He and Christine stood there looking into each other’s eyes—he fighting the need to confess more, she with a calm acceptance of whatever he chose to share. Telling his story would wipe that compassionate look from her eyes. He didn’t need compassion from an employee, but he did need an employee. He had to keep expectations in his personal life low and his tie knot high.
He stepped back, tucking the end of his tie between two buttons. To speak, he had to drink some water and douse the fear. “My shoes might already be unsalvageable. Everything else I can clean.” He desperately needed to change the mood. “Twenty bucks says my tie lives to see another day.”
“You’re on.” She laughed, flashing that smile that said her wineglass was more than half-full, no matter what life threw her way. She moved on to the next row to check on Flynn and Nate.
And that was when he realized he didn’t want her to walk away, he didn’t want her to look at him the way Evy did. He wanted to be with someone—an acquaintance, a friend, a lover—and pretend the horrendous mistake hadn’t happened, didn’t matter.
Idiot.
Satisfied with everyone’s progress and quality of work, Christine started down the next row. On leaden feet, Slade dragged himself after her.
It wasn’t long before Christine was back to asking questions. “So, when did you develop a tie fetish?”
“At Harvard they taught us to live the leader look.” Slade clipped away, taking out his frustrations on the vines. A tendril, a cluster, a branch holding a cluster. Looking back, he could see his progress. Finally, something was going right. “How did you know my tie was Italian?”
“I have an appreciation of everything Italian—wine, shoes, fashion, food.” She was quicker than Grace with her twist ties, practically breathing down his back.
“I would never have guessed.” He glanced briefly at the rock-band logo over her chest, forcing his gaze away to a safer zone. The sleeve of her T-shirt had a hole in it. He fingered the yellow cotton, then froze, staring at his clumsy, gloved fingers, before yanking them out of her personal space.
She didn’t seem to notice. She kept on picking out vines and tying them up. “Come on, you couldn’t tell I liked Italian? Not even when I interviewed in an Italian suit and heels?”
He’d almost forgotten that image. It came thundering back, especially how her slender neck had been bare, the skin pale, smooth, and unmarred. “As your boss, I refuse to judge you by the clothes you wear.”
She found that far too funny. “I don’t see why not. Most people in Napa do.”
“You’re not in Napa anymore, Toto.” Slade concentrated on trimming the vines back, trying to trim back his overactive imagination in the process.
Truman ran up to him, trailed by Abby and the girls. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened?” Abby had her tail down and the girls were teary eyed. Slade dropped his clippers at the base of a grapevine and rushed to meet them. “Is anybody hurt?”
Faith drew a shuddering breath and shook her head. Grace clutched her sister’s arm.
“Then what...” Slade nearly gagged, stopping and covering his nose. “What’s that smell?”
Truman dug his toe in the dirt. “We found a skunk. In the barn. Abby cornered it and...” He sighed dramatically. “Everyone got sprayed but me.”