But Slade was right, too. She knew the experience had made him strong, made him who he was today—strong enough to wear a tie in a far-flung valley during a hundred-degree hot spell. She couldn’t overcome his beliefs about his scar and about money. He’d have to do that on his own.
Was she strong enough for a relationship with him?
“Each crowdsourcing project is different,” Ryan was saying. “Some people are cheap, and they get a T-shirt. Some people get really excited and put up the big bucks. In return, they get to be an extra or go to the movie premiere.” Ryan was only seven years younger than Christine, but sometimes she felt really old. Who could keep up with new developments like crowdsourcing?
“Ryan, what’s your point?” This didn’t sound like watercooler talk. And she had to check email before supervising the truck scale delivery and installation.
Ryan leaned against the counter, watching her add milk to her mug. “We still haven’t found anyone to help us with the harvest, right?”
“Don’t remind me.” The image of grapes rotting on the vines kept her awake at night almost as much as her worry about her career and her feelings for Slade. It was a wonder she slept at all lately.
“But things like co-ops and crowdsourcing pool resources. We could, like, have the people of Harmony Valley help with the harvest and give them something—maybe a case of wine and a ticket to the vintage release party. Forty acres isn’t huge. We can do it with ten or twenty people in a day or two.”
“That’s a great idea.” Christine stared at the swirl of milk in her coffee. her mind turning along with it. “Except for one thing.”
“What?” Ryan brushed his thick brown hair out of his eyes.
“Harvest is physically demanding. Everyone who lives here—and doesn’t own or work for the winery—is old. Really old.”
“I kind of worried about that.” But clearly, he had hoped.
“We’ll come up with something.” Christine patted his arm, but she wasn’t completely convinced they would.
Worse, if the partners sold the winery and she and Ryan were let go, they wouldn’t need a solution. The grapes would rot on the vine, as they had for years.
“Listen, Ryan, I don’t want to worry you, but you need to know...”
* * *
“GIRLS, EVERYONE’S DOWN at the sheriff’s office ready to paint. We need to leave.” Slade had on a shirt, pants, and tie he’d splattered paint on several months ago when they’d wielded brushes on a float for the Harmony Valley Spring Festival. He stood by the door and looked at his Rolex for the fifth time in thirty seconds, wondering what Christine was doing.
And chastising himself for wondering. And for not kissing her good-night the night before.
Footfalls heralded the twins.
Slade looked up. His jaw dropped and something that had been shut off inside his chest cracked open.
They weren’t wearing matching outfits. They didn’t have matching hairstyles. Even their shoes weren’t alike. Faith wore jean shorts and a lavender T-shirt, with tennis shoes and sports socks, her jet-black hair in a high ponytail. Grace wore a hot-pink tank top over a blue cotton skirt with silver flats. Her hair was in a single low braid down her back. Both wore their gold baby bracelets.
“You two look beautiful.” He’d finally broken through whatever barrier they’d erected, finally passed whatever test they’d given him. He couldn’t stop grinning. “It’s nice to see you express yourselves. You may be twins, but that doesn’t mean you have to do or wear or like the same things.”
“What do you think Mom will say?” Faith worried her lip.
“I’d hope she’d say what a great idea.”
Grace looked at her sister. “See, I told you.”
“Come on, everyone’s already there.” Slade shooed them out the door.
“Here’s the town’s next bridegroom,” Flynn ribbed when Slade entered the sheriff’s office.
“Dad, you’re getting married?” Grace rushed in his path, looking up at him with bright green eyes that were so much more alive than the day she’d arrived in Harmony Valley. She hugged him.
Not to be outdone, Faith hugged him, as well. “Why didn’t you tell us you asked Christine?”
Slade was so overjoyed at their first big display of affection toward him since they’d arrived that he almost couldn’t deny it. Almost. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t ask. Phil, the barber, told someone what you said yesterday about how I should consider marrying Christine, and by the time that tidbit made the rounds, it went from considering to actually asking.”
“It’s a good idea,” Will said, not helping. “Christine’s great.”
“And she seems to like you,” Flynn added, winking at his nephew, who sat in the corner and mumbled, “Girls.”
Nate was stirring paint, not saying a word.
“You don’t want to get in on this?” Slade asked the sheriff.
“Nope. Whatever is or isn’t going on isn’t my concern.”
“Finally.” Slade picked up a drop cloth and covered one of the old metal desks behind the counter. “Someone who minds their own business.”
His cell rang. Slade stepped outside to answer it. It was another representative of another company interested in buying their wine permits.
“We’re not selling,” Slade said before any figures could be mentioned. Best to avoid temptation.
Temptation happened anyway, higher than before.
He missed Christine’s arms around him.
It took another few minutes for Slade to convince the man that they weren’t accepting offers at this time.
The man told him he’d call back next week.
Slade returned to his friends and told them about the offer. “That was hard. The money covered the amount we’ve invested in the winery to date.”
Will frowned. “I didn’t believe you yesterday when you said we’d get more calls.”
“This won’t be the last one, either,” Slade said as his phone rang again. “See?”
It went on like that all morning, until Slade dragged an office chair out to the sidewalk to take the calls. It was eerie how just a mention of what the last offer was caused the caller to say something like, I’m authorized to up your last offer by 10 percent.
Slade’s hands started to sweat. What would his father say about him now?
Flynn came outside for some air and to stretch out his back. He stopped stretching when he looked at Slade. “The girls are happy now, but you’re not.”
“I’m not unhappy.” And it was true. Faith and Grace gave him great joy. There was a peaceful rhythm to Harmony Valley. Something always needed to be done, even if it wasn’t the cut-throat, competitive pace he’d once thrived on.
Flynn took off his baseball cap, ran his fingers through his short hair, and resettled the cap on his head. “Dude, you’ve been unhappy for a long time. I thought the twins or maybe Christine would finally snap you out of your funk, but they haven’t. You carry a weight on your shoulders. I don’t know what it is, but if you need to, you know, like, talk about it—”
“No!” He refused to tell Flynn, or Will for that matter, how he’d tried to commit suicide.
Flynn shook his head. “We’re your friends, man. You stood by me at my grandfather’s deathbed. I think whatever is bothering you would bother you a whole lot less if you talked about it.”
He’d look like a jerk if he didn’t acknowledge something was wrong. “I’ll think about it,” he mumbled.
Flynn began stretching his back again. “Can you explain once more why these wine permits are so valuable?”
“Because they don’t give out many. The state and the county want to limit the amount of wine bottled here, as well as control and prohibit people from trucking in wine grown elsewhere,
bottling it in Sonoma, and then calling it Sonoma wine when it really isn’t.”
“People do that?”
“They have. And wineries that produce, ferment, and bottle wine here don’t want their wine devalued or to have a bad reputation. So the permits have limits. If someone wants to bottle more wine, they have to apply for more permits.”
“We’re not selling. Grandpa Ed wouldn’t be happy.” Flynn shook his finger at Slade exactly as his Grandpa Ed used to do.
“Flynn, at some point, we have to look at this without emotion. At some point, we aren’t going to be able to say no.”
“Not me.” Flynn seemed so sure. He had no idea what was coming. “I’ll say no.”
“And I’ll have to reiterate. If you don’t take my advice, I’m leaving.” Alone.
* * *
“WOW.” CHRISTINE HUNG UP the phone. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“What?” Ryan looked up from his desk, where he was searching for articles about the vineyard’s history.
Working in the second-story office was no longer an exercise in sweat. Nana’s curtains helped the air-conditioning do its job. It would have been conducive to productivity if not for the constant buzz of text messages. Several of her friends, and those she wasn’t so friendly with, texted with news that their winery was bidding to buy Christine’s permits or the winery itself.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Slade arrived, looking attractively unperfect in paint-splattered clothing. His black hair was mussed, as if he’d thrust his hands into it and forgotten to smooth it back down.
“Oh, good. You’re here.” Christine sounded happy to see him, and she was, especially in this cute, disheveled state. Even millionaires had an off day, it seemed.
But that phone call... “That was the bottling-line manufacturer. They can start the install at the end of the month. It’ll take a few weeks to set it up.” She looked expectantly at Slade.
Here was where he proved she could trust him as a boss or prove she didn’t have to rein in her feelings of love. Or both.
“That’s good news.” The neutrality in his voice proved nothing. He didn’t even sit down.
“If you’re not selling, yes, good news. I told them I’d call back to confirm the dates. I figured that bought you a day or two to make a decision. To sell or not to sell,” she said with false cheer. “That is the question.”
Ryan’s face looked green, as if the unpredictable roll of the situation was making him seasick.
“I don’t need a day or two.” Slade’s neutrality morphed into annoyance. “The partnership isn’t selling.”
Christine looked to Ryan. “Why don’t I believe him?”
Ryan, bless his heart, tried to shrug nonchalantly. A valiant effort considering he was probably worried about his rent, his car payment, and his student loans. “He looks believable, but everybody has their price, I suppose.”
“Good point.” Christine mustered up the courage to look her boss in the eye. “What’s your price?”
“More than anyone has yet to offer.” Slade crossed his arms over his chest.
“Ah, but that means you have a price.” She doodled on her pad.
“Christine...”
She waited for Slade to speak, but saying her name had apparently drained him of speech. “Well, I hear a truck rumbling down the driveway. Duty calls.” She stood.
“I’ll go.” Ryan leaped up and raced passed Slade down the stairs.
Christine sat back down slowly. “You intimidate him.”
“A hazard of first jobs. The fear of disappointing the boss and being fired.” He glanced about the room, as if suddenly uncomfortable being alone with her.
“A very real fear, as it turns out.” She waited for him to meet her gaze, trying to stop the mantra her heart crooned: Talk to me, reassure me, love me.
Without looking at her, Slade sat in the folding chair on the other side of her desk. He shifted, trying to get comfortable. “We need to order better chairs. Maybe even go by that warehouse store you like so much.”
Be still, my foolish, foolish heart.
She started straightening her desk. “I like the implication that we’ll still be in business next month. What were you painting this morning?”
He looked absently at his black-splattered tie, as if he’d forgotten the paint. “The sheriff’s office. The girls are still there, painting the bars with Truman.”
“Let’s hope that’s the only time they know what it’s like to be in a jail cell.”
“They wore different outfits today.” He used his papa-bear smile, the one that made her melt. The one that made her forget he was her boss.
She thought about snowcapped mountains in Chile and unemployment checks. “That’s huge. Good for the girls. And good for you, too.”
“And they hugged me.” He stared at his hands. “I never thought they’d hug me.”
“Two milestones in one day.” A ding sounded, notifying Christine that she had an email. She glanced at her laptop screen and couldn’t look away. “Excuse me.”
Slade waited.
“It’s from the human-resources department at Lalopolle Winery. They say if their offer for the bottling permits goes through, they’d like me to come in and interview for a position.” Her world threatened to capsize. She gripped the seat of her chair. “What do they know that I don’t?”
Slade scowled. “The partnership isn’t selling.”
“Says the man with a price. The man who told me he’d make the recommendation to sell.” Self-preservation and childhood dreams elbowed fledgling love for Slade aside. Her father was right. It was time to jump ship. She lifted her hands to the keyboard. “I need to schedule an interview.”
“Don’t.”
She waited for him to say she’d be the one to make this venture a success for the partnership. She waited for him to say he couldn’t wait to taste their first vintage. She waited for him to say he didn’t want her to go, that he needed her, that he couldn’t live without her.
Heck, she didn’t need to hold out for a declaration of love or a ring. She’d settle for some small sign. A gentle smile, a hand on her cheek, a kiss that said he couldn’t live without her. Anything that explained his objection to her interviewing elsewhere.
His eyes flickered, shuttered. “Forget what I said. You should accept the interview.” He was always releasing her, even when she could tell he didn’t want to.
She knew then that it would take an earthquakelike act of nature for him to meet her halfway. She needed to stop listening to her heart. She needed to listen to her father. She needed to abandon ship.
One more day, her heart whispered, as if that would make a difference. One more day.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN DINNER WAS ready that night, Slade couldn’t find the girls. They weren’t downstairs. They weren’t upstairs. They weren’t in the front or back yards. The house was empty, as it would be empty when they returned to New York. As the winery would be empty when Christine went on that interview and got the job.
He used to embrace the emptiness. He and the house had an understanding. But not anymore. He dreaded the forthcoming emptiness.
He stepped out the front door. “Faith! Grace!”
“Dad!” Grace was on Takata’s front porch with Faith and the old man himself. She ran across the grass to their driveway.
Predictably, Takata yelled at her, “Keep off the grass!”
Instead of being cowed, Grace’s grin widened. “Can Old Man Takata come over for dinner?”
It didn’t escape Slade how the girls used the nickname every kid in Harmony Valley had grown up using.
“Please,” Faith seconded, jumping up and down next to Takata.
The last thing Slade wanted in his hous
e was the man who wanted him to open up his dad’s bedroom door. Slade was about to make some excuse, when Grace gave a pretty little pout and said, “Please.”
“Sure, bring him over.” Slade went back inside to set another place at the table.
The twins brought the old man through the front door, even though it was a shorter distance from his porch to the back door and the kitchen. But that would have required they walk across his lawn.
“Spaghetti. How nice.” Takata hooked his cane on Slade’s chair and sat in it. He put an empty plastic container next to his plate. “In case there’s leftovers.”
“You’re welcome to them.” The twins didn’t care for leftovers. Slade set the bread bowl on the table. “I hope the girls weren’t bothering you.”
“Youth isn’t a bother, unless they stray off the path. Sidewalks are there for a reason.” Takata heaped food on his plate as if he hadn’t eaten for days. As skinny as he was, that could very well be.
“You never had kids of your own, did you?” If Takata did, he’d have known kids don’t like to stay on the beaten path.
“I married my Nancy too late in life.” He leaned toward the girls. “It’s hard to believe, but when I was younger, being a mortician wasn’t seen as cutting-edge as it is today. It was very hard to get a date. Although, girls, you should know that the only thing guaranteed in life is death. That’s why staking your career on death is so lucrative.”
Slade choked on his water.
“When you consider a husband, you should consider his earning potential, too.”
The twins giggled.
Slade twirled his fork in his spaghetti.
“Your father would be quite the catch, if it wasn’t for this house.” Takata glanced around the room. “I haven’t been here in years. Same shabby cabinets. Outdated linoleum. What woman wants that? Is it still the same upstairs?”
Slade’s spaghetti slipped off his fork. He didn’t often think about the sky-blue apples and pears imprinted on the white Formica tabletop. He tried not to think about anything in the house. If...when...he left this place, he’d be leaving behind the things his mother loved.
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