“Wait. I promised you we’d buy furniture for the winery.” Points to Slade. He didn’t cave when his daughters released his hands and pouted.
Twenty minutes later, it was Slade who was pouting.
“This is where you want to buy tables for the tasting room?” Although he’d pulled into a parking space in front of the warehouse Christine had directed him to, he didn’t turn off the engine.
“Everything here is top quality. It only made it here because it didn’t sell last season or...” Christine hopped out of the truck and shut the door, not wanting to tell him the other reason for furniture making it to this warehouse.
Heat shimmered from the asphalt with a parched, desertlike intensity that immediately drained her.
She was relieved when she got to the warehouse doors and found Slade and the girls following her. More relieved when the doors slid open and bathed her in cool air.
“This is crazy,” Slade said as he entered. “We’re not buying anything here. I told you I wanted top quality.”
“Give it a chance.” Her words echoed through the expansive space.
A man in dusty blue jeans and a tan polo shirt approached and asked if he could help. Christine explained what she was looking for—eight tables for two with chairs to match, six barstools. High-end, primo condition.
He nodded and led them to a back room where tables were stacked on top of each other, floor to ceiling. “This is our return room. What style are you looking for?”
“Return room?” Slade murmured, practically in her ear. “As in used?” He tugged at her arm, but she shrugged him off.
“Hepplewhite or mission. Nothing too modern,” Christine said.
“I like modern,” Slade said.
“Modern doesn’t fit the farmhouse,” Christine argued.
“Modern says success.” He fingered his tie.
“Weren’t you the one insisting we stick to a budget?” Christine wasn’t backing down. Every day it seemed she came up with a new need. Buying used was the best solution to stretch their funds.
“I think we have just what you’re looking for,” the salesman said. “A lot of wine-country businesses have gone under recently.”
“Let’s hope we aren’t buying their bad luck,” Slade whispered.
The twins sat at a table, sharing a pair of earphones.
Christine did a double take, but couldn’t see what they were plugged into. “Do they have smartphones?”
Slade shrugged. “Probably.”
“You don’t know?”
He put his hands in his pockets and started to whistle.
She had to give him the look—the one that said, Dude, go find out—before he made a move in their direction.
“It’s their tablet.” He lifted the device from Faith’s hand so Christine could see it. “Harmless.”
Christine shook her head. He had no idea the extent of trouble he’d be in when those girls got to high school. Limits? They had none.