“Or jump off the Golden Gate Bridge when they lose everything.”
His lips were sealed tighter than she’d ever seen before, making her wonder what she’d said wrong.
He didn’t speak again until they reached Highway 101 and headed south. “How did you know Mayor Larry does naked yoga? He had on clothes today.”
Points to Slade for putting that together. “Okay, I’ll admit I stumbled upon Larry in the buff yesterday morning.”
“I would have paid money to see that.” He let a smile slip. It was gone as fast as it came.
“I knew it! You are so busted.”
* * *
CHRISTINE STOOD IN the middle of a high-end jewelry store trying not to huff. She had a gazillion things to do and shopping for baubles for little girls wasn’t on her list.
How had Slade sidetracked her?
The twins flanked Slade as a sales clerk showed them lengths of chain. Faith was fingering a rapper-thick chain and Grace was looking at a more delicate one. Slade was looking as if he’d let them choose whatever they wanted, just because he wanted them to be happy. Neither choice was appropriate for a baby bracelet.
With a reluctant sigh, Christine crossed the plush carpet. “I hate to interrupt this shopapalooza, but if you choose a chain that’s thicker than the original, all anyone will look at is the chain. And if you choose anything thinner than the original chain, it’ll break and you’ll lose it.”
Her observation earned her a shadow of a scowl from each of the twins and a definite frown from the salesclerk, who had undoubtedly been looking for a heavy commission on Faith’s choice of a heavy chain.
Slade blinked at her, as if blinking helped him process her words. Or maybe he’d been hypnotized by having his daughters so near and was just now coming back to reality. “You’re right.”
“Great.” Christine clapped her hands together. “Let’s measure and pay and move along.”
Shoulders drooping, Faith let go of the thick chain.
Ten minutes later they were out the door, slogging through the heat to reach Slade’s truck.
“Come on. I know a place where we can get some fantastic dining sets.” The thin soles of Christine’s flip-flops did little to keep her feet cool on the hot pavement.
Grace took Slade’s hand. “But...”
Faith took the other. “Clothes...”
Christine sighed, recognizing the woe-is-me tactic, having used it on her own father countless times growing up. “They must have packed their bathing suits. Spend time with them floating down the river.”
He looked horrified.
She couldn’t imagine why. “Buying them things every time they ask won’t help them manage money when they’re older.”
“So I’ve been told,” he quipped. “My girls won’t need to worry about money. Ever. Especially if we stick to a budget on the winery.”
“I don’t have time to be your shopping buddy.” She dug her phone from her purse. “I’ll get a taxi.”
“Wait. I promised you we’d buy furniture for the winery.” Points to Slade. He didn’t cave when his daughters released his hands and pouted.
Twenty minutes later, it was Slade who was pouting.
“This is where you want to buy tables for the tasting room?” Although he’d pulled into a parking space in front of the warehouse Christine had directed him to, he didn’t turn off the engine.
“Everything here is top quality. It only made it here because it didn’t sell last season or...” Christine hopped out of the truck and shut the door, not wanting to tell him the other reason for furniture making it to this warehouse.
Heat shimmered from the asphalt with a parched, desertlike intensity that immediately drained her.
She was relieved when she got to the warehouse doors and found Slade and the girls following her. More relieved when the doors slid open and bathed her in cool air.
“This is crazy,” Slade said as he entered. “We’re not buying anything here. I told you I wanted top quality.”
“Give it a chance.” Her words echoed through the expansive space.
A man in dusty blue jeans and a tan polo shirt approached and asked if he could help. Christine explained what she was looking for—eight tables for two with chairs to match, six barstools. High-end, primo condition.
He nodded and led them to a back room where tables were stacked on top of each other, floor to ceiling. “This is our return room. What style are you looking for?”
“Return room?” Slade murmured, practically in her ear. “As in used?” He tugged at her arm, but she shrugged him off.
“Hepplewhite or mission. Nothing too modern,” Christine said.
“I like modern,” Slade said.
“Modern doesn’t fit the farmhouse,” Christine argued.
“Modern says success.” He fingered his tie.
“Weren’t you the one insisting we stick to a budget?” Christine wasn’t backing down. Every day it seemed she came up with a new need. Buying used was the best solution to stretch their funds.
“I think we have just what you’re looking for,” the salesman said. “A lot of wine-country businesses have gone under recently.”
“Let’s hope we aren’t buying their bad luck,” Slade whispered.
The twins sat at a table, sharing a pair of earphones.
Christine did a double take, but couldn’t see what they were plugged into. “Do they have smartphones?”
Slade shrugged. “Probably.”
“You don’t know?”
He put his hands in his pockets and started to whistle.
She had to give him the look—the one that said, Dude, go find out—before he made a move in their direction.
“It’s their tablet.” He lifted the device from Faith’s hand so Christine could see it. “Harmless.”
Christine shook her head. He had no idea the extent of trouble he’d be in when those girls got to high school. Limits? They had none.
It took the salesman three tries to find a mission-style set of tables and chairs that satisfied both Slade and Christine. None of the barstools were in good enough condition. Slade was ready to whip out his credit card, but Christine haggled the price down further.
“You’re killing me.” Slade paced while their order was written up and a delivery scheduled.
Christine patted his arm. “I’ll never understand why men think paying full retail adds to their image. It only makes you look gullible.”
“It reassures us of the thickness of our wallets.” He noticed the girls were looking at him and grumbled, “I’m kidding. I like a good deal as much as the next guy.”
“Liar,” Christine said under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.
He checked his watch. “Jeez, look at the time. How about we skip buying the patio furniture? It’s not as if anyone will be sitting outside on our patio until next year.”
“Not true. We’ll have to invite critics and reviewers for barrel tastings next spring. They need to experience the quality of work we’re doing while they enjoy the outdoor view. It’s all part of the ambience of Harmony Valley.” They stepped outside into the summer heat.
Slade fiddled with his key fob, and his truck started from halfway across the parking lot.
Her clunker couldn’t compete with that. When she had time, she’d sell it and buy a more practical truck. “And this fall we’ll need a place for the crush workers to take a break. Treat your seasonal workers well and they’ll make sure to return every year as promised. Besides, if we put in the fantastic landscaping you approved, they’ll tell two friends how wonderful it is out here, and they’ll tell two friends. And—”
“Fine.” He opened the rear truck door for the girls, releasing a precious burst of cool air. “Take m
e to your thrift store.”
She hurriedly climbed into her own seat in front, which had air-conditioning vents in it, waiting until Slade was sitting beside her to say, “And with the money I save, you can buy me a forklift.”
Diamonds may be a girl’s best friend, but during harvest time a dependable forklift was a close runner-up.
* * *
WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the next warehouse, Christine pulled the girls aside. “Fashionistas, I’m looking for three or four outdoor tables made of black iron—no glass tops. They need to be in good shape and classy, like you’d see at a New York sidewalk café. You shop the right side of the store, we’ll shop the left.”
The twins nodded and skipped off.
“That was nice to include them, but you know they’ll lose interest twenty paces in,” Slade said.
“Don’t be so sure. I bet those girls love to shop.”
It was the twins who found three square tables and twelve chairs in great shape at a real bargain. Slade paid and arranged to have them delivered.
“Maybe we can fit in a trip to a clothing store,” he said to Christine as he stuffed the receipt into his wallet.
“Quit trying to buy their affection.” Christine touched his arm. “Do I sound like a broken record?”
He nodded.
“Tough. I love my dad, but he made me happier letting me hang out with him in the vineyards than with any material gift he gave me.”
Faith and Grace watched Slade closely. He didn’t seem to notice.
“I bet you never turned down any of his gifts.” Slade led their entourage out to the parking lot and hit the magic starter button that ensured the air conditioner would be humming when they got in.
The girls gave up on him or were just too hot, and raced to the truck.
“He gives me the gift of advice to this day.” Sometimes she even turned it down.
“I’m going to let that slide.” He opened her door this time. “How does dinner and bowling sound?”
“Excuse me?”
“The partnership has a team. We’re playing the mayor’s team tonight and there’s not enough time to take you home before our game.”
“Oh, Larry asked me if I bowled.” She climbed into the front seat.
Slade continued holding the door open, watching her. “And what did you tell him?”
“The truth. That I suck at bowling. Now, what are you feeding us?”
Slade took them to what she would have called a hole-in-the-wall and her dad would have called a joint with character. When they were seated, Christine did a double take at the menu. “These burgers are twenty dollars. You picked this place to prove the thickness of your wallet, didn’t you?”
He had a subtle grin. Sly.
She liked it more than she should.
The twins didn’t notice. Their heads were together as they reviewed the menu.
Christine set hers down. “Okay, come clean. Why the aversion to buying used? It has nothing to do with your wallet, does it?”
He shrugged, visibly uncomfortable. “I struggled a long time. Made money. Made some bad decisions. Went broke.” There was a catch to his voice that seemed to surprise even him. Slade’s hand drifted to the Windsor knot at his throat. He swallowed, dropped his gaze to the menu, and dropped his hand. “I vowed never to be broke again.”
She winked at the twins, who were now an avid audience. “You mean you don’t have money to burn?”
His smile was sad, touching her heart for no reason other than she hated to see him look so defeated. “I appreciate your efforts to save money today.”
“A gracious recovery.” Christine grinned. “Now, if I order the thirty-dollar walnut, cranberry, and chicken salad, will you think I’m crass?”
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the bowling alley, Slade was a fifth wheel on his own team. Will had returned from San Francisco and was there with his fiancée and bowling ringer, Emma. Flynn had brought Nate. His friends encouraged him to bowl with Faith, Grace, and Christine. Even Takata shooed him off.
“Guys are so competitive. Chill out.” Christine gave him an affectionate shove. “You’ll have more fun bowling with your daughters.”
Slade knew she was right, but the feeling that he was outliving his usefulness to the partnership wouldn’t go away.
While they put on their bowling shoes, Mayor Larry approached Christine. “You say your logo is a horse on a weathervane? I can silk-screen that on my shirts.” He unbuttoned his purple tie-dyed bowling shirt and flashed them a look at the T-shirt with a weathervane logo beneath.
“What?” Slade tied his shoe too tight.
“Next I’m going to make samples of knitted sweaters for your tasting room.” Mayor Larry beamed. “If Christine approves them, we’ll be doing business together.”
Slade stared at Christine’s face, trying to find signs that she’d lost her mind. There were none. He waited until Larry returned to his lane, several lanes over, before confronting her. “Are you kidding me? I don’t want to sell anything as ordinary as tie-dyed T-shirts or homemade knitted sweaters. The next thing you’ll be doing is getting Mrs. Mionetti to knit you some lampshades for the tasting room. And don’t forget about Snarky Sam.” He gestured to Mayor Larry’s bowling team. “He does taxidermy. You like skunks? I think he still has one dressed as Sherlock Holmes for sale.”
“I was—”
“I haven’t seen any tie-dyed T-shirts at any wineries I’ve visited.”
“I think—”
“I want this to be a high-end experience, not a trip to the flea market.”
“It’s not—”
“What were you thinking? Don’t tell me. I know.” He knew he was working himself up over something that was small in the big scheme of things, but his team had abandoned him and he was still smarting. “You were thinking of trying to add character to the experience. Something friendly. Well, I don’t want friendly. I want people to come in and drop twenty-five to fifty dollars for a taste of your wine and more than a hundred dollars for a bottle to take home. How is that supposed to happen if we’ve got homemade junk for sale on the counter?”
Christine waited until he’d run out of breath. “Are you through?”
Slade noticed the twins were watching him. The bluster drained out of him, and he nodded.
“Forget about image in the tasting room for a moment because with only five thousand cases to sell, we won’t be having hundreds of excited customers making the pilgrimage to our door every week. Most of our sales are going to come through an online wine club, with supplemental sales through trendy bars and restaurants.” She patted his hand. “I was looking at the available land for a wine cave nearby and Larry has undeveloped acreage right across the street. What harm does it do to consider letting him sell his merchandise in the tasting room? You’ve got to have some type of souvenir for folks who made the long drive to take home. Branded corkscrews, magnets, local recipe booklets, and so on.”
Slade bit his lip to keep his mouth closed. On some level, Christine’s arguments made sense. It was just going to be easier to create a classy experience for their customers, something that reaffirmed he was a success, something that made his partners realize he was indispensable. “We’ll talk about this some other time.”
A few lanes over, Emma bowled a strike and the team leaped up to give her a group high five.
Slade slumped in his plastic chair.
Christine nudged him. “Hey, Boss Man. Big Daddy-O. How about you quit sulking and teach your daughters how to bowl?”
Oblivious to his mini meltdown, Grace and Faith were trying to tap-dance in their hard-soled bowling shoes. He hadn’t even known they took dance lessons.
“I stink at being a dad,” he mumbled.
“On
ly if you give up.” Christine got to her feet and pulled him to his.
Instead of moving away, he stood inches from her, gazing down into those amazing blue eyes and wondering how different his life would have been if he’d had a woman like her by his side years ago, instead of Evy.
Christine dropped her gaze and patted both his shoulders, before stepping back. “Soldier on.”
Slade felt as if he’d been doing that for far too long. Or maybe Takata was finally getting to him. “Ladies, the first thing we need to bowl is a ball. We’ll be looking for lighter ones, not pretty ones.” He led the twins to the ball racks, showing them how to find a ball that was small enough for the spread of their fingers and wasn’t too heavy.
With their bowling balls chosen, they trouped back to their lane. He taught them how to swing and release the ball, how to keep from crossing the line, and how to aim, just as his father had taught him. And then he put up the lane bumpers so they wouldn’t throw any gutter balls.
Faith took to it like a pigeon to Central Park. Grace struggled, although not as much as Christine. For all his winemaker did physical labor in the vineyard, she was completely honest when she said she wasn’t a good bowler.
Finally, in desperation, Christine swung the ball between her legs with both hands, granny-style. Perfectly centered, the ball rolled slowly down the lane and tumbled into the pins.
“A strike!” Christine jumped up and down. “I’ve never made one before.” She kept on jumping.
The twins joined her, holding her hands and leaping and laughing, as if they’d just won a gold medal.
Grace held a hand out toward him. “Come on, Dad.”
Those words, so few and far between, made being left off his own bowling team seem inconsequential.
If Christine’s ball had seemed to move in slow-motion, Slade’s approach to inclusion in their bouncing, celebratory circle seemed just as surreal. And then he, too, was jumping up and down, clinging to his daughters’ hands and laughing as if he’d made his first strike ever.
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