"Yes. Peanut butter."
He picks up one of the pickle jars, examining the label like it holds the secrets of the universe. Then he looks at the second jar. The third jar.
"That's a lot of pickles, Em."
"I really like pickles."
"Since when?"
"Since now."
His expression shifts into something I can't quite read—concern mixed with curiosity and maybe, possibly, the beginning of understanding.
"Want me to make you a sandwich with those?" His voice is careful, like he's testing the waters.
The question hangs in the air between us. A pickle and peanut butter sandwich. It sounds absurd. Disgusting, even.
My mouth waters again.
"Yes," I hear myself say. "Yes, I really do."
Miles' lips twitch into a smile. "Okay then. One pickle and peanut butter sandwich, coming right up."
He turns back to the stove, and I'm left standing in my work clothes, clutching a pickle jar, watching my husband hum while he makes me the most ridiculous sandwich I've ever requested.My briefcase sits by the door with all those unanswered questions inside. But right now, all I can think about is whether pickle and peanut butter will actually taste as good as my body is insisting it will.
Chapter 2
Miles
Brennen's pacing Celtic Knot's office like a caged animal. "Miles, I need Emma's vote by Friday, or we lose the vineyard property. Why won't she call me back?"
I lean against the tasting room counter, swirling a glass of their new Cabernet blend. The wine is excellent—rich, balanced, with notes of blackberry and oak. But Brennen's not interested in my professional opinion right now. He's wearing a path in the hardwood floor.
"Maybe she's busy," I offer. "Shadow Strike case is huge."
"She's always busy." Brennen runs both hands through his hair, making it stand up in different directions. "But she always returns my calls. Always. This is different."
Sophie appears from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She's been working with the new fermentation tanks all morning, preparing for the potential expansion that hinges on Emma's vote.
"Still no word from Emma?" she asks.
Brennen makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. "Nothing. Radio silence. Complete avoidance."
"She's probably just thinking it through," I say, though I'm not entirely convinced. Emma's been strange lately. More than strange. But I'm not about to tell Brennen that.
"Thinking it through?" Brennen stops pacing long enough to stare at me. "Miles, the property owner needs an answer by Friday. That's this week. If we don't commit, he's selling to a developer who wants to build condos. Condos, Miles. Right next to our vineyard."
Alex walks in carrying a clipboard, his reading glasses perched on his nose. He's the practical counterpart to Sophie's creative genius—together they make Celtic Knot's wine operation actually function.
"Just got off the phone with the distributor," Alex says. "They want to know our production capacity for next year. Which depends entirely on whether we're expanding or not."
Brennen lets out another distressed sound.
"What does Ryan think?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Ryan thinks whatever we decide is fine." Brennen's voice takes on a slightly mocking tone. "'Not a money maker for me, you two figure it out.' That's a direct quote."
Classic Ryan. Shadow Strike Ventures makes enough money that Celtic Knot is essentially a passion project for him—a way to support his brother's dream while staying connected to Pelican Point. He doesn't need the winery to be profitable. He just needs it to make Brennen happy.
