CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lennox
I didn’t see Naomi on the property when I picked Mabel up after school on Friday. I texted her though. She said she was “up to her elbows” in cases of wine, and that she’d touch base with me later.
Since the winery opened tomorrow for the season, I knew all the “Vino Vixens,” as they were apparently called by the islanders, would be busy. So I didn’t push seeing her. Even though all I wanted to do was repeat last night, over and over and over again.
I went to bed with an erection—which I took care of because no way was I getting to sleep otherwise—and woke up with one.
I took care of that one too. Every thought was consumed by Naomi.
Her smile, her laugh, her quirky sense of humor, her bluntness, her brains, and of course, her body.
She was so responsive, and had zero qualms giving me pointers.
And I was all for getting feedback, constructive, positive, and negative.
I wanted to make her come almost more than I wanted to breathe.
“You missed the turn,” Mabel said from the front seat as we bumbled down the pothole-riddled road away from the winery.
“Did I? Shit.”
She gave me a funny look.
“How was your day?” I asked, giving my head a little shake to hopefully dislodge some of the X-rated thoughts about Naomi careening around in there.
She shrugged. “Fine.”
“I need more than that, and you know it. Never in the history of our father-daughter relationship has ‘fine’ ever sufficed. Three things that you did today. Full sentences. I need at least one noun, one adjective, and one verb in each of those sentences. And if those sentences happen to have emotions in them, then bonus points for you.”
“What do I get if I get bonus points?”
I shot her some side-eye.
“Where are we going anyway? Because the house was two turns ago.”
“Spencer texted me and said we should pop to the distillery.”
She didn’t say anything but her face relaxed.
“Three things,” I reminded her.
With a deep sigh, she started counting on her fingers. “We finished our homework at the kitchen table together. He asked me for help with a couple of math questions. I helped him. And I felt … nostalgic about it?” She glanced at me. “Is that a suitable emotion?”
I nodded and refrained from snorting with mirth. “Why’d you feel nostalgic?”
“Because it’s been ages since I did that math.”
Right.
I should have known.
“Then, we had lunch … because we were hungry. He made us grilled cheese sandwiches using sourdough bread with olives and rosemary in the bread, and Havarti cheese. I chopped up cucumbers to go on the side. Then we ate our lunch. Which made us feel full. There. Three things.”
“That was two.”
“No. That was three. The homework, the making of the food, and then eating of the food. Technically, it was three activities.”
My chest inflated with a deep inhale as I pulled off the road and down the long, narrow driveway that led to the distillery. A moment later, it opened up into a big open space, lined on every side by towering evergreens.
“Do they sell food here?” she asked. “I’m hungry again.”
“I think so. Like appies and stuff.”
We climbed out of the truck, my child with her sketchbook and phone—of course.
Spencer was behind the bar and greeted us with a big smile when the door chimed after opening. “Hey, stranger!” he called out. He set a cocktail onto the wide, glossy, wooden bar for a customer before coming out to greet us properly. He opened his arms for a hug, and I stepped into embrace him.
“Hey, Spence,” I said, my tone remorseful. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to come by.”
We parted, and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “No worries, man. You’re still getting settled in. I get it. Besides, the kids have been keeping tabs on you and filling me in.” He winked and focused on Mabel. “Hey, Mabes. How’s it going?”
My daughter lifted one shoulder with zero commitment. “Fine. What kind of food do you serve here? I’m hungry.”
Spencer grinned his bright, straight, white teeth. “Not a ton. We’ve got bar snacks, mostly. The salty variety to keep people ordering beverages.”
Mabel made a face of being impressed. “That’s actually a very clever business strategy.”
Spencer’s green eyes lit up, and he laughed. “Thanks. I can have the cook whip you up a grilled cheese, or some nachos if you’d like? We also do onion rings, fries, deep fried pickles. Or we’ve got potato chips, olives, pretzels.”
“I would like a small plate of nachos, please,” she said. “No jalapenos, please. And no guacamole. Avocados taste like soap. But extra black olives if you have them.”
Chuckling again, Spencer nodded and headed behind the bar, calling through the chest-height window into the back. “Nachos. No guac, no jalapenos. And load that sucker up with black olives.”
Someone in the back yelled, “Heard.”
“What can I get you guys to drink?” Spencer asked as Mabel and I slid onto adjacent barstools.
“Surprise me,” I said.
“I’ll have a ginger ale, please.” Mabel opened her sketchpad to a drawing of a very realistic robin. It always amazed me how wonderful an artist she was.
“Hey, that’s really good,” Spencer said, setting down Mabel’s ginger ale in front of her. “You drew that?”
“Yes. Today. I went over to Damon Campbell’s house, because it makes sense that we should become acquaintances, and we went birdwatching.”
Spencer knew that Mabel was autistic and gifted, but he also got a kick out of her bluntness, and I could tell he had about a thousand questions in his big curly head just desperate to bust free.
“Mabel believes that since she and Damon are both around the same age and homeschooled, it makes sense for them to try to become friends. I dropped her off there on my way to work today. They did their schoolwork together, then she took him birdwatching.”
Twin dimples emerged on Spencer’s cheeks. “And did he enjoy birdwatching?”
“I didn’t ask,” Mabel said. “I enjoyed it. But I always enjoy it.”
I met Spencer’s eyes, and we both smirked at each other.
“I will say that he surprised me a few times though. I was admiring some lichen on a tree and I asked him if he ever stops to marvel at the complexity of lichen.”
“And what did he say?” Spencer asked. Still working on my drink behind the bar, the man was unable to hide his skepticism from either his face or his tone.
“He said he does … sometimes.”
“Really?” Spencer and I both said at the same time.
“Yeah. I mean lichen is fascinating. A symbiotic relationship between an algae and a fungus. Often only growing a few millimeters a year. The piece that I was admiring could have easily been twenty or thirty years old. How remarkable is that?”
“That is remarkable,” Spencer said, placing my lowball of amber liquid in front of me. “I just find it a little surprising that Damon also finds lichen fascinating.”
“What have I got here?” I asked him.
“It’s a whiskey and honey-lemonade. Our new cocktail for summer. We’ve partnered with Barrington’s Bees—the island apiary—for their honey, and the Twisted Sisters Cidery for their lemons. Then we add a splash of soda water to make it a little bubbly, and voila! What do you think?”
I took a sip, and it was like summer rushed across my tongue.
My eyes widened, and I took a fuller sip.
“That’s delicious. And dangerous.” The tartness of the lemon lingered on the back of my tongue, but when it faded, there was that delightful, floral note of the whiskey. “Your brainchild?” I asked him.
He shrugged at the same time the clunk of the nachos on a plate being put in the window echoed through the big warehouse style distillery tasting room. “It was a combined effort between me and Trace. He’s usually our mixologist, but we all have a hand in the cocktails.”
He set the nachos down in front of Mabel.
“Can I take these outside to that picnic table?” my kid asked. “I see some Northern flickers out there.”
Spencer nodded with enthusiasm. “Of course.”
“Here, I’ll help you.” I grabbed the nachos and her ginger ale, while she carried her notebook, and I set her up at the sun-bleached gray cedar picnic table under the navy umbrella. “We won’t be too long, kiddo.”
“I’m fine.” She grabbed a chip from the plate and bit into it as she set up her Merlin app to record the birds.
I headed back inside and took my seat at the bar.
“So … are the rumors true?” Spencer asked. He poured himself a glass of water, then came around the bar to take up the barstool where Mabel had been.
He was a big guy and had a big presence. Half white, have Haitian, he’d been an electrician in Seattle before he and the other three dads all pooled their money, moved to the island, and started up the distillery.
“What rumors?” I asked. “It’s a small town. Aren’t rumors the lifeblood of the island?”
He huffed a laugh and took a sip of his water. “Yes, that’s true. But I mean, the rumors about you and Naomi Geuer? Is it true you’re dating?”
Reaching for my honey-lemonade, I took a long sip. “Yes. We are.”
“Since when?”
“It’s new. We’re taking it slow.”
Ish. Last night wasn’t taking it slow.
If I had my way, we’d do what we did last night every night, and then some.
“She hasn’t had a lot of dating experience, and neither have I. Plus, we have the kids to think about. And there aren’t too many places we can go for privacy. So we’re just … getting to know each other.”
“Right. How does Mabel feel about it? Does she know? I didn’t want to bring it up in front of her in case she didn’t know yet.”
“She knows. So do Austin and Honor. And they all seem fine with it. Like I said, we’re taking it slow.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I fished it out. Dawn’s face and name appeared on the screen.
I showed Spencer my screen, and he grinned. “I love that woman almost as much as I love my own mother.”
Nodding, I hit the green button and put it on speakerphone. The other customer had wandered outside around the corner to another batch of tables. So besides the cook in the kitchen—who I didn’t think could hear—we were the only people in here. Strange for a Friday afternoon, but whatever.