Gran is on the porch when I cross the yard, book open in her lap and the amused look on her face telling me everything I need to know.
"I see you found Rachel's surprise," she says, turning a page.
"You knew about this."
She peers at me over her reading glasses. "Evie was very concerned about the ducks, Charles. She made Rachel promise they'd go somewhere safe."
"So, everyone was in on this."
Gran smiles and returns to her book. "Consider it a housewarming gift, dear."
I shake my head and turn for the barn. I've got horses to check on, a business to run, and apparently six ducks with names I'm not allowed to change.
It's been one hell of a day.
Chapter 5
Sunny
Isabelle finds me in the barrel room Monday morning, halfway down the last row of Tempranillo. I’m moving from barrel to barrel, clipboard in hand, and for once my head is quiet. This is the part of the job that settles everything into place. No noise, no distractions, just the work in front of me. Which is exactly what I need after spending the last few days trying not to think about problems, namely Charlie Hayden or the winery’s increasingly shaky future.
"There you are." Isabelle leans against the doorframe, her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun and expression a little too bright considering the winery is hanging on by a thread. "I've been looking for you."
"I've been here since six." I mark another seal as good and move to the next barrel. "What's going on?"
Isabelle steps farther into the room, her boots tapping against the concrete as she makes her way to the end of the row. She folds her arms, and the smile she’s been holding back finally slips free. “An investment deal was signed this morning.”
My hand stills on the barrel. I turn to face her fully. "What investment deal?"
Isabelle’s smile softens, and she takes a breath like she’s been holding it for days. “Word spread about Hill Country Distributing dropping us and our situation. An investor came forward with a proposal. I kept it to myself until it was signed. I couldn’t risk getting anyone’s hopes up.” Her voice dips, threaded with relief. “We signed this morning. So we have the capital we need to not only keep the lights on, but for modernization, restructuring, all of it. The winery’s safe, Sunny.”
The tension I’ve been carrying finally loosens, and I slump against the barrel behind me. Ever since that meeting with Isabelle and Diego, when the numbers made it real, I’ve been expecting the worst. The thought of losing this place, losing my wine, has been constant, pressing in every time I walk into the production room.
Now I can breathe. The place I've poured five years of my life into, the wines I've coaxed from stubborn Hill Country soil and unpredictable weather, is secure.
"Isabelle, that's incredible." My voice is steadier than I feel. "Why didn't you tell me you were talking to someone?"
"Because leads fall through, and I didn't want to put you through that." Isabelle’s brow draws in just a touch, her jaw setting.
I nod slowly. She's not wrong. The uncertainty of the past several days has been grinding, and knowing that negotiations were happening behind the scenes would have only made it worse.
"I'm really happy for you," I say. "For all of us."
"Me too," Isabelle agrees. She pauses, her mouth pulling to one side in a brief, almost apologetic grimace. "There’s one more thing. The investor has a request. He wants to spend a few hours a week here, learning the business from the inside out."
"Learning the business… how?"
"He wants to understand every part of the operation. He’s starting with winemaking, so he’ll be working with you." Isabelle lifts a hand before I can respond. "After production, he’ll rotate to the vineyard with Diego, then through the taproom, and marketing and events with Tabitha."
"I'm babysitting an investor." The words come out flat.
"You're educating a stakeholder," Isabelle replies smoothly. "And considering that this guy just saved our ass, I think we can accommodate a few hours a week."
She has a point, and I know it, but the idea of someone hovering over my shoulder while I work makes my skin crawl. The production room is my space. My sanctuary. The tanks and barrels don't ask questions, don't need small talk, and don't expect me to be charming at seven in the morning.
"Who is he?" I ask.
"He's starting tomorrow morning. You’ll see when he arrives." Isabelle's smile returns, and there's something underneath it that I can't quite read. "Just be your usual welcoming self."
