Chapter Four – Cassia
This was crazy. She was agreeing to a two-week trial for a job that, until a couple of minutes ago, did not exist. Worse, the job was at a restaurant that also did not exist.
She should just get out of there, go back home…
What a joke! She did not have a home. Not anymore.
And hadn’t she wanted a fresh start? They sure didn’t come any fresher than this.
She glanced around the tasting room, her eyes settling on the swirling patterns of old wine stains on the floor. “So…where do we start?”
“First, let me show you where we actually produce and store the wines,” Kris said, clearing his throat. “We’ve got some older barrels we can taste from. That’ll give you a good place to start when it comes to potential pairings. And from there, I guess we’ll also talk about your vision for the food side.”
He rose from his chair, retrieving his half-finished glass of Merlot. Cassia stood, too, still clutching hers. He gestured for her to follow him to a side door that led deeper into the production area. Steel tanks and tall racks of barrels loomed around them while a faint hum from the cooling system created a subdued background noise.
“I love the scale of this,” she remarked, running her free hand along a row of stacked crates labeled by year. “It’s big enough to be significant, but still feels personal.” She glanced at him. “That’s how wine should be. Intimate, with a story behind every bottle. Don’t you think?”
Kris offered a small nod, the corners of his mouth lifting in a subtle smile. “Exactly. Wine is not just about mass production. It’s about connecting people with a particular place. We try to keep it that way.”
Cassia let her gaze drift across the towering shelves of dusty bottles and labeled crates. Each date, each variety, represented a chapter in Thornberg Vineyard’s story. One she hoped she’d get to be part of.
Was she ready for this? Was she good enough?
A flutter of nerves stirred in her stomach. If Kris was going to push forward with plans for the restaurant because of her, she did not want to let him down.
But as her gaze landed on Kris, the flutter turned to excitement. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was fate. She was meant to see that ad, and she was meant to be here.
Was it ridiculous that she sensed he felt something, too?
He paused before a row of large barrels, resting his palm on the smooth oak. “We have a mixture of both French and American oak here,” he explained. “Different barrels for different wines, different intensities. You can get everything from subtle vanilla notes to deep smoky undertones.”
Cassia nodded, absorbing his words. “I’d love to note these differences. It’ll help me think about the menu. The kind of dishes that might go well with the intensities you get from each aging process.”
Kris flicked his gaze to her, and she was struck by how earnest he looked. Despite the jokes about a non-existent job, he believed in this place. It radiated off him in the way he lingered over the details, the way he smoothed his fingers across the barrel’s surface as though it were precious.
She closed her eyes briefly, imagining his fingers trailing across her skin as if she were precious to him, too.
“So, shall we?” he said, and her eyes flew open as her cheeks flushed pink. It was a good thing he could not read her mind.
But she sure would love to read his. What exactly did he think of her? It’s not every day that a stranger turns up unannounced for an interview for a nonexistent job. Yet he’d been such a gentleman about the whole thing.
“Cassia?”
She shook her head, trying to focus, but it was near impossible when he was so close. “Sorry, I was just thinking about…” You , a small voice inside her added.
“Thinking about?” He leaned slightly forward, his dark eyes mesmerizing. And she longed to thread her hands around his neck and pull him closer.
“The wines, the menu…” She smiled brightly—too brightly. “But I should probably learn more about your different vintages before I start planning anything concrete.”
“Then come this way.” Kris motioned for her to follow him toward a steel platform where a few smaller barrels were set apart. “This batch has been aging for about twelve months. It’s one of our more experimental blends. We tried a heavier Cabernet base with some lighter, fruitier grapes for a layered effect. Do you want to sample?”
Cassia smiled and nodded, never able to say no to tasting. “Absolutely.”
Kris grabbed a small, stainless steel sampling tube from a nearby hook and carefully drew out a measure of deep, ruby-red liquid. Cassia held out her glass, and he poured the sample into a slow stream. The wine’s aroma wafted up to meet her senses before it even settled. She closed her eyes to focus, inhaling slowly. “Ooh,” she murmured softly. “Dark fruit…blackberries, maybe a hint of blackcurrant. And there’s a bit of spice—cinnamon? Possibly clove?”
Kris watched her intently. “That’s exactly what we’re aiming for. A bit of depth and warmth.”
She took a sip, letting the wine linger on her tongue. It was bold, a touch tannic, but still balanced enough to leave a smooth finish. “I’m picturing a menu item that plays with those same spice elements. Maybe something slow-cooked—short ribs with a cinnamon-clove rub. That would really draw out the warm notes.”
His eyes lit up. “Short ribs, huh? I can see that being a hit in a cozy vineyard setting.” A self-conscious grin tugged at his lips. “Look at us, brainstorming. Feels good to be making progress, right?”
She let out a small laugh. “Yeah, it does. A lot better than me standing around, feeling like I’d stumbled into some kind of cosmic misunderstanding.”
“A cosmic understanding, huh?” He looked as though he wanted to say more, then hesitated. “Anyway, I have a feeling your ideas could really inspire us.” He then quickly added, “To actually start the restaurant.”
She’d never seen herself as inspiring anyone or anything before. But it was hard not to be inspired by Thornberg Vineyard. Or Kris Thornberg himself, a man who surely could work magic, judging by the wines she’d tasted so far.
She lowered her gaze to the wine in her glass, staring at the swirl of deep red. She could fall for a man like him.
But that was not happening. She needed to keep her personal life separate from her professional one, or she might blow this chance at a dream job.
She caught Kris watching her, and for a breathless second, she wondered if he could read her thoughts. The notion made her heart pound. She cleared her throat, setting the glass aside on a nearby barrel. “I should probably jot some notes down before we move on.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “My mind’s racing with ideas, and I don’t want to forget any.”
Kris nodded, stepping aside to give her space. “Sure, go for it. I’ll draw another sample if you’d like, from an older barrel we keep around the corner.”
“That’d be great,” Cassia agreed, rummaging in her purse for a small notepad and pen. It was bright pink, a reminder of the lightheartedness she used to feel before her fiancé’s betrayal. Focus on the now, she told herself, flipping it open. At the top of the page, she wrote Thornberg Vineyard - Sample Blends , then quickly scribbled tasting notes:
Crisp fruit with a subtle spice—blackcurrant, blackberries. Potential dish: spiced short ribs or slow-cooked lamb with a cinnamon-clove rub.
She paused, chewing her lower lip, then jotted down a quick reference: 12 months in American oak, heavier on Cab base.
“All right,” Kris said from behind her. How could a man his size move so quietly? “Here’s something older by a couple of years. I took a slightly different approach with this one.”
“Intriguing.” She turned, holding out her glass again as he poured. “Thank you.” She quickly wrote down the label’s details from the barrel’s side.
The wine had a richer, deeper aroma, more leathery or earthy, with a wisp of cedar. She took a careful sip. This one had a more robust structure, with a lasting finish. “Mmm. It’s heavier. Could stand up to something with real weight. A steak or a braised dish with mushrooms—portobellos, maybe.”
Kris nodded. “I like that idea. Mushrooms bring an earthy undertone that mirrors the barrel’s effect.”
She jotted more notes as Kris lingered near her shoulder. She didn’t need to see him to know he was there; it felt as though some invisible cord connected them.
Kris cleared his throat, and she glanced up. “Does this mean you’re willing to take a chance on…me?”
She swallowed hard. Was it her imagination, or had the temperature risen by five degrees? “I won’t pretend it’s not daunting,” she admitted. “But it’s also exciting. I guess I’m at a place in my life where I want to give myself permission to take a risk. Make a fresh start.”
He nodded, understanding flickering across his features. “A fresh start. I get that. It’s easy to get stuck in a rut,” he said with a small, knowing smile. Then, as if to lighten the mood, he gestured around them. “So, want to sample a couple more? I can show you the main lineup we’ve already bottled.”
“More wine tasting,” she said, matching his lighter tone. “Absolutely. Let’s do it.”
They wandered back to the original tasting room, where multiple bottles lined the walls. Kris selected two more, a crisp white and a lighter-bodied red. He arranged them on a small counter near the front window, beckoning Cassia to join him.
When she stepped closer, he offered her a clean glass. “This one’s a Viognier,” he explained, uncorking with a smooth twist. “It’s more floral, with hints of peach. Great for a dish that needs some sweet fruit notes without being overtly sugary.”
She raised her brows, scribbling the name and vintage in her notebook. “So maybe a spring salad with goat cheese, something that picks up on those floral notes?”
Kris nodded, clearly impressed. “Exactly. If we’re aiming for a seasonal menu, that’d be perfect in warmer months.”
“So,” she ventured as she made a final note, “you seem unbelievably accommodating. Are you always this friendly to strangers who show up for made-up positions?”
He chuckled a low, rich sound that made her heart flutter. “Friendly might be stretching it. I suppose I just don’t want to miss an opportunity, especially one that came knocking in such a strange way.” His gaze flicked aside for a split second. “And…I guess I believe in fate more than most.”
Her lips parted slightly. Fate . She closed her notepad, hugging it to her side like a shield. “In that case, I’m glad I showed up, too.”
He set his glass down, tapping a finger on the tabletop. “Tomorrow…why don’t we start drafting an outline of the menu? We can talk about style, maybe some sample dishes. The best approach might be a small selection to start with, pairing each item with one of our wines. Then we can expand once we see what people like.”
Cassia nodded, excitement coursing through her. “Yes, definitely. I’d be thrilled to help. Matching flavors to wine and seeing how each enhances the other is one of my favorite things.” A hint of doubt crept in. “Though I’ll be honest, I’ve never built a restaurant concept from scratch.”
Kris shrugged. “Neither have I. But we’ll figure it out together.” Then his expression grew more serious. “And if at any point it feels…not right, or you get cold feet, just tell me. I don’t want you feeling stuck.”
She swallowed. “I appreciate that.” His sincerity nudged a lump of emotion into her throat. He actually cares how I feel, she realized, and it gave her hope that trusting him wasn’t a mistake.
Tucking her notepad into her purse, she glanced at the clock. She hadn’t realized how quickly the afternoon had turned to evening, but the shadows outside had deepened. “I guess I should go,” she said, a twinge of reluctance pinching her chest. “I still need to figure out where I’m staying tonight. I can’t exactly sleep in my car.” She tried to sound casual, but her nerves buzzed at the prospect of searching for a motel this late.
Kris’s eyes widened a fraction. “Oh. Right.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a place in the mountains—Bear Creek Lodge—that might have vacancies. But if you want something more…homely, I could call my aunt. She and my uncle live up in the mountains, and they have a small guest house they sometimes rent out.”
Cassia hesitated. “I really don’t want to impose on your family any more than I already am.”
He waved off the concern. “Trust me, it’s no imposition. My aunt loves hosting people. She’s been known to mother-hen folks so thoroughly, they stay longer than planned.” A fond smile tugged at his lips. “Let me at least check. If it doesn’t work out, we can look for something else in town.”
Her heart flip-flopped. She wasn’t used to such kindness from strangers. “All right, but only if you’re sure.”
He didn’t bother responding, just pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. As he waited for the call to connect, Cassia wandered across the tasting room, letting her gaze roam over the neatly arranged bottles on the wooden shelves. The lingering scent of wine in the air, mingled with faint oak and fruit, gave her a sense of belonging.
Don’t get carried away, Cass, she warned herself. You barely know this place. Or him.
But when she thought of how Kris’s eyes lit with pride whenever he talked about his wines, her stomach filled with a thousand tiny butterflies. Yes, you’re definitely in trouble here.
She caught snippets of his conversation: “Yes, Aunt Mel,” and, “That’s great, thanks so much.” Then Kris ended the call and turned to her.
“They have space, no problem. My aunt says you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
“Thank you, Kris. Really. I appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Cassia’s heart gave a few irregular thumps, a pleasant sensation that also made her feel the floor might disappear beneath her feet. She cleared her throat and looked at her car keys.
“I should probably head out, so I can find my way there before it’s completely dark.”
“Of course,” Kris agreed, walking with her to the door, their footsteps echoing on the cool floor.
They stepped outside into the fading light. The sky was streaked with gold and lavender, and the air held that sweet scent of sunbaked earth cooling for the night. Cassia inhaled deeply, feeling a calm settle over her. Kris accompanied her to her car, and once they reached it, she paused by the driver’s door, not wanting to leave.
He paused, too, lifting his hand slightly as if to reach for her, then lowering it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” he asked softly, like he wasn’t quite ready for her to go.
She nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yes. First thing in the morning, we can talk menus or whatever you guys want to do to get this restaurant going.”
“That’d be good.” He exhaled, running his fingers through his hair in that distracted way she already found endearing. “And if you need anything tonight—directions, or if you get lost—just call. The cell signal can be spotty, but you should catch enough bars in certain areas.”
She unlocked her car door and slid inside. Kris lingered by the window, leaning down slightly. “Drive safe, all right?”
She swallowed. “I will. Thanks again, Kris.”
His eyes held hers for a moment longer than expected. Then he stepped back. She closed the door and started the engine. As she eased the car around, he lifted his hand in a small wave, and she waved back, feeling a surprising pang of reluctance to leave.
The last glimpse she had of him was his tall silhouette framed by the vineyard, arms crossed over his chest as though he were wrestling with his own mix of emotions. Then the bend in the gravel driveway hid him from view.
And she wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his strong arms, her head resting against his chest.