“But a permit this size is too valuable to sit idle. If we’re not filling capacity ourselves, whether you want to sell or not, companies will start to call and offer to buy it. Do you know how much this permit is worth?”
“No.” He looked surprised that he didn’t know. “Don’t worry. Someone would have to offer us an obscene sum of money. And I don’t mean what I would consider obscene, but a dirty, obscene amount of money that the partnership would be foolish to refuse.”
“That doesn’t reassure me.” She stared at the permit, trying not to think about how reassuring it felt to be held by him, trying to focus on what this meant to her career. If...if...if...
She didn’t want to think about it anymore.
“Touch my tie,” he said softly.
“I don’t wanna.” She’d started to read a copy of his application the day the mayor surprised her in the tasting room. She should never have set it aside. She wouldn’t have felt so betrayed. She wouldn’t have kissed him. “You should have told me you’d submitted it for this amount.”
“I didn’t even tell my business partners I changed the number on the application. Christine, it was a gamble, designed to position us for growth.” He sighed and pulled her close. “Now, touch my tie. It’s Italian. You’ll feel better.”
Christine touched the red silk, just below the knot, and ran her hands down its length. It was simply smooth, nothing like the man it kept locked in.
“Feel better?” He stroked her hair.
“Yes.” But she was still convinced he’d sell something.
As if reading her mind, he said, “We’re not selling the permit. We’re not selling the winery.” He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead. “Now, get back to work. We want our first five thousand cases to be fantastic.”
It was a dream come true—building a winery exactly how she wanted, making high-end, limited-quantity wine with the possibility to grow.
But experience had taught Christine how easily dreams became nightmares.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“YOU LIKE HER.” Faith’s dimple accented her smile.
“We like her,” Grace seconded.
Slade tried not to grin and failed. He couldn’t get used to the girls easily smiling and talking to him. And he did like Christine. A lot. When he wasn’t focusing on the girls, he thought of little else but Christine. About how lucky he was that she hadn’t quit and didn’t run away every time he tentatively touched her hand, her shoulder, her bright blond hair. He’d settle for friendship if that was what she wanted. Who was he to ask for more?
“You girls are right. Look at your dad, smiling like it’s Christmas morning.” Phil peered in Slade’s direction from over the edge of his newspaper. The hands that held the paper shook. He may have been the town barber, but you’d risk your ears requesting a cut. “I like the way you operate, Slade. And your girls are cute as plums, but your partnership promised the town you wouldn’t sell. And just now, you promised that little winemaker the same thing. Wouldn’t do to lie to the woman you love.”
Love?
It was too soon for that, not to mention too optimistic. Between having his daughters with him, the support of his friends in town, and Christine, he’d been thinking this was about as good as life got. Why swing for the fences and strike out?