Sherry and Sunflowers (The Hamiltons #12)

Chapter One

Alara hurried toward Charles's study, her eyes still blurry.

She'd only sat down to rest for a few minutes but had woken to find that an hour had passed.

When she and Zia were living in the camper, it wasn't so bad.

Of course, it wasn't ideal that she left her daughter unsupervised while she rested, but at least Zia was right there with her.

Now, here, in Charles's house, things were different.

She and Zia had their own rooms. She had an office!

Something she'd never expected to have in life.

And Zia had free run of the house—the castle, as she called it.

So, when Alara awoke, she suffered momentary panic followed by the immediate need to search for her daughter.

They'd been here for a couple of weeks now, and Alara knew that she'd most likely find Zia with Charles.

He didn't seem to mind—claimed he didn't—and Zia had good instincts about when to make herself scarce.

But still, Alara didn't want to impose or to overstep the kind and generous welcome Charles and Reaves had offered them.

She hesitated when she reached the study. The door stood slightly ajar. Her hand hovered over the handle. From inside, she could hear her daughter clearly.

"Not like that, Grandpa Grape! The flowers will get all squashed and they won't like it."

"Hm. I see what you mean. Perhaps you'd like to arrange them so that they'll be … comfortable."

The smile she could hear in Charles's voice drew a matching one from Alara. For an older gentleman who, by his own admission, had had very little to do with children, he handled Zia well.

Her smile grew wider when she heard Zia tell him, "No, you should do it.

It's not the same if I just tell you how to do things.

You need to try it for yourself before you can understand.

And don't worry"—Alara could picture her patting Charles's hand as she did so often, a gesture that she'd picked up from him—"it doesn't matter if you don't get it right.

You can only learn by doing. Here, I'll do the first ones so you can see, but then you can take over. "

Alara knew she should go in, not stand here eavesdropping but she couldn't resist. It made her heart happy to hear her daughter spending time with someone who not only didn't mind her presence but genuinely seemed to enjoy her company.

Zia was … a lot, and in general, people didn't know how to handle her.

Charles probably fell into that category too, but in a good way.

He'd told Alara repeatedly that having the two of them staying here hadn't just livened up the house and grounds—he felt like it'd given him a new lease on life, too.

"That's it," Zia encouraged. "Can you see how the flowers look happier now? They have room to spread their petals. You're doing great, Grandpa Grape."

"Thank you." Alara loved that he sounded pleased with himself. "I have a very good teacher."

"I'm not a teacher really, you know. But my mom is, kind of."

Alara frowned at that and leaned closer.

"She is?" Charles sounded as puzzled as she felt. "You mean your mom worked as a teacher before?"

"Oh no. She's always been an artist. She's creative. She wouldn't like to have to go to school every day—just like she thinks I wouldn't. That's why she teaches me herself."

Alara leaned back a little. It was true, but she didn't know how much longer it could go on.

Until her plans had fallen through, she and Zia had been on their way to Oregon where their lives would have been very different.

She'd intended to take a job—a real one, in a place she'd have to go for fixed hours every day.

And when the fall came around, Zia was supposed to start school.

If they stayed in Napa, she'd have to be enrolled in school here.

She closed her eyes briefly. There were still so many questions hanging over her head.

She didn't know how they could stay. Charles had been so kind.

Ollie had been so generous in putting her on the payroll.

But the job she was here to do—to help with the rebranding of the winery—wouldn't take more than a few months at most. As much as she wanted to relax and enjoy the comfort and safety offered here, she couldn't allow herself to settle into it. She had to figure out what came next.

"You don't want to go to school every day?

" Charles asked. "I thought you'd be looking forward to that.

You'll make lots of new friends. I'm sure your mom is a very good teacher; I'd guess that you've picked up her style, but at school you'll have more teachers, different ones for different subjects and … "

As his voice trailed off, Alara wished she could peek inside to see her daughter's face.

"Wouldn't you like that?" he asked.

She found herself holding her breath as she waited to hear Zia's reply.

"I don't know and it doesn't matter."

"And why's that?"

"Because I don't know if I'll go to school now. When we were going to Oregon, Mom was going to get a job, so I'd have to go to a school. She thinks she can't leave me by myself, you know. She could; I can do things. I can do all the things I need to by myself."

Alara squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm sure you can," said Charles. "But …"

Zia sighed loudly. "I think I'd like to go to school, but they make you go every day, don't they?"

Charles chuckled. "They do."

"And Mom doesn't know where we can be every day for a long time. She has to work, you know. And that means we go where the work is. Most people live in houses to be near their work. We live in the camper so we can be near wherever Mom's working next."

"And do you like that?"

Alara gripped the door handle tightly.

"I do. I did. I like it here best. But I know we have to leave soon."

Charles sputtered a little before he asked, "But why?"

"Because Mom's working here and soon it will end and then she'll need to find another work to do."

Alara's shoulders sagged. It had been the story of her life since just after Zia was born. She tried to make it seem like their life was a big adventure, but sometimes… sometimes, she wished she could give her daughter the kind of stability a six-year-old probably needed.

"She doesn't have to find another work—another job," said Charles. "She works here now."

"I know, but when you have your new wine labels and pretty pictures the work will be done. Then we'll have to go." Zia spoke slowly, trying to explain it simply, as if Charles wasn't quite getting the idea.

"But we can find other work for her. Here, right here," Charles insisted.

"I hope so. No, don't put that one there—the daisies can't see the light with that one there."

"Sorry."

"That's okay. You weren't paying attention because you want us to stay, don't you?"

Alara leaned in.

"I do. And I intend to do everything in my power to make sure that you will."

Alara tensed, but then let it go, feeling a little foolish when he added, "I mean, as long as you both want to stay, I'll do everything to make sure that you can."

"I know. Do you think they need glitter on them now?"

Charles's chuckle was full of exasperated affection—his home and the whole estate would no doubt sparkle with the remains of Zia's glitter for years. "I think they do. And then should we see about some lemonade?"

"We should, Sir Grandpa. I would like that."

Alara loved the mock formal tone she used with Charles.

She sometimes worried that he might think she was mimicking or mocking him.

In truth, it was a tone she'd picked up from the fairytales Alara read to her—before either of them ever suspected that they might one day meet a true old-fashioned gentleman and be invited to stay at his 'castle. '

When she heard a chair scrape against the floor, she straightened up quickly. She needed to go in before they came out and realized she was here. She'd hate for Charles to think that she'd been listening to them. She had, of course, but she hadn't meant to.

She tapped lightly on the door before pushing it open.

"Come in," called Charles.

"Hi. I'm sorry, I…"

"Mommy! Look! Grandpa Grape did his own flower vase! Didn't he do a good job?"

She had to smile at the ornate vase that was probably worth a fortune sitting in the middle of Charles's desk, displaying its very tastefully arranged bunch of daisies and dandelions, which she could see had been liberally sprinkled with Zia's glitter.

"You did," she told Charles. "I'm impressed. I'm sorry I took so long. I …"

"You've been sleeping," Zia announced. She smiled at Charles. "It's easy to tell when she's been sleeping, she gets smudgy eyes."

Alara swiped her thumbs under her eyes, feeling self-conscious. "I didn't mean to …"

Charles met her gaze. "I'm glad you were able to rest. I keep telling you that your top priority, the most important work you can do at the moment, is getting well. I wish you'd rest more."

Guilt gnawed at her insides. He was so kind, she owed him so much, and he kept insisting that her health was his greatest concern. It wasn't fair to him, no matter what he might say. She needed to earn her keep.

She knew there was no point in arguing with him. Instead, she held her hand out to Zia. "Thank you. I'm well rested enough to get some work done for the rest of the afternoon. Come on, Z. You can come and help."

"But we're going to have lemonade."

"You could join us," Charles suggested.

"I …" Before she could make a graceful exit and give Charles back what was left of his afternoon, Zia's eyes lit up.

She stared straight past Alara at the doorway behind her. "Prince Daddee!"

Alara froze. She'd thought that Reaves wasn't coming today. He came by most days, but she'd thought he was flying today. She was sure that was what he'd said—he and Ollie had to fly the sales team to Denver.