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“Deal.” I grin at her. She knows I can’t resist Pete’s flatbread.
“Get over here, boy,” Maggie says, and I round the corner of the counter to give her a hug.
“I missed you, Maggie.”
“Right back at you, Spencer.” She slaps my ass in a way only a woman in her eighties would be able to get away with, and I chuckle.
The customer snaps his fingers. “I knew it. Spencer Nash. Helluva loss.” He shakes his head as he laments what could have been had we not lost our last game of the season.
“Don’t I know it,” I mutter.
“Next year,” he says, and he’s friendly enough. You never really know what you’re going to get with football fans who recognize you. I’m glad this one isn’t the harassing kind.
But his words plow into me.
If it is next year for me, it won’t be here in Minnesota.
Coach’s words still haven’t quite hit me.
“And he’ll sign any bottle you buy,” Maggie promises.
I narrow my eyes at her. “She does this to me every time I come in.”
“He’s going to be my grandson-in-law,” she says proudly.
“Oh? You two?” the woman with the fan asks, and she points between Grace and me.
“Oh, no! No, no,” Grace says, and she flushes as if she’s flustered by the insinuation. “He’s engaged to my sister.”
I chuckle as I watch her stammer. I haven’t told Amelia. I haven’t told Grace.
I’ve thought a lot about retirement and what comes next after the game. I’ve always wanted to have the next phase of my life planned when I finally do hang it up, and now that I’m a free agent, something that still hasn’t quite settled in, maybe I should hang it up now.
But what’s waiting for me?
A woman I don’t want to marry wearing my engagement ring?
Statistical analysis was the first thing that came to mind. It would keep me connected to the game beyond playing.
But I’m starting to feel like I don’t want to be connected to the game beyond playing. And that feeling first started the moment I stepped foot on the grounds of Newlywed Vineyard and Winery.
This place feels like home, and home is hard to come by these days. I grew up in New York, and that always felt like home. The college years took me to Indiana, where I attended Notre Dame, and then I was drafted by the Vikings in the first round. I’ve only played here, and while this has become my home over the last seven years, the apartment I’ve rented the entire time I’ve been here has never really felt all that homey. I’ve thought about buying a place, but the fear of being traded or released kept me from settling into permanence.
As I fell in love with Amelia, I also fell in love with the charm of Maggie’s estate, with the walking paths around the winery, with quiet serenity behind the Grand Hall overlooking the lake…hell, even with the process of winemaking, not to mention the fantastic wines made here.
I glance at the counter where Grace is already sitting waiting for me, and I slide onto the stool beside her.
“Cheers to the offseason,” Grace says, lifting her glass in the air.
I clink my glass against hers. “Cheers.”
We each take a healthy sip, and I set my glass down, gesturing to the flatbread for her to take the first piece. She digs in.
“What are your plans for your time off?” she asks.
“Well, your dad asked me for my opinion on the business reports here at the winery, so I’ll work on that a bit.” I think it’s his way of involving his future son-in-law in the family business, which is fine. I like Steve, and I’m happy to help with an area where I have some knowledge. “I’m heading to New York to see my mom on her goat farm tomorrow. My brother’s getting married in a couple months and having a huge blowout weeklong party there, so I’ll be in Vegas for that. Otherwise…” I shrug as I trail off.
“Goat farm?” she asks, backtracking a bit.
