His smile wound up into his cheeks until it almost disappeared among his wrinkles. “We’ll get along just fine. Just fine. You don’t, by any chance, bowl?”
“No.” Bowling was one skill she hadn’t needed to perfect in Napa. “I golf.” She chose not to add poorly.
He nodded his head as if that explained everything and moved on to uncovering which yoga studio she’d attended in Napa.
She, of course, had belonged to the most exclusive yoga studio in town, which earned her another invitation to do yoga with Larry the next morning at seven.
Call her gullible, but when she thought about the inspections and regulations that faced the winery, how could she refuse? She might need this politician on her side.
“So this is where you’ll sell your wine.” Mayor Larry studied the tasting room with a calculating eye. “Have you thought about offering other local goods? For example, I have my own line of T-shirts. Tie-dyed, like this one.” He tugged a rolled-up T-shirt from a back pocket and shook it out. “I also knit sweaters from hand-woven wool.”
Ah, the purpose of his visit revealed at last.
Tie-wearing Slade wasn’t going to like Mayor Larry’s business proposition.
But compromise-making Christine was going to consider it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SLADE SAT ON an old rattan chair on Flynn’s back porch overlooking the river. Beneath the railing, plump blackberries hung from thick brambles. He was too hot and tired to pick any.
To his left, Faith and Grace ran around the front yard with Truman and Abby. The dog had won Truman’s most-smelly-skunk award, but that didn’t stop the kids from playing with her.
Flynn sat nearby. Nate leaned on the porch railing watching the slow-moving river pass.
“Do your girls have speech impediments?” Flynn asked, more direct in his questioning than Nate had been.
“I don’t think so. Evy hasn’t said anything. They may have been like this for months or just decided to torture me.” And Slade felt tortured. He should know what was going on with his kids. Evy wasn’t answering her phone or email or texting him back. Husband number three must have been too cheap to spring for an international-calling or data plan.
“It’s just a phase.” Flynn’s wife, Becca, came out the back door with cold beer, repeating his ex’s claim. “Kids enjoy testing limits. Kind of like the elderly when their independence is threatened.” She distributed a bottle to each of them. “They play pranks. They hide chocolate and sneak out of the house. You should keep your truck keys safe.”
“How was your day, Becs?” Flynn accepted his beer with a kiss, and a lingering hand on her hip. They’d been married less than a month. The honeymoon was far from over.
“Busy. I picked up two more new clients today. Found a stash of chocolate and a spare set of car keys.” Becca swung her dark braid over her shoulder and sat on Flynn’s lap, making the ancient rattan chair they were in gasp and groan. “One thing about being the only elderly caregiver in a town of elderly people, I don’t lack for clients. I had to run into Cloverdale twice for groceries and prescriptions. When are you going to attract a grocer to town?”
“You work too hard for being the wife of a millionaire,” Nate observed.