Chapter Nine
The fog clung to the trees when Callie made her way outside on Friday morning. She wished Zia could see her cottage. She'd no doubt think it was magical, like something out of a fairy tale.
Or maybe Callie just saw it that way herself. But no, that wasn’t it. She smiled as she went to her truck; she knew she had a good take on how Zia saw the world.
And that was why she was headed into town this morning.
That little girl loved sparkles so much that Callie had decided even her mug needed to sparkle.
Jed at the art supply store in town tended to carry a wide range of underglazes, and she remembered seeing some pearlescent blues and purples last time she was in there.
At the time, she'd wanted to buy them but hadn't been able to think of a use for them.
Now, she knew that they would be perfect for making something sparkly for Zia.
She hadn't been sure whether the mug was such a great idea; Zia didn't seem like a clumsy kid, but Callie would hate for her to be upset if she dropped it and it broke.
But even apart from the mug, she was planning to see if she could find a dandelion — or if not, a daisy — that she could press into a mini pendant for Zia.
Another idea she'd had was to head down to the beach and see if she could find a crescent moon-shaped shell. Maybe if she bought a midnight blue pearlescent underglaze, she could make Zia her own little moon pendant. Or a coaster.
She pulled herself back to the moment. She didn't need to figure out all the details right now.
What she needed to do was get her ass into the truck and head into town.
She could stop by the coffee shop, treat herself to a latte to go, and then wander down to the beach to see what treasures she could find.
She offered her thanks to the god of old motors when the truck started on the first try, and soon she was on her way into town. The damp hung cool and heavy in the air until she hit the main road.
It didn't take her long to check in with Jed at the art store, and she came away with several different pearlescent underglazes to try — and a whole bunch of ideas for what else she wanted to use them on.
Next stop was the coffee shop. She loved the guys who owned the place. They'd walked out on corporate careers back in Boston to come out to the coast and actually enjoy life.
Once she had her latte and was on her way, she decided that rather than go to the main beach, she was going to head a little farther north.
She set her coffee in the cup holder and took her phone out of her purse.
She'd texted Alara again before she went to sleep last night, but it was so late that she hadn't expected an answer.
She'd hoped that there might have been one this morning, though.
When she checked, there was still nothing.
She blew out a sigh. She wanted to know how they were doing, wanted to know that Alara was okay. But she'd left a voicemail. She'd sent a text. There wasn't much more she could do. She had to respect that Alara was, as Ollie had said, an independent woman who knew her own mind.
But still, as she headed north, she couldn't stop thinking about them. And when she reached the turnoff to where they'd been parked, she pulled over without really knowing why.
It was silly to go to the place that she'd last seen them. Except... once she was there, she realized why her hunch had brought her.
The camper was still parked at the end of the pullout.
She wasn't sure if it was still in exactly the same spot. She thought it was, but maybe it was farther along now. She worried at her bottom lip. She didn't know. She didn't want Alara to feel like she was here checking on her. But at the same time, she was concerned.
~ ~ ~
When Ollie reached the St. James estate on Friday morning, he hit the remote on his visor and the gates swung open. He pulled through and waited for them to close behind him before carrying on up the driveway that led between the rows of vines.
The sight of the house when it appeared made him think of Zia.
The kid wasn't wrong when she called it a castle.
This place truly looked like one. And that seemed fitting to him.
If he were to name a king of Napa, it'd be Charles.
Not just because he was older and one of the original generation of winemakers who'd put the place on the map — there were a few of them still around.
But also because Charles had a regal air about him.
He laughed at himself as he pulled around the back. It must be Zia's influence on him that had him thinking this way.
His smile faded as he climbed out. Or maybe it was just that he saw Charles as a true king.
An old-school gentleman, at least. While his own father was more like.
.. He didn't know what. He wasn't exactly a villain.
He was just... different. He had a different set of values.
Ollie made a face as he reached the kitchen door.
Fortunately, these days, he rarely had to speak to his dad, let alone see him.
He didn't know why he was dwelling on him today.
He tapped on the door a couple of times, and when he got no answer, he let himself inside. He found Reaves and Charles sitting at the table in front of the bay window in the nook just off the kitchen.
The contrast between the scene before him here and what Reaves had walked into at his place yesterday wasn't lost on him. This place was a home. Reaves and Charles were family.
Ollie gave himself a mental shake. They were as good as family to him, too. It wasn't as though he was all alone in the world. He had Peanut and Butter. And Rosa and Luigi might live in the cottage rather than in the house with him, but they were like family.
"Hey." Reaves greeted him with a grin. "Come sit down. There are pancakes, but there won't be for long if you don't hurry up."
Charles nodded. "There are plenty more, and there's sausage and bacon in the warming drawer if you'd like any." He glanced at Reaves. "I don't think there's any scrambled egg left, though."
"Thanks." Ollie took a plate from the sideboard and sat down to join them.
"And how are things with you?" Charles asked.
"I'm doing well, thanks. How about you?" He was surprised that Charles seemed a little less chipper than usual.
"Everything's fine, thank you."
"Are you sure about that?"
Charles dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Everything will be fine. How about that?"
Ollie glanced at Reaves, who nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"Do you mind if I ask what's going on?" Ollie asked.
"Nothing that I shouldn’t have expected," said Charles. "I think I’ve known for a while that one day I'd have to face the fact that I've fallen so far behind the times that I might not be able to catch back up."
"That's not true, Dad," said Reaves. "And I've already told you — I'll help. I'll do whatever you need me to."
Ollie's heart squeezed in his chest as he watched the look that Charles gave his son.
"I know you would, and I'm grateful. But at this point, Reaves, I'm not sure that I even know what can be done."
Ollie frowned as he watched them talk. "Do you mind if I ask what we're talking about?"
Charles chuckled. "I'm sorry, I should explain. We had the sales figures in. They're not what I would hope."
"But your wines are wonderful," Ollie protested. "Why would sales be down?"
"The distributor who just dropped us informed me that the House of St. James isn't the.
.. vibe—" Charles shook his head "— I think that's the word he used.
That people are looking for in their wines these days.
" He sighed. "And I'm afraid I don't even understand the term well enough to know what to do about it.
" He set his napkin down on the table and pushed his chair back.
"So, I think this might be the point where I have to throw in the towel. "
"Dad, no," exclaimed Reaves. "I keep telling you — I'll do whatever it takes."
"I know you would, son. I know that. But unfortunately, neither of us knows what it would take."
Ollie cleared his throat. He didn't know the first damn thing about wine. He'd never wanted to. But for the first time in his life, he wished he did.
"Surely there's something that can be done. I'll help, too."
Charles tilted his head to the side. "That's a very kind offer, young Oliver, but considering that you own an estate that has to be at least fifty times the size of this place and you've never shown an interest in all these years, you're not going to be able to persuade me that you suddenly care about wine now. Or about the wine business."
"I wouldn't even try. We both know that would be a lie. But I hope you know it's true when I say that I care about you."
"I do." Charles got to his feet and came to stand between them, grasping each of their shoulders. "I'm not totally defeated yet. But I simply don't know the path that might lead me out of this mess."
"Us, Dad," said Reaves. "Lead us out. We're going to get out of this mess. I know I haven't been around as much as I should have been. I know I haven't helped you with the business."
Charles gave his shoulder a shake. "And that's how it should be.
You've been living your life, pursuing your dream — flying.
I won't tie you to the ground to help keep my dream alive.
I've had my turn." He stared out the windows at the rows of vines.
"I've had a good run. If I keep this place going as a hobby, that'll be fine.
As long as I can still produce enough bottles for my own consumption and maybe a few to hand out at the holidays.
" He shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sure you boys have things you want to do.
More enjoyable things than listening to my troubles. "
"But Dad—" Reaves began.
Charles held up his hand. "We'll talk later."