He resented her thinking she knew him. She didn’t. She didn’t know about the long nights of his youth spent watching his mother, afraid she’d stop breathing before his father came home from the graveyard shift at the grain mill. Afraid she wouldn’t be breathing when Slade returned from school. She didn’t know about the promises he’d made his father when Slade invested the last of his dad’s retirement funds. She didn’t know—
Christine laughed, a sound that crooned about the possibility of smoothing over unknown hurts and old grievances. “I guess sitting in my bedroom discussing what to do with my shoe collection was a good idea after all.”
The morning seemed so long ago.
She’d opened up his windows. He couldn’t wait to get home and shut them.
They rounded the corner to Taylor Street. Two houses down was her grandmother’s place.
Christine had sat in his living room and tried several times to talk him out of what she saw as unnecessary expenses in year one of the business. She’d been convincing, even in the face of him totaling up columns and presenting his arguments. But that wasn’t all she’d talked about.
The things that needed to be done before they got through the next twelve months were mind-boggling. And yet, Christine had distilled it down to a very long list, with approval dates, and action dates, and dates she’d need funding by. She’d gotten what she wanted—a compromise on the budget and wine storage in town.
“I know I can make good wine for you.” She stopped at the end of her grandmother’s driveway at her clunker’s fender.
Even her grandmother’s Buick was newer than Christine’s rust heap.
She was conscious of the money she needed to make good on her promise. He liked that. What he didn’t like was uncertainty about future productivity.
“I can run things by myself until harvest, when I’ll need those two other hires we talked about.” She blinked up at him, as shiny and optimistic as a newly minted dime. “I haven’t found anyone yet who’s willing to work for us, but I will.”
So many obstacles.
The street was blessedly silent. Every street in Harmony Valley was generally quiet after eight o’clock. Most people in town were comfortably ensconced in their recliners, remote in hand, or on their porch or backyard swing escaping the heat. A dove cooed from the eaves of Agnes’s house. A cricket chirped in response.
He wondered what rock-band T-shirt Christine would show up for work in tomorrow. Maybe a throwback, like Darlings Deluxe. Maybe something with attitude, like Mercy Becomes Dust. Although, the all-girl band Cococats seemed like a better bet.
Christine had stopped talking. Her lips, a gentle pink he couldn’t appreciate when they were moving, were still.
“What?”
“I said I was sorry about barging into your house. I can tell it threw you for a loop.” She fiddled with the strap of her laptop bag. “I get really into my work. I can get overly excited. I’ll try to do a better job at respecting your boundaries.”
He doubted that. She was too touchy-feely. Invading someone else’s personal space was as natural to her as smiling, despite her developing the skill to wield the expression as a survival tool.
She smiled at him now, as close to a purely happy expression as he’d seen in a long time. “Thank you for this opportunity. I’m so very grateful.”