“What?” Slade tied his shoe too tight.
“Next I’m going to make samples of knitted sweaters for your tasting room.” Mayor Larry beamed. “If Christine approves them, we’ll be doing business together.”
Slade stared at Christine’s face, trying to find signs that she’d lost her mind. There were none. He waited until Larry returned to his lane, several lanes over, before confronting her. “Are you kidding me? I don’t want to sell anything as ordinary as tie-dyed T-shirts or homemade knitted sweaters. The next thing you’ll be doing is getting Mrs. Mionetti to knit you some lampshades for the tasting room. And don’t forget about Snarky Sam.” He gestured to Mayor Larry’s bowling team. “He does taxidermy. You like skunks? I think he still has one dressed as Sherlock Holmes for sale.”
“I was—”
“I haven’t seen any tie-dyed T-shirts at any wineries I’ve visited.”
“I think—”
“I want this to be a high-end experience, not a trip to the flea market.”
“It’s not—”
“What were you thinking? Don’t tell me. I know.” He knew he was working himself up over something that was small in the big scheme of things, but his team had abandoned him and he was still smarting. “You were thinking of trying to add character to the experience. Something friendly. Well, I don’t want friendly. I want people to come in and drop twenty-five to fifty dollars for a taste of your wine and more than a hundred dollars for a bottle to take home. How is that supposed to happen if we’ve got homemade junk for sale on the counter?”
Christine waited until he’d run out of breath. “Are you through?”
Slade noticed the twins were watching him. The bluster drained out of him, and he nodded.
“Forget about image in the tasting room for a moment because with only five thousand cases to sell, we won’t be having hundreds of excited customers making the pilgrimage to our door every week. Most of our sales are going to come through an online wine club, with supplemental sales through trendy bars and restaurants.” She patted his hand. “I was looking at the available land for a wine cave nearby and Larry has undeveloped acreage right across the street. What harm does it do to consider letting him sell his merchandise in the tasting room? You’ve got to have some type of souvenir for folks who made the long drive to take home. Branded corkscrews, magnets, local recipe booklets, and so on.”
Slade bit his lip to keep his mouth closed. On some level, Christine’s arguments made sense. It was just going to be easier to create a classy experience for their customers, something that reaffirmed he was a success, something that made his partners realize he was indispensable. “We’ll talk about this some other time.”
A few lanes over, Emma bowled a strike and the team leaped up to give her a group high five.
Slade slumped in his plastic chair.
Christine nudged him. “Hey, Boss Man. Big Daddy-O. How about you quit sulking and teach your daughters how to bowl?”
Oblivious to his mini meltdown, Grace and Faith were trying to tap-dance in their hard-soled bowling shoes. He hadn’t even known they took dance lessons.
“I stink at being a dad,” he mumbled.
“Only if you give up.” Christine got to her feet and pulled him to his.