Chapter Eighteen #2
They sat down in companionable silence as their focus was entirely on the sandwiches.
Vinny’s Deli was truly the king of roast beef.
Cal polished off his sandwich. When he sat back, he saw Rachel wasn’t that far behind.
But she had a dab of sauce right on the corner of her mouth.
Without thinking, he leaned forward with a napkin and wiped it off.
Her tiny gasp froze him in place as he sought her eyes. He was about to apologize when he registered what he saw. She wasn’t upset; she was excited. And that scared him down to his toes. It was like playing with a living flame. It danced and warmed you, but you risked getting burned.
“Um, thanks,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze. “I should never order extra sauce when I know it gets this messy.”
“It’s the messy ones that are the best,” he replied, trying not to think of all the ramifications of what he just said.
He cleared his throat, settling into the chair.
“I realized today that I never properly showed you around the grounds. If you have nothing to rush off to or evening plans, I’d love to show you around.
” Was he fishing for information on her dating life?
Absolutely. Did he care? Not a bit. Because he was playing with fire.
“That would be wonderful, Cal. I’d really like that.”
And with that, once she was done eating and had detoured to wash any lingering sauce off her hands, they walked outside to the patio.
“Well,” he joked. “This is the patio. You’ve seen it.”
“I have.” She smiled in return.
“What you probably don’t know is that my grandfather put it in for my grandmother. She loved to sit out here each afternoon and knit. She said the light back here was better than anywhere in the house.”
“That’s lovely,” Rachel said. “When did she pass?”
“About fifteen years ago. My grandfather was never quite himself after that.” He led her off the patio and down the path toward the chapel.
“Yes, a loss like that leaves a mark,” Rachel said.
He glanced over and raised a brow in inquiry.
“My parents. A drunk driver.”
“I’m so sorry, Rachel.”
“Thank you. I can understand why your grandfather never fully recovered,” she looked at him carefully. “Or you either.”
She was very good at seeing him. Even the things he didn’t want seen. “Yeah. Losing my grandmother was tough. And when Pops died, that was a blow I haven’t really bounced back from.”
“I don’t believe anyone bounces back,” she replied.
“Loss changes us in ways we can never expect, so we are never truly the same. When I’m missing my folks really hard, I remind myself that the pain of that moment is a reminder of the deep love we shared.
It’s clear it’s the same with your grandparents.
It’s nice that you were so close. It sounds like you and your grandfather had a great relationship. ”
Cal laughed. “He used to joke that we were destined to be close. My mother’s maiden name was Callahan, so when I was born, she gave it to me as my middle name to honor her dad.”
“Where did Alaric come from?” she asked.
“My father’s side. It was a traditional family name that he wanted. I always hated it, especially as a kid. Because of my closeness to my grandfather, I go by Cal.”
“You mother doesn’t seem to do that.”
“No, she doesn’t. I doubt she sees the point. She raised me as Alaric, which is fine. But to me, using Cal is a way to remind myself of the person I strive to be. Especially when I was in high school and college.”
“So for your friends, you’ve always been Cal and never Alaric.”
“Correct. Although my college my nickname s Fitzy."
"A man of many names."
Cal chuckled. "I guess so, but my friends that you met have all spent time with my grandfather, so they get it. They understand why I go by Cal; why it's important to me.”
“Words matter,” she replied.
“Words matter,” he repeated. Seeing her hands rubbing her arms, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
He pretended not to see when she turned to smell it.
How had she described it? Whiskey with a hint of leather and tobacco.
He could live with that. He could live with that very well.
To distract himself, he pointed off to the far left, where the crown of the old barn was just visible. “That’s the barn I mentioned on your first day here. You can’t see it from the chapel walkway because of the turn in the road, but it’s quite close.”
“The one you mentioned turning into a distillery?”
“That’s the one,” he replied as he started walking. From the crest of the rise, they could see the barn and other outbuildings. “But I plan to return it to being a distillery.”
“Your family ran a distillery operation here? What happened to it?”
“Well, as family legend goes, my great-grandfather ran moonshine during prohibition.”
“No,” she interjected.
“Yes. It gets better. He would disguise the bottles, painting them white so they looked like milk deliveries. He had cows, so it was a pretty foolproof way of hiding the bootlegging operation.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Isn’t it? It worked flawlessly until the day he dropped a bottle of milk on the street and the local sheriff was close by.”
“Oh no. He shut down the operation?”
“No. Great Grandpa had to start making a complimentary milk delivery to the Sheriff’s house after that.”
Rachel howled with laughter. He loved it. Her unabashed enjoyment thrilled him and the sound of her laugh danced along his nerves.
“Oh Cal,” she said. “That’s the best story. So you’re hoping to return the old barn and the estate to its moonshine roots.”
“Something like that,” he said. “My grandfather also did some distilling, but he was never one to sell anything. He did it for fun. He also made cider and wine. Actually, some of these other outbuildings were where he aged his spirits.”
“It’s in your blood.”
“That’s how I like to think of it. Growing up here, I always found myself drawn to brewing and distilling.
I was lucky enough when I graduated college to work at a distillery down in Kentucky for a number of years.
Because I befriended the head distiller and expressed my interest, I had the opportunity to shadow him, and the company even facilitated my job rotations.
I worked in distillery operations, brand management, sales, wherever there was a need.
“I even spent one vacation attending a week-long distilling course. That’s when I first started dreaming of opening my own distillery. It made it seem possible.”
Rachel took a moment before she asked, “Why didn’t you start the distillery here first, rather than establishing White Hall as an event space?”
“Even with renovations, establishing a venue is a quicker path to profitability than a distillery.” Cal sighed. He’d begged his parents for time and that was the first thing they told him he didn’t have.
“My parents’ desire to sell the estate took me by surprise.
I wasn’t aware that a final payment was being dispersed from the trust. As soon as they said something, I asked them to wait.
To give me time to make something of it.
But my parents still see White Hall as a failing asset.
They don’t understand what I do or how good the estate could become. Neither does my brother James.
“I’m kind of the odd duck in our family. They’re passionate about finances and the stock market, and I just can’t give a damn about any of that.”
They topped the small rise, and the remaining part of the estate spread out before them.
He paused to appreciate the view. The stately old barn to the right and the few outbuildings spanning out toward the left where he’d age his bourbon.
The addition of seating and picnic tables that he'd nestle underneath the trees for guests to gather and celebrated.
One day it would be like that. He could picture it so clearly in his mind.
“I may not give a damn about any of that, but this,” he jerked his chin toward the chapel and the barn. “This, I do give a damn about. And I have plans.”
Rachel hung her head. He went to assure her, “I completely understand that you’re here to do a job, and I don’t want to make that more difficult.”
“No. No,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s not that. It’s…um. It’s nothing. I’d like to hear more. Please.”
He turned them back toward the house before replying. “Long term, besides the distillery, I intend to convert the main house to a bed-and-breakfast. I think that dovetails nicely with multiday events and really makes White Hall a destination.
“After that, maybe a retreat center of sorts. Meditation labyrinths have always fascinated me."
“Really,” she asked skeptically.
“Ya, that’s weird, right?”
“No. I don’t think it’s weird… just unexpected,” she finished. “I didn’t realize,” she stumbled over the words. “I mean, I didn’t know you had such specific plans.”
Cal couldn’t put his finger on why exactly, but something was off with Rachel. Had he said something to upset her?
“Well,” he replied slowly, trying to avoid any verbal land mines.
“As I’ve been renovating, I’ve been thinking and dreaming.
The labyrinth was something Jacks introduced me to a few years ago.
I don’t exactly have the patience to walk through like she does, but I found myself fascinated.
Even if she argues I can’t fully appreciate them. ”
“From the little I know of Jacks,” Rachel laughed, “That makes perfect sense.”
“Drives her nuts that I rush too fast,” he chuckled. “I thought the opposite end of the patio garden would be a good location, close enough to the ocean so you can hear the waves.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Thanks. But before I did any additional expansion, I’d make sure the estate could not only sustain itself but also start paying back into the trust.”
“You want to extend the trust?” asked Rachel.