Chapter 10
Charlie
It's been less than twenty-four hours since I left Sunny Reese's bed, and I'm crouched beside the duck pond at seven in the morning, taking photos of Gerald.
Yes, I'm a thirty-five-year-old man squatting in damp grass, angling my phone for the perfect shot of a duck on a pink bridge.
This is what I've become. But Sunny loved the last Gerald photo I sent her, and that is a currency worth more than gold, or any embarrassing early morning photography session.
Gerald's perched precariously on the pink bridge with his wings half-spread and his bill tipped toward the sky, looking so absurdly majestic that I can't not capture it.
My knees pop as I shift for a better angle.
I hit send with the same stupid grin I've been wearing every time I think about her, which is roughly every four minutes.
Sunny's reply comes back in under a minute:
You're obsessed with those ducks.
I type back:
Lies. I'm documenting ranch assets for tax purposes.
She answers:
You took fourteen duck photos yesterday, Charlie. That's not documentation. That's a love affair.
I smile at my phone and glance at Kevin, who is glaring at me from across the water with the outraged posture of a bird who has already bitten three people this week.
"Don't look at me like that. I have a reputation to maintain."
Yesterday, between checking on the yearlings and reviewing feed orders, I sent Sunny a video of Pearl nosing at the fence rail looking for apple slices, a photo of Biscuit asleep on top of Wadsworth, and a sunset shot where the light turned the pastures the exact shade of gold that reminds me of her hair.
I almost didn't send that last one. It felt like too much, the kind of thing a man sends when he's past the point of playing it cool and feels more like a declaration. But the memory of Sunny curled against my shoulder overrode whatever caution I had left.
Now I'm showered, caffeinated, and pulling into the Willow Sage parking lot with two coffees and a spring in my step. The lot is quiet this early, just Tabitha's car, Sunny's truck, and a delivery van near the side entrance. I grab the coffees and head for the production room.
The scent hits me first, oak and steel and the fruity sweetness that I've come to associate with Sunny's world the way saddle leather and hay belong to mine. The hum of the climate control fills the room with the low, constant hum that Sunny once told me she finds more soothing than music.
She's at the worktable, bent over the production log with her pen moving in quick, precise strokes.
Her hair is in a tight braid and a faint purple stain runs along the outside of her forearm.
She's wearing the faded navy tank top and jeans that have become her uniform in my mind, and is utterly absorbed in her work.
I could stand here and watch her like this all morning.
I set her coffee at her elbow the way I always do.
"Morning, Sunshine."
She picks up the cup, takes a sip, and the smile she gives me is soft. "Good morning. And thank you." Then she sets the cup down and taps her pen against the log. "You sent me a photo of Pearl at six forty-five this morning."
"She looked cute and the light was perfect. I also sent you some great shots of the ducks. I thought you'd appreciate them."
"I was pulling samples." She takes another sip of coffee. "My phone buzzed on the worktable and I almost knocked a line of glasses over reaching for it because I thought maybe you missed me."
"Sunshine, I missed you before I hit the end of your street yesterday morning."
The flush that creeps up her neck tells me that landed exactly where I aimed. She recovers by pointing her pen at me. "So instead of saying that, you send me a photo of Pearl."
"Pearl is very photogenic."
"She's a horse, Charlie. She doesn't need a publicist."
"Have you seen her mane? She absolutely does.
" I lean against the worktable and take a sip of my own coffee, watching the twitch at her mouth turn into something she has to actively fight.
"Besides, I needed to document the duck situation.
Gerald's been standing on that bridge every morning like he's posing for a portrait. I think he knows he's handsome."
The fight is lost and the grin that breaks across her face sends a jolt through me that I feel all the way to my boots. "You love those ducks."
"I do not love those ducks."
"Charlie." She sets the pen down and turns on her stool to face me fully.
Her blue eyes are bright with a teasing warmth.
"You built them a pond. You commissioned a pink bridge.
You send me multiple photos a day of individual ducks doing mundane duck activities.
The slow-motion video of Karen splashing in the water trough was a masterpiece. "
"First of all, Evie would have disowned me if I hadn't given those ducks a proper home. And second, that was a cool video."
"It was great, and you are completely, hopelessly in love with those ducks."
"I'm in love with the idea of not being attacked by Kevin. There's a difference."
Her laugh echoes through the room. Three weeks ago it was something I had to pry out with patience and well-timed jokes. Now it comes freely and often, and the change in her is something I notice every time I walk through this door.
She's relaxed. The sarcasm and the sharp wit are still part of who she is, but they come wrapped in warmth now, and the difference shows in a dozen small ways.
How she touches my arm when she's making a point about barrel selection.
Or the way she curled into me in her sleep Monday night like I'd always been there.
I run my thumb along the stain on her forearm. She goes still at the contact, and then her eyes close for a fraction of a second before she catches herself and opens them.
"You've got wine on your arm," I tell her.
"Hazard of the job," she says, glancing at the stain. She doesn't pull away from my hand, and the deliberate stillness of her, the choice to stay instead of stepping back, tells me more than words would.
I trace the line of her jaw, and then drop my hand. Grabbing my coffee, I ask, "What's on the agenda today, boss?"
Her gaze holds mine for a beat, and the flush at the base of her throat is faint but visible.
Then she turns back to the worktable and picks up her pen, all business.
"I want to finish the blending trials on the new white.
We're down to two ratios, and I need a final decision before the end of the week.
" She slides a row of sample bottles toward me.
I tie on my apron without argument. She hands me a pair of clean sample glasses, and our fingers brush during the exchange. The small current of heat that passes between us is something even Sunny has stopped trying to hide.
She lines up six sample glasses and walks me through the fining process, tilting a glass toward the fluorescent light so I can see the faint haze suspended in the wine.
She swirls the sample with a flick of her wrist and holds it beside a treated one.
The difference is visible even to me, one cloudy, the other catching the light clean and bright.
"See that?" She taps the second glass. "That's the window. You want to land right there."
Between samples, Sunny caps a bottle and glances at me. "Kevin bite anyone new this week?"
"One of my ranch hands walked too close to the enclosure and Kevin went for his ankle through the fence. Poor guy jumped like he'd stepped on a rattler."
Sunny snickers. "Kevin doesn't start fights. He finishes them." She pulls the next sample and swirls it, checking the clarity.
I'm holding a sample glass up to the light, studying the color, when the door opens and Isabelle walks in.
She carries her standard clipboard and the no-nonsense look of a woman who doesn't waste time on small talk. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and her boots click against the concrete floor as she crosses to the worktable.
"Good morning, you two." She gives me a warm smile. "How's the training going, Charlie?"
"Great," I tell her. "Sunny's been thorough, and I'm picking up more than I expected."
Sunny glances at me. "He's being modest. He's got one of the best palates I've worked with."
Isabelle looks between us with a knowing smile.
"Good to hear. Based on that, I think you're almost ready to start rotating through the other departments.
Diego could use your help in the vineyard.
He wants to walk you through the canopy management and irrigation systems before harvest season ramps up. "
The news hits with a pang. I've known the rotation was coming. It's the whole point of the training, understanding every part of the winery from the ground up so I can be an informed investor. But the idea of not spending my mornings with Sunny leaves a gap I can already feel.
"I'm looking forward to working with Diego," I say over the lump in my throat. "When do I transition out there?"
"Another week or so. We’ll see." Isabelle flips a page on her clipboard. "Don't forget the private distributor tasting is next Thursday. We've confirmed a strong list of potential customers from across the region. This is our best opportunity to rebuild the wholesale pipeline."
"I've had my attorney in Austin reaching out to restaurant groups," I tell her.
"A few of them have already confirmed they'll attend, and he's working on more.
I'll have him send you the list." I lean my hip against the worktable and meet Isabelle's gaze.
"I'm also available for set up, teardown, and working the room. Whatever you need, Isabelle."
Isabelle's shoulders drop, and she exhales through her nose.
"That's exactly what I was hoping to hear.
Thank you, Charlie. Tabitha has the event management under control, but it'll be good to have an extra pair of hands available.
And with your contacts attending, I think we have a solid chance of making a difference. "
"It will," Sunny says, and the quiet certainty in her voice draws both our gazes. "The wine speaks for itself. We just need the right people to try it."
Isabelle nods and tucks the clipboard under her arm, heading for the door. She pauses with her hand on the frame. "Oh! Sunny, I'll need your tasting lineup for the event by Monday." Isabelle disappears down the hallway.
"You'll have it tomorrow," Sunny calls out.
The production room settles back into its usual quiet, and Sunny picks up her pen and returns to the log. I watch her write for a moment, the focused downward tilt of her head and the way her braid falls over one shoulder, and the reality of my future rotation settles in.
"You know," I say, leaning my elbows on the worktable, "just because I'm moving to Diego's department soon doesn't mean you'll be rid of me."
She doesn't look up, but her pen slows and the corner of her mouth curves. "Okay."
I wait until she lifts her gaze, and those blue eyes hit me full force. "Your coffee's not going to deliver itself. And someone has to keep you updated on Kevin's reign of terror." I lean forward on my elbows. "You're stuck with me, Sunshine."
The grin spreads across her face, and the blush that follows travels from her collarbones to her cheeks in a slow wave. She bites her lower lip, and the sight of it nearly derails my train of thought entirely.
"You're impossible," she says.
"I've heard that a time or two."
She shakes her head, but the grin stays, and the softness in the set of her jaw tells me everything her words don’t. We finish the blending trials by late morning, and the final ratio is the one we both agree on.
We clean up the morning's work and I hang my apron on the hook by the door. When I turn around, she's leaning against the worktable with her arms crossed.
"Come to dinner Sunday at the ranch," I offer. "Gran's been asking about you."
Sunny tilts her head. "Sunday dinner at Twin Oaks. Should I be nervous?"
"You've already met the whole family. This is the easy part." I fold my arms across my chest. "I also thought we could get in another riding lesson before dinner. Pearl's been restless, and I think she misses you."
"Pearl misses the apple slices I brought her."
"She perked up when I mentioned your name this morning. Swear to God."
Sunny's expression softens. "Fine. I'll come to dinner." Then she straightens. "But I want quality time with the ducks." She says it with complete seriousness. "I need to work on my relationship with Kevin."
"Nobody has a relationship with that demon duck. Kevin has enemies and people he hasn't bitten yet."
"Then I'll be the first. I have a way with difficult personalities."
"I've noticed."
"I also want to meet Evie," she adds. "I've heard so many stories about this child that I feel like I already know her, and I need to verify whether she's as formidable as you claim."
"She's a three-foot terror and she runs that household," I answer. "Mason does whatever she tells him, and he's more than twice her size."
"I can't wait." The words are laced with humor. "What time should I be there?"
"One o'clock. That should give us plenty of time for your riding lesson and your duck diplomacy. Fair warning, though, Kevin holds a grudge."
She laughs, and I carry the sound of it with me, past Tabitha behind the bar, and out into the parking lot.
Sunday's just three days away. And somehow, that already feels too damn long.