Chapter 1 #2
Sunny clears her throat and reaches for the last bottle, and I catch the slight hesitation before her fingers close around it, the pause of someone who's realized she let the conversation wander somewhere she hadn't intended.
"This is the Viognier." She uncorks it with a firmer motion, resettling into her professional mien.
"It’s our estate-grown white. The grapes come from the hillside just past the courtyard. "
I taste it, and the stone fruit and citrus I remember from my first visit are all there, but this time I pick up something I missed before.
Something delicate underneath that reminds me of the wildflowers along the fence line at the ranch.
"I bought a bottle of this the first time I was here, but I didn't catch that floral note before. "
Sunny blinks, and for the first time she seems genuinely impressed rather than grudgingly so.
"Most people never catch it, period. That's the terroir showing through.
" Pride softens her voice, warming it from the inside.
"The limestone soil and the drainage here are perfect for Viognier.
We've been growing it for almost ten years, and every vintage is better than the last." She catches herself, seeming to register how much she's given away, and draws back behind that wall of detachment.
"Your grandmother ordered a bottle of that too. She's a smart woman."
"She has her moments."
"I'm sure she does." Sunny's gaze flicks to mine, and a genuine smile breaks through before she can stop it. Small and reluctant, as if she's annoyed at herself for letting it happen. "So. Which was your favorite?"
"The Nebbiolo. Not even close."
Something flickers in her expression. Surprise, maybe, or the particular satisfaction of being understood. "Most people go for the Sangiovese."
"I told you, Sunny. I'm not most people."
"And I told you the jury's still out." But she's still fighting that smile when she says it. She taps a few keys on the register, the screen reflecting faintly in her eyes. "Two hundred eighty dollars. Cash or card?"
"That's it? We're done?"
"Your grandmother's order is ready. That's what you came for." She says it to the register, not to me.
I hand over my card. "What if I came for something else?"
Her hand stills. I watch her jaw tighten, see the war play out across her face.
She runs the card without answering, prints the receipt, and slides everything back across the bar.
Our fingers brush when I take it, and the contact sends a jolt up my arm that has nothing to do with static electricity.
She pulls her hand back first. "Tabitha can help you with anything else."
"Maybe I'll see you around."
"Maybe." She shrugs, already stepping back. "It's a small town."
"Getting smaller by the day."
That earns me a real reaction, a short, surprised laugh that she cuts off almost as soon as it escapes. She presses her fingers to her lips, but the damage is done. I heard it. And from the way her cheeks flush, she knows it.
She turns and heads toward the back hallway without another word, but just before she disappears through the doorway, her hand sneaks up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
It's a small gesture, the kind a woman makes when she knows someone is watching and can't quite bring herself to ignore it.
Tabitha appears at my elbow, an eyebrow raised with an expression that suggests she caught more of that exchange than she's letting on. "All set?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"She warmed up to you faster than she does most people." Tabitha bags the four bottles and nods toward the door. "Give her time. She'll come around."
I carry the bag out to my truck. The afternoon sun is bright enough to make me squint as I glance back toward the tasting room windows. Light spills from deeper inside. She’s back there somewhere.
On the way back to Twin Oaks, my grip stays tight on the wheel, my mind nowhere near the road. It’s still at the winery, stuck on the way Sunny went still for a moment before she drew herself together.
When I pull up to the house, Gran is on the front porch with a book in her lap and reading glasses perched on her nose. She glances up as I stroll across the porch.
"Did you get the wine?" she asks, all innocence.
"Right here." I hold up the bag.
"And did you meet Sunny?"
Oscar appears at the door before I can reach for the handle, and I hand him the bag. "The wine for the dinner party."
"Very good, Master Charlie." He disappears inside with the bottles, and I turn back to Gran.
"I met her on the highway, you know that. And I saw her the day Rachel took me to the winery. You're not being very subtle."
Gran's smile doesn't waver. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Tabitha recommended a tasting and I simply requested their best person walk you through the pairings." She marks her page and closes her book. "How was she?"
I lean against the porch post and cross my arms, but I can't keep the grin off my face. "She's beautiful. Prickly. Sarcastic. She tried to get out of helping me and argued with Tabitha about having barrels to rack."
Gran's eyes sharpen with interest. "And?"
"And then she spent fifteen minutes talking about wine like it was the most important thing in the world, let her guard down exactly once, and laughed before she could stop herself."
"That sounds promising."
"She also couldn't wait to get rid of me."
Gran scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "The easy ones aren't worth having, Charles. You should know that by now."
I bend down and press a kiss to her cheek. "I've got to get back to work. Wade's been handling the yearlings by himself."
"Go on, then." She pats my arm and picks up her book. "And Charles? Wear the blue shirt to dinner Saturday."
I chuckle and head for the barn, the afternoon heat wrapping around me as I cross the yard. Wade has a young horse in the round pen, circling at an easy lope and responding to quiet commands with the kind of trust that only comes from steady, patient handling.
Leaning against the fence rail, I watch for a minute, but my mind isn’t on the horse. It’s on the way Sunny’s voice shifted when she talked about the wine. The way her guard slipped when she forgot to keep me at arm’s length. That smile she tried to hide and the laugh that got past her anyway.
She said the difficult wines reward patience. I don’t think she was just talking about what’s in the bottle.
I push off the fence and head for the barn. There’s work to be done and a breeding program that won’t run itself even if my head is still back at that bar.
Gran’s dinner party is three days away. The guest list might be set, but the look on her face says otherwise.
And if I know my grandmother, she’s not done yet.