She's relaxed. The sarcasm and the sharp wit are still part of who she is, but they come wrapped in warmth now, and the difference shows in a dozen small ways. How she touches my arm when she's making a point about barrel selection. Or the way she curled into me in her sleep Monday night like I'd always been there.
I run my thumb along the stain on her forearm. She goes still at the contact, and then her eyes close for a fraction of a second before she catches herself and opens them.
"You've got wine on your arm," I tell her.
"Hazard of the job," she says, glancing at the stain. She doesn't pull away from my hand, and the deliberate stillness ofher, the choice to stay instead of stepping back, tells me more than words would.
I trace the line of her jaw, and then drop my hand. Grabbing my coffee, I ask, "What's on the agenda today, boss?"
Her gaze holds mine for a beat, and the flush at the base of her throat is faint but visible. Then she turns back to the worktable and picks up her pen, all business. "I want to finish the blending trials on the new white. We're down to two ratios, and I need a final decision before the end of the week." She slides a row of sample bottles toward me.
I tie on my apron without argument. She hands me a pair of clean sample glasses, and our fingers brush during the exchange. The small current of heat that passes between us is something even Sunny has stopped trying to hide.
She lines up six sample glasses and walks me through the fining process, tilting a glass toward the fluorescent light so I can see the faint haze suspended in the wine. She swirls the sample with a flick of her wrist and holds it beside a treated one. The difference is visible even to me, one cloudy, the other catching the light clean and bright.
"See that?" She taps the second glass. "That's the window. You want to land right there."
Between samples, Sunny caps a bottle and glances at me. "Kevin bite anyone new this week?"
"One of my ranch hands walked too close to the enclosure and Kevin went for his ankle through the fence. Poor guy jumped like he'd stepped on a rattler."
Sunny snickers. "Kevin doesn't start fights. He finishes them." She pulls the next sample and swirls it, checking the clarity.
I'm holding a sample glass up to the light, studying the color, when the door opens and Isabelle walks in.
She carries her standard clipboard and the no-nonsense look of a woman who doesn't waste time on small talk. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and her boots click against the concrete floor as she crosses to the worktable.
"Good morning, you two." She gives me a warm smile. "How's the training going, Charlie?"
"Great," I tell her. "Sunny's been thorough, and I'm picking up more than I expected."
Sunny glances at me. "He's being modest. He's got one of the best palates I've worked with."
Isabelle looks between us with a knowing smile. "Good to hear. Based on that, I think you're almost ready to start rotating through the other departments. Diego could use your help in the vineyard. He wants to walk you through the canopy management and irrigation systems before harvest season ramps up."
The news hits with a pang. I've known the rotation was coming. It's the whole point of the training, understanding every part of the winery from the ground up so I can be an informed investor. But the idea of not spending my mornings with Sunny leaves a gap I can already feel.
"I'm looking forward to working with Diego," I say over the lump in my throat. "When do I transition out there?"
"Another week or so. We’ll see." Isabelle flips a page on her clipboard. "Don't forget the private distributor tasting is next Thursday. We've confirmed a strong list of potential customers from across the region. This is our best opportunity to rebuild the wholesale pipeline."
"I've had my attorney in Austin reaching out to restaurant groups," I tell her. "A few of them have already confirmed they'll attend, and he's working on more. I'll have him send you the list." I lean my hip against the worktable and meet Isabelle'sgaze. "I'm also available for set up, teardown, and working the room. Whatever you need, Isabelle."
Isabelle's shoulders drop, and she exhales through her nose. "That's exactly what I was hoping to hear. Thank you, Charlie. Tabitha has the event management under control, but it'll be good to have an extra pair of hands available. And with your contacts attending, I think we have a solid chance of making a difference."
"It will," Sunny says, and the quiet certainty in her voice draws both our gazes. "The wine speaks for itself. We just need the right people to try it."
Isabelle nods and tucks the clipboard under her arm, heading for the door. She pauses with her hand on the frame. "Oh! Sunny, I'll need your tasting lineup for the event by Monday." Isabelle disappears down the hallway.
"You'll have it tomorrow," Sunny calls out.
The production room settles back into its usual quiet, and Sunny picks up her pen and returns to the log. I watch her write for a moment, the focused downward tilt of her head and the way her braid falls over one shoulder, and the reality of my future rotation settles in.
"You know," I say, leaning my elbows on the worktable, "just because I'm moving to Diego's department soon doesn't mean you'll be rid of me."
She doesn't look up, but her pen slows and the corner of her mouth curves. "Okay."
I wait until she lifts her gaze, and those blue eyes hit me full force. "Your coffee's not going to deliver itself. And someone has to keep you updated on Kevin's reign of terror." I lean forward on my elbows. "You're stuck with me, Sunshine."
