“The wine?” Grayson asked, trying to recall if he’d ever seen Mrs. McCoy at the winery. Since he didn’t spend a lot of time in the tasting room, it wasn’t unusual for him not to know who the regular patrons were. The majority of his days were spent either alone or with Maverick, working to create the wine, or during the heart of harvest time, he was out in the vineyards, picking grapes.
She shook her head. “No. More like the vibe of the festival. Open air, people connecting, the music.”
They were fortunate that their tent was set up near the festival’s stage, allowing them to enjoy the music groups that had been rotating throughout the day. Right now, a couple was onstage, the man playing an acoustic guitar, while the woman sang in a voice as soulful as Janis Joplin’s.
“Mom is very free-spirited,” she added.
“Must be where you get it from.”
Lark frowned briefly, as if confused by the comparison, before rapidly nodding her head. “Oh yeah. In some ways, I guess. But in others…”
“Like?” he asked, suddenly curious about Lark’s family. Of course, he knew who they were. Like the Storms, the McCoy family had strong ties to Gracemont, all of them settling down in the small town rather than seeking greener pastures, as so many others did.
Unlike his family, the McCoys lived down in the valley rather than in the mountains. Townies, as his mother liked to call the locals who lived on one of the four main streets that made up Gracemont’s town center.
“Birdwatching at sunrise, homemade everything. She also believes the universe is always sending signs.”
Grayson smirked. “So, a hippie.”
“Big-time. La—I,” she said, a little too loudly, “am not a fan of sunrise or cooking.”
“Color me surprised. You hate sunrise?” he joked, alluding to the fact she was always sleeping through her alarm.
Lark laughed.
“Your mom sounds interesting.”
“She’s a lot,” she said, though with a fondness that told him how much she loved her mother. “My dad balances her out, though. He’s quiet, kind of awkward, but solid. He’s the kind of guy who just rolls with it. Whatever it is.”
“So opposites attract.”
“Totally,” she replied.
“What about the rest of your family?” he asked.
“My brother, Rob, is the funniest person I know. Like effortlessly hilarious. And my little sister, Piper, is the best of us all. Smart, grounded, sweet.”
Grayson agreed with that assessment. “Piper has become a bit of a familiar face around Stormy Weather Farm. She and Sadie are thick as thieves.”
Twelve-year-old Sadie had moved to the farm when her father, Boone, took over as vineyard manager from Levi. While Sadie and Boone had only moved to Gracemont in January, in some ways, it felt like they’d been a part of the family for years. They fit with the Storms like wine fit cheese. And, if all went according to plan, there was a good chance they’d become official Storms when Boone married his cousin Mila—the couple had fallen for each other fast and hard.
“Piper loves it on the farm. She’s becoming a bit of a horsewoman, thanks to Remi taking her on trail rides all over the mountain.”
Grayson grinned. “I swear Remi would sleep in the stall with her horses if she could.” Then, he frowned slightly, remembering there was another McCoy sibling she hadn’t mentioned. “Wait. Aren’t you a twin?”
Lark hesitated, which felt like a weird reaction to a normal question. “I am.”
“You haven’t mentioned her. What’s she like?” he asked, surprised by how much he enjoyed getting to know more about this woman.
“Wren is…” She shrugged. “She’s Wren. She’s a lot quieter than me. She works as the librarian at Gracemont Public Library.”
“Oh yeah. I think my mom mentioned that she’d taken the job after Ms. Pauley passed away.”
“I—er…I mean, Wren was devastated when she died. Ms. Pauley was one of the main reasons she decided to become a librarian.”
Grayson understood that. The bookworms in his family had been deeply saddened by the beloved, elderly librarian’s passing.
“Sounds like you’ve got a tight family,” he mused.
