“A wine...a wine what?” Flynn stared at Slade as if he’d morphed into a puppy and misunderstood a command.
Slade wiped his damp forehead and proceeded to explain their need for climate-controlled storage and Christine’s options. He ended with an apology.
“You’re sorry?” Flynn resettled the ball cap on his head. “I should be apologizing to you. No one I asked about building ever mentioned a wine what’s-it.”
“Wine cave,” Slade supplied. “Since your friend’s friend works in Monterey, where the temperature never goes above seventy-five, they probably don’t need wine caves.”
“Oh, man. It sucks that we need to spend more money. We should get in touch with an architect right away.”
“No.” That came out more forcefully than Slade planned. “We’re not going to become like those lottery winners who go bankrupt because they give all their money away.” He felt sick just considering it. Flynn had a family to support. Will was just about to get married.
“This isn’t giving it away,” Flynn argued. “This is giving back.”
Slade shook his head. The omission of proper wine storage combined with Christine’s logical arguments about slow growth had shaken his confidence. “What if we f-fail?” The word stuck on his tongue. Financial failure meant emotional upheaval, like that he’d experienced at the Death and Divorce House. “Think of your future. Think of Becca. As your moneyman—”
“You worry too much.” Flynn’s smile didn’t often annoy Slade, but it did now as he slapped Slade on the back. “Build the wine cave. You know it’s the right thing to do. Another building creates more jobs.”
“But—”
“The farmer’s market is open!” Truman ran in from the sidewalk, Abby at his heels. “Come on, everybody!” He spun around and ran away, the little dog still by his side. Truman was staying with Flynn while his mom was in rehab for alcohol addiction. In the past month, the little guy had gone from a shy, quiet boy to a talkaholic. Slade hoped Harmony Valley would have the same effect on his daughters.
The twins, who’d been twirling in office chairs, stood up and looked at Slade.
“Go on,” Slade said. It wasn’t much of a farmer’s market. One vendor came in from Jimtown with baked goods. A few residents sold their extra fruits and vegetables. The tomatoes and corn were usually excellent. “We’ll talk about this with Will later.”
“You worry too much.” Flynn stood.
“And you don’t worry enough.” Slade wasn’t going to throw away a million dollars on the winery without seeing some kind of projection of return. It was irresponsible. He’d get Will on his side, and then the two of them would outvote Flynn.
“Thanks for the help. I think we’re ready for the plumber.” Nate came down the stairs, ending the partnership conversation. He studied the rusted bars. “These just need a good sanding and a coat of paint.”
Nate had accepted the job of sheriff, which could only be funded when Harmony Valley’s population topped eighty residents. They were currently at seventy-eight, not counting Slade. Having been put on paid administrative leave from his last job, where he’d lawfully arrested the mayor’s son with good cause and refused to drop the charges, Nate was happy to prepare for his new position, despite burst pipes
Flynn loaded up his tools. “I say it’s time for some of Olly Bingmire’s ice-cold lemonade. She’ll be out at the market about now.” He carried his toolbox to his truck.