Tabitha takes the list, but her eyes stay on me a beat too long. "Directly with Sunny, huh?" The amusement creeping across her face tells me she's connecting dots I'd rather she didn't. "Well, your grandmother has good instincts. Sunny's pairings are something else." She sets the list on the bar and tilts her head, watching me with open enjoyment. "Unfortunately, she took a few days off to visit family in Austin. She'll be back tomorrow, though. If you wanted to come back then."
The disappointment lands like a stone in my gut, and I fight to keep it off my face. From the way Tabitha's smile deepens, I'm not succeeding. "I'm sure you can handle it just fine. You'll find the menu on the back."
"Your grandmother sounds like a woman who knows exactly what she wants," Tabitha says, flipping the page with a grin that suggests she's not just talking about wine.
"Tabitha." The growl in my voice catches even me off guard. "Just fill the damn order. Please."
She raises both hands in mock surrender, still grinning, and moves out from behind the counter with the list. I watch her work her way along the displays, pulling bottles and cross-referencing the dinner selections, occasionally scratching out one of Gran's choices and substituting her own.
"I'm swapping the merlots for our Tempranillo blend," she calls over her shoulder. "It'll pair better with the brisket." She adds a Viognier to the box and pauses, consulting the listagain. "Several of these bottles won't be ready for another week, though. You'll have to come back to pick them up."
I snort. "Naturally."
"But don't worry." She turns, cradling two bottles against her hip, and the look on her face is pure, undiluted mischief. "I'll make sure Sunny's working that day. I wouldn't want you to miss her again."
My face burns hot enough to brand cattle. I pull out my card and slide it across the counter without meeting her eyes. The receipt takes all of two seconds to sign. I grab the case, mutter something in the general vicinity of "thanks," and make for the door.
I drive back to the ranch with Tabitha's laughter still ringing in my ears and my pride in roughly the same condition as roadkill. Oscar meets me at the front door with his usual unflappable calm and takes the box of wine without comment, though his gaze lingers on my face long enough to suggest I'm not hiding my mood as well as I think.
"Well?" Gran's voice reaches me before I even make it to the front room. "How did it go?"
I find her perched on the edge of the couch, her book closed in her lap, reading glasses folded on top of it. She's not even pretending she was doing anything other than waiting for me to walk through that door.
"They had everything you wanted except for a few bottles. I'll pick those up when they're ready, in about a week."
"And?"
"And what?" I spread my hands.
"Don't play dense with me, Charles. It doesn't suit you." She levels me with the look that has been extracting confessions from Hayden family members for three generations. Stronger men than me have crumbled under that gaze. "What did you think of her?"
"Tabitha?" I keep my voice even. "She's knowledgeable. Professional. Good at her job."
Gran's face contracts into a scowl that could curdle milk. "Who is Tabitha?"
"The woman who manages the tasting room." I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the grin from breaking through. "She was very helpful."
Gran's lips purse so tightly they nearly disappear. "I instructed you to speak only with Sunny."
"Well, she wasn't in today, Gran. She’s visiting family in Austin." I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, savoring the rare opportunity to watch my grandmother's plans unravel. "I'm sorry to report that your grand scheme was thwarted."
She sniffs and picks up her book. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I’m talking about. You and Rachel cooked this up together, and you're both about as subtle as a brass band at a funeral."
"I'm observing. There's a difference." She turns a page without looking at it, which tells me everything I need to know about how this conversation is sitting with her. "You work too much and you need to get away from this ranch more often. Meet some people in the community. That's all this is."
I leave before she can build up steam for round two. This isn't the first time she's told me I work too much, and I know she isn't wrong. But I don't need my grandmother orchestrating my love life with the same military precision she applies to ranching provisioning systems and barn renovations.
Thank God she can barely figure out how to make a phone call. If she ever masters that smartphone, she'll have dating profiles set up for me on every app in existence and a classifiedad running in the Stone Creek Gazette before I can change the password.
That evening, I settle into the veranda rocker with a glass of the Viognier I bought today and watch the sun melt behind the hills. The pastures roll out beneath me in shifting shades of gold and green, and the horses have clustered near the pond, their tails swishing lazily in the warm evening air.
The French doors open behind me, and Gran appears with a light shawl draped over her shoulders and her own cup of tea balanced in both hands. She lowers herself into the chair beside me without rushing, the way she does everything these days, with intention rather than the urgency that used to drive her. She gazes out at the land for a long moment before she speaks.
"I forgot to mention. Rachel and Mason have invited us to Sunday dinner. Alice is making brisket."
"I already told Mason we'd be there."
