“Flynn has me on hammer patrol again this morning. The girls enjoy going.” And Slade wanted their time with him to be fun. “I caught them whispering in Truman’s ear yesterday. I wish they’d whisper in mine.”
“Someday.” Christine smiled at him. “You’ll see.”
Her optimism never wavered. He admired that about her. “I’ve got less than two weeks left with them.” He’d checked the calendar yesterday and realized it wasn’t enough time.
“You can do anything in two weeks.” She made it sound like a vacation.
There it was again—her belief in him. His chest seemed to swell with confidence and pride. He’d regained his confidence long ago. But pride? It was a newly rediscovered emotion, partially attributed to her.
“I should be getting my day started.” The awkward tone was back in her voice. With gentle fingers, she edged his arm off her leg. “Lots to do.”
They stood. She, conveniently within reach.
Suppressing a sigh, he stepped back.
Something in her eyes shifted, narrowed. “Seriously? You’re scared of a girl?” She gave him a one-armed hug, as her other hand held her coffee mug.
It was a quick embrace, a jolting tease of what might have been. And then she was marching across the grass toward Main Street.
Leaving his arms as empty as his heart.
* * *
“CHRISTINE!” A FEW days after the unforgettable kiss, Ryan ran down the winery’s gravel drive, whooping and shouting at Christine. “We got it! We got it!”
Christine had been monitoring the installation of the fermentation tanks along the far wall of the barn, but was drawn outside when Ryan didn’t stop hollering.
“The government bottling permits.” Ryan stopped in front of her, bending over and putting his gangly arms on his gangly legs. He clutched the mail in one hand. “We were approved. Eighty thousand cases.”
“Eighty?” Christine swiped the certificate and scanned it. “That’s got to be wrong. We’ve only got fruit for five thousand.” And that was only if it ripened to a consistency Christine approved of.
But it wasn’t a mistake. Whoever put in the request—and let’s be serious, it was Slade—had thought ahead to winery expansion. Despite knowing he’d applied for the permit months ago, Christine felt oddly betrayed. They’d agreed to be conservative and move forward slowly. He’d never mentioned submitting an application for year-five production. Her mind jammed with implications and possibilities.
She’d been unable to talk him out of buying enough equipment to make eighty thousand cases a year. She kept telling him the idle equipment was too much overhead, but he’d insisted. Twelve bottles to a case—that was nearly a million bottles of wine. Not that he could have known if the entire eighty thousand would be approved.
Did he have plans for the excess capacity? She couldn’t believe he did, but she couldn’t believe he hadn’t told her about this.
Was he going to buy bulk wine? Did he expect her to make it?
Doubt warred with the reality of black ink on paper. Eighty thousand cases. You just didn’t obtain a permit like that and let it sit idle.