"She'd love that. I'll pass it along."
Isabelle walks me toward the side entrance. I'm already thinking about the mountain of paperwork needed for this deal when a door opens to my left and Sunny Reese steps out of the barrel room.
She's in her element, a version of her I've only seen through that glass wall. Her standard work clothes, hair in a highponytail, her face pinched in concentration. She's carrying a clipboard and scribbling something on it, and she doesn't notice me until she's three feet away.
Her head lifts, and that blue stare widens. "What are you doing here?"
"Business meeting." I keep my voice easy. The surprise on her face has me treading a little more carefully.
Her gaze cuts to Isabelle, then back to me, her expression sharpening. "I’m meeting with local business owners and getting to know the local community," I add.
"I'll let you two catch up." Isabelle's tone is deliberately casual, which I suspect is rare. She gives me a nod and disappears back down the hallway.
Sunny watches her go, and when she turns back to me, the surprise has been replaced by suspicion, sharp and direct. "Since when do horse breeders want business insight from small local wineries?"
"Since this horse breeder decided that this community is home."
"Home, huh?" She turns the word over like she doesn’t quite buy it. "You drove all the way out here, in the middle of a workday, to talk shop in an industry that has nothing to do with yours?"
"Among other things."
The war plays out across her face, curiosity pushing against suspicion. "What other things, Charlie?"
"The kind I’m not ready to share yet." I hold her gaze. "And for the record, business isn’t the only reason I’m standing here."
Her breathing falters, the same quiet catch I noticed on the porch at Twin Oaks, the one she doesn’t realize she gives away. "Is that supposed to charm me?"
"Is it working?"
"No." But the color climbing her neck says otherwise, and the clipboard dips another inch. "You don’t get to show up at my workplace, have secret meetings with my boss, and then stand there like you’ve got all the answers."
"I don’t haveallthe answers, Sunny. But maybe three. One is that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Saturday night." I let that sit between us. "You said you’d think about seeing me again. I’ve been trying to respect that, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come out here hoping I’d run into you."
Her lips part, and for a second the sarcasm evaporates and I see the woman underneath. The one who laughed on my grandmother's porch and tucked her hair behind her ear because she knew I was watching.
"You're honest," she says, quieter now. "I'll give you that."
"I don't see the point in being anything else."
Her mouth twitches. "And what are the other ones? You said you had three answers."
"The second one is that your wine is some of the best I've ever tasted, and I've been to Napa twice and Tuscany once."
The compliment lands differently than I expect. Instead of deflecting, Sunny goes still, and vulnerability flickers in her expression before she schools her face back to neutral.
"And the third?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"The third is that you're worth every mile of that drive, and I'd do it several times over." I hold her eyes for one more second, and then I settle my hat on my head and take a step back, giving her the room she needs. "I'll see you around, Sunny."
I head toward the side exit. Behind me, the hallway is quiet, and I don't look back, not because I don't want to, but because I know the value of leaving a woman with something to think about.
The drive passes in a blur of hills and live oaks, and my mind is split between two tracks that keep intersecting. The businessside runs the timeline and scenarios for what happens if Isabelle says yes and what I'll do if she says no. The other replays the way Sunny's voice dropped when she saidyou're honest, and the look in her eyes when I told her she was worth the drive.
Wade is waiting by the barn when I pull up, one boot hooked on the lowest rail, arms crossed. A small group of young mares grazes in the far pasture, and his gaze tracks from them to my truck and back without a flicker.
"How’d the meeting go?" he asks. Wade tends to know what’s going on, whether anyone tells him or not."
"Well, I think."
