Silence settles over the space as the janitor closes down the building. He peeks his head in and gives me a wave, and I waveback. Mike doesn’t speak much. He’s older, and hunchbacked, but refuses to retire and stop working. He reminds me of my father in a lot of ways, stubborn to his core and doesn’t know what to do with himself if he’s not working or helping someone out.
“Have a good night, Mr. Mike.”
All he does is grunt out a response before he disappears into the evening.
My favorite time at the vineyard is the first hour after everyone’s gone. This place in its off-hours is sacred ground for me.
The hum of the refrigeration units backdrops the sound of the peeler gliding over the washed skin of the sweet potatoes. The wind kicks up outside, winding its way through the grape vines. The sun is only just beginning to set, peppering the sky with an amber sort of color.
The vineyard after hours is my kingdom.
And tonight, I intend to share it.
I move methodically, letting the potatoes boil while I bring out the salmon. I read online that Omegas in preheat need certain kinds of protein to keep up their strength. Funny, how Omegas need omega-3 fatty acids.
That’s why I jumped for the twelve-ounce slabs of salmon.
“All right, in you go,” I murmur as I slide the marinated salmon into the fridge.
The only problem with making her fish is that I won’t be able to cook it until after she’s here. Salmon doesn’t keep more than about seven or so minutes in an oven, so I can’t precook it before I go pick her up.
Which is fine, too—the last thing I want is to smell like fish while I’m picking her up. If I splash something onto myself, I can change my clothes in the kitchen before bringing out the food.
Clothes.
I need to get a separate set of clothes for back here.
It takes me an hour to prepare everything. Since I already know what bottle of wine I’m pulling from the cellar for our meal tonight, that takes drinks off my plate.
I double-check the kale and amaranth, making sure it looks the way it should. It will be slow cooking while I pick her up, and trust me, there’s nothing worse than gummy, slimy amaranth that’s been cooked too long.
“Time to get a shower,” I murmur as I turn everything onto low and head out of the kitchen.
I barely get to my room on the second floor before my phone buzzes.
“Oh, come on,” I groan, assuming its work.
I pause when I see it’s the group chat I’ve got going with the guys.
Knox:She’s ready whenever you are.
Eli:Try not to scare her off with that broody stare of yours.
I quickly type a message back.
Me:You better not have worn her out too much today, Knox.
Three dots appear immediately.
Knox:Even if I did, I’m sure you enjoyed the show.
Eli:Do I want to know?
Knox:The lovely Lia and I put on a little show for Walker in the kitchen this afternoon.
Eli:What kind of show?
I snicker as I type a message while heading to my bathroom.
