"The Nebbiolo. Not even close."
Something flickers in her expression. Surprise, maybe, or the particular satisfaction of being understood. "Most people go for the Sangiovese."
"I told you, Sunny. I'm not most people."
"And I toldyouthe jury's still out." But she's still fighting that smile when she says it. She taps a few keys on the register, the screen reflecting faintly in her eyes. "Two hundred eighty dollars. Cash or card?"
"That's it? We're done?"
"Your grandmother's order is ready. That's what you came for." She says it to the register, not to me.
I hand over my card. "What if I came for something else?"
Her hand stills. I watch her jaw tighten, see the war play out across her face. She runs the card without answering, prints the receipt, and slides everything back across the bar. Our fingers brush when I take it, and the contact sends a jolt up my arm that has nothing to do with static electricity.
She pulls her hand back first. "Tabitha can help you with anything else."
"Maybe I'll see you around."
"Maybe." She shrugs, already stepping back. "It's a small town."
"Getting smaller by the day."
That earns me a real reaction, a short, surprised laugh that she cuts off almost as soon as it escapes. She presses her fingers to her lips, but the damage is done. I heard it. And from the way her cheeks flush, she knows it.
She turns and heads toward the back hallway without another word, but just before she disappears through the doorway, her hand sneaks up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It's a small gesture, the kind a woman makes when she knows someone is watching and can't quite bring herself to ignore it.
Tabitha appears at my elbow, an eyebrow raised with an expression that suggests she caught more of that exchange than she's letting on. "All set?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"She warmed up to you faster than she does most people." Tabitha bags the four bottles and nods toward the door. "Give her time. She'll come around."
I carry the bag out to my truck. The afternoon sun is bright enough to make me squint as I glance back toward the tastingroom windows. Light spills from deeper inside. She’s back there somewhere.
On the way back to Twin Oaks, my grip stays tight on the wheel, my mind nowhere near the road. It’s still at the winery, stuck on the way Sunny went still for a moment before she drew herself together.
When I pull up to the house, Gran is on the front porch with a book in her lap and reading glasses perched on her nose. She glances up as I stroll across the porch.
"Did you get the wine?" she asks, all innocence.
"Right here." I hold up the bag.
"And did you meet Sunny?"
Oscar appears at the door before I can reach for the handle, and I hand him the bag. "The wine for the dinner party."
"Very good, Master Charlie." He disappears inside with the bottles, and I turn back to Gran.
"I met her on the highway, you know that. And I saw her the day Rachel took me to the winery. You're not being very subtle."
Gran's smile doesn't waver. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Tabitha recommended a tasting and I simply requested their best person walk you through the pairings." She marks her page and closes her book. "How was she?"
I lean against the porch post and cross my arms, but I can't keep the grin off my face. "She's beautiful. Prickly. Sarcastic. She tried to get out of helping me and argued with Tabitha about having barrels to rack."
Gran's eyes sharpen with interest. "And?"
"And then she spent fifteen minutes talking about wine like it was the most important thing in the world, let her guard down exactly once, and laughed before she could stop herself."
