Chapter 5 #2
His tone is straightforward. "I believe in this winery, Sunny. The wine is exceptional and has won plenty of awards, the land is right, and the operation just needs capital to reach its potential. That's why I invested."
He points over his shoulder. "The last time I sat at that bar, you talked about your Nebbiolo like it was a living thing. You said most people give up on it too soon." He pauses. "I'm not most people, and I don't give up on things that are worth the wait."
I open my mouth to fire back something sharp, but the sincerity in his voice stops me. He's not posturing. He's not trying to charm his way past my irritation. He's just standing there, telling me the truth and letting me do whatever I want with it.
"Fine." I uncross my arms and reach for a clean apron on the hook by the door.
I toss it at him, and he catches it reflexively.
"If you're here to learn, then you're here to work.
That means you follow my instructions, you don't touch anything I haven't told you to touch, and you ask before you taste anything out of a tank. "
"Yes, ma'am."
"And don't call me Sunshine."
"I'll take it under advisement." The grin is back.
I turn on my heel and lead him to the first row of fermentation tanks, launching into an explanation of the primary process without preamble. If he wants to learn winemaking, I'm going to teach him, starting with the basics and working up from there.
Charlie listens. His attention isn't the polite, glazed-over kind that people offer when they're waiting for me to finish so they can move on to the fun stuff.
He asks questions that are smarter than I expect, and when he doesn't understand something, he says so instead of nodding along and pretending.
"The temperature during fermentation actually changes the flavor?" he asks, leaning against a tank while I demonstrate how to pull a sample for testing. "It's not just about the grapes themselves or the strain of yeast?"
"The grapes are the starting point. They provide the sugar which the yeast feeds on, but everything that happens after harvest shapes the final wine.
Temperature, timing, the yeast strain, even the vessel you ferment in.
" I pull the sample and hold the glass up to the light, examining the color.
"A winemaker who ignores the process and just relies on good fruit will end up with a mediocre wine every time. "
"So it's not unlike training a horse," he says. "You can start with the best bloodline in the country, but if the training is wrong, the horse will never reach its potential."
I consider that for a moment. "That's not a terrible analogy."
"High praise from you. I'm flattered."
"Don't be. 'Not terrible' is a long way from good."
He laughs, a warm, genuine sound that bounces off the steel tanks.
We work through the morning in a rhythm that's easier than I'd like to admit.
Charlie is a quick study with steady hands and a willingness to do the unglamorous work without complaint.
When I hand him a scrub brush and point him toward a tank that needs cleaning, he rolls up his sleeves and gets to it without a single comment about how this wasn't what he signed up for.
By eleven, it hits me that I’ve been enjoying this.
There’s something about the way Charlie takes things in, curious and engaged without putting on a show, that makes me want to explain more than I usually would.
I catch myself sharing details I tend to keep to myself, the small observations and hard-earned instincts that took years to build.
"You really love this," he says during a pause. He's standing beside me in the barrel room, close enough that I can smell his soap. "Your whole demeanor changes when you talk about wine."
The observation catches me off guard, and heat creeps up the back of my neck. Most people don't notice things like that, or if they do, they don't say it out loud.
"I do love it. This winery gave me a chance when I was twenty-four years old and had nothing but a degree and a lot of opinions. Isabelle believed in me before I'd really proven anything." I pause, surprised at myself for offering that much.
"That goes both ways. Isabelle knows what she has in you."
I glance at him, expecting to see that teasing grin. Instead, his expression is warm and entirely serious. The eye contact holds for a beat too long, and I look away first, reaching for my clipboard.
"Break time," I announce, heading for the tasting room.
We settle at the bar with glasses of water while Tabitha buzzes around preparing for the day's tastings. She shoots me countless meaningful looks in the space of five minutes, all of which I ignore with practiced determination.
"So," I say, because the silence is starting to feel dangerous. "Tell me something about you that doesn't involve horses or investments."
Charlie leans back on his barstool and thinks for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting. "All right. You want to hear about my duck situation?"
"Your what?"
"My sister Rachel surprised me with six ducks last week.
" He shakes his head, chuckling. "Evie, my niece, saw them at the feed store and fell in love. When they brought them home, Mason put his foot down because they already have enough livestock at Lazy Fork. Rachel, being Rachel, decided the obvious solution was to bring them to Twin Oaks while I wasn’t there. "
I stare at him, fighting to keep my expression neutral. "She just gave you ducks. With no warning."
"No warning whatsoever. These ducks have all had their wings clipped, so they need more than just a pond.
They need shelter, fencing to keep the coyotes out, the whole setup.
" Charlie's expression is pure affection mixed with exasperation.
"So now I've got a landscaper building an enclosure behind the barns, complete with a little pond, because Evie named every single one of the damned things and informed me very seriously that if I give away her ducks, she will never forgive me. She's three."
I hold the laugh back, pressing my lips together. "What did your foreman think about that?"
"Wade told me I was on my own and that he doesn't do poultry." Charlie's grin widens. "Gran, on the other hand, thinks they're delightful. She's already picked a favorite and sneaks it treats when she thinks no one's looking."
The laugh comes out before I can catch it. Charlie lights up in response, and for a moment we’re just two people sharing the same ridiculous moment, with no barriers or complications.
"That's the best thing I've heard all week," I tell him, wiping my eyes.
"I figured you'd appreciate the chaos."
"I love ducks." The admission slips out before I can filter it. "I've always wanted one. When I was a kid, my mom took me to a park that had a duck pond, and I was obsessed. I begged her for one every birthday until I was ten."
"Did she ever get you one?"
"We lived in an apartment. There was no room for animals." I shrug, but the memory is a warm one. "I used to save bread crusts and take them to the park every Saturday. The ducks knew me on sight."
Charlie's expression softens, and he leans forward on the bar.
"You should come out to the ranch and see them sometime.
Once the landscaper finishes the enclosure, they'll need visitors who actually like ducks.
Wade's been referring to them exclusively as 'the poultry problem' and I don't think that's good for their self-esteem. "
I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest is spreading. "I'll think about it."
"That's your favorite phrase."
"It's a perfectly reasonable response."
"It's a stalling tactic and we both know it." His tone is light, his eyes dancing with humor.
I take a sip of my water and say nothing, which is its own kind of answer.
We return to the production room and start transferring wine into clean barrels together.
I walk him through the siphon as we go, keeping a hand near the line while he holds it steady.
He picks it up quickly, falling into rhythm with me without getting in the way.
I notice the way his forearms flex as he works, the way his attention locks in when he concentrates.
When I glance at the clock, it's nearly noon. I've kept him an hour past the time Isabelle suggested, and I haven't once wished he would leave.
"That's probably enough for today," I say, pulling off my apron and hanging it on the hook. "You'll want to let everything settle before we get into blending ratios next time."
"I've got a full week at the ranch, but I'll be back next Monday morning if that works for you."
"Of course. Give me your number so I can text you if anything changes with the schedule."
He rattles it off without hesitation, and I punch it into my contacts, telling myself it's strictly professional. He pulls out his own phone. "And yours? In case I'm running late and need to let you know."
I give it to him, and the small exchange feels significant.
"Thank you, Sunny. I mean it. I learned more today than I expected."
"You're a quick study," I admit.
He heads for the door, and I think the day is over, that I've survived several hours of Charlie Hayden in my space without embarrassing myself. Then he pauses with his hand on the doorframe and turns back.
"I want to ask you something," he says. "And I want you to know upfront that your answer doesn't change anything here."
I cross my arms, studying him. The fact that he named the power dynamic before I did releases the knot in my chest.
He runs a hand through his hair. "I know you said you’d think about it, and I’ve been hoping that wasn’t a polite no." His mouth twitches, but his gaze holds steady. "Would you have dinner with me? Just us, somewhere nobody’s watching."
My heart is hammering against my ribs, and I'm grateful that my arms are crossed because it hides the tremor in my hands. Everything in my brain is screaming at me to deflect, to make a joke, to say something sharp that will send him on his way and keep the safe distance I've maintained for years.
But my mouth has other plans.
"Sure." The word is out before I can catch it, hanging in the air between us like a bell that's already been rung.
Charlie's brows shoot up, his head jerking back in genuine surprise. "Sure?" he repeats.
"Yeah." I swallow hard, ignoring the heat rushing to my cheeks. "But I pick the restaurant."
"Deal." His face softens, a quiet satisfaction taking hold.
"Das Edelgarten. It's in Fredericksburg." The words are coming faster now, as if my mouth has decided to commit fully before my brain can mount a counteroffensive. "Saturday night. Seven o'clock."
"Saturday at seven. Das Edelgarten. I'll pick you up at six-thirty."
I hold his look for a moment, and the honesty in his hazel eyes makes my breath catch. There are no clever lines, no deflections, no charming maneuvers.
"Okay. I'll text you my address," I offer.
His smile softens into something private, meant only for me. "Later, Sunshine," he says, his voice smooth like melted chocolate. Then he pushes off the doorframe and disappears. I hear Tabitha call out a cheerful goodbye as he leaves.
I press my hand against my chest where my heart is still pounding. I just agreed to dinner with Charlie Hayden, and the strangest part is that I don't want to take it back.
Tabitha appears in the doorway, looking unbearably pleased. "Charlie just walked through my tasting room with the biggest smile I've ever seen on a man's face. You want to tell me what happened, or should I guess?"
"Nothing happened."
"Sunny Reese, that man was practically floating." She crosses her arms. "Spill."
I try to hold out, but Tabitha's stare is relentless. "We're having dinner Saturday."
Tabitha lets out a squeal that could shatter crystal, clapping her hands. "I knew this was going to happen. It was only a matter of time." She presses both hands to her chest. "Where?"
"Das Edelgarten."
Her eyes go wide. "That's one of the nicest restaurants in Hill Country."
"I’m aware. That's why I picked it."
"You're going to need a dress."
"I have dresses."
Tabitha tsks. "You’ve got three funeral dresses and one yellow sundress that's been in the back of your closet since you moved here." She holds up a hand to stop my protest. "I've seen your closet, Sunny."
"For the record, I wore the sundress to his grandmother’s dinner party," I mutter, turning back to my equipment.
"He's a good one," Tabitha says, her tone shifting from teasing to warm. "You know that, right?"
I do know that. That's the part that terrifies me.
"Don't you have a tasting room to run?"
"Don't you have wine to make?" Her footsteps retreat, and then she calls over her shoulder, "We're going shopping this week. Don't even try to argue with me."
I turn back to the work and let my attention settle where it belongs.
The familiar order of it pulls me in, steadies something that’s been off-balance since Charlie walked through the door.
Time moves without me tracking it, the light shifting across the floor as the afternoon wears on, and I stay right where I am.
My phone buzzes several hours later. Charlie's name lights up the screen.
I’ll be counting the days. See you Saturday. -C
I don’t fight the smile this time. I'm genuinely looking forward to Saturday, and I have no idea what to do with that except let it happen.
It’s four days away, and instead of dreading the stretch of it, I find myself anticipating it.
It feels like something’s finally moving in the right direction.