewer than five thousand cases of wine annually. Those are the ones I want to work with.
    “Scar and I were driving around, and I almost missed that old beat-up sign outside. We didn’t leave until he agreed to work with us.” She stuffs a piece of braised pork cheek in her mouth.
    “What made you think I’d want to work there?”
    Naomi finishes her bite. “I don’t know. There’s something about that place. Like it needed a fresh start. It reminded me of you.”
    I nod in agreement and take a bite of the pan-roasted brussels sprouts. I’d like to think I’m not as beat-up and neglected as Russet Ranch, but I get what she means.
    “So, any new hot dates coming up?” she asks.
    The waiter delivers three new dishes to our table—mussels, chili-pepper rockfish, and lamb chops.
    “Wow, this looks delicious.” My mouth waters as I start forking food onto my plate. I purposely avoid having to relive the two dates I had last week at Henley’s.
    The first was Colton on Monday. Things were going well until I noticed the outline of a wedding ring on his finger. I mean, we met on MatchDateLove, not Ashley Madison.
    On Thursday I went out with Jake, who was really funny. Too funny. The kind of funny where his laugh was really loud, and he put his hand to his chest and gasped for breaths, making him sound like a barking seal. At one point, I thought he was choking but, no, he was laughing. And he laughed a lot. I could have tried to overlook the cackle if he didn’t try to put his hand up my skirt mid date.
    As soon as the dates were over, I left the pub without a look to the bar.
    Okay, fine, I peeked.
    And he was always there.
    Watching.
    Naomi raises her hand and makes a grabbing motion. “Give me your phone.”
    I raise a brow. “Why?”
    Her fingers are wiggling in the air. “I’m picking your next date.”
    Reluctantly, I reach into my purse and hand her my phone while I savor every bite of my dinner.
    Naomi is taking forkfuls and flipping through my dating app. “You have thirty new matches. That’s impressive.”
    I roll my eyes. “Yeah, just like last week’s date, who didn’t even read a word on my profile. Or the guy the week before that.”
    “Ooh! This guy’s cute!” She holds the phone in the air, facing me, so I can see the photo.
    The picture is of a guy standing on a hilltop, wearing cargo shorts and sneakers—nothing else. “He’s shirtless,” I deadpan.
    “Uh, yeah.” Her voice goes up at the end.
    “That’s a total D-bag red flag.”
    Naomi looks at the photo again and scrunches her nose. “You can tell that from a photo?”
    “Yes. I have rules.” I tick them off for her. “Never say yes to a guy who has a profile picture of his bank account, his car, his penis, or himself in shirtless selfies.”
    Her right hand, holding the phone, falls to the table as her left hand flies in front of her face, palm up. “Okay, I get the bank account…and the penis. Wait, do they really show you pictures of their junk?”
    I lean forward. “All. The. Time.”
    She shakes her head and brushes her hair that was falling in front of her face behind her ear. “Wait, what’s wrong with a car?”
    “Ugh. Guys who are obsessed with their cars are total meatheads.”
    She points a finger. “You have too many rules.”
    “I do not,” I state matter-of-factly.
    Naomi raises the phone and starts typing.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Telling Dallas you’d like to meet him.”
    “Don’t do that!”
    I lean over and try to grab the phone from her hands, but she twists so that the phone is low to her side as she types viciously.
    “Too late.”
    I fall back to my