Page 49 of The Difference Between

My eyes go to Gavin, unsure how to proceed. The companies I deal with in the real world aren’t literal moms and pops who live in their businesses, lone survivors of a dream long gone. They’re further removed. And not smiling like psychos.

“Reese is here to look at the vineyard and the offer,” Gavin says. “Maybe give some advice.”

Nancy sighs, looking from him to me. “I just want to get the deal over with, you know?”

If it were a derelict eyesore, I’d say yes, but it’s pristine. Without digging into any numbers, I’m guessing it would be easy to make a few changes, put a few systems in place, and start turning a profit in no time. But it’s so small in the scheme of the businesses we deal with, even if I wasn’t in a work time-out, I’m not sure The Family would even be interested in a purchase like this. Though they’re a good family, there’s not a ton of room to scale.

“I’d love to look in the store,” I tell her. “Hear about the business.”

“Of course,” she chirps, bright smile back on her face.

As she leads the way, she rehashes every lovestruck gesture Gavin made to me when he was a kid.

I try not to laugh, but Gavin smiles the whole time.

Fourteen

Barely one foot in the store and my gaze is drawn to a full wall of windows across from me. The panoramic view of lush, vine-covered hills demands my attention then holds it captive.

The darkness of the room comes into focus next. The dusty boxes littered throughout the large room confirm that nobody’s been in here in a while.

But then.

Nancy flips a switch, and my eyes go to the ceiling as a light comes on. Only it’s not just a light, it’s a masterpiece. Clusters of purple glass globes and fanned-out leaves bigger than my hands fill the openings between wide beams, illuminated by warm bulbs. Other than the industrial metal rods artfully connecting them, it’s all glass. A grapevine of glass on the ceiling.

I don’t know much about glass—ironically enough, everything I learned came from high school and my time reading a book on it with Gavin—but I know enough about high-end design furnishings to know that what’s on their ceiling is likely custom made and expensive as hell.

“That’s impressive.”

Neither respond.

I open a box: a case of wine. Same as the next and the next. “These your grapes?”

Nancy clears her throat. “They are. We use a crush facility out of Charlotte.” I have limited knowledge on the wine industry, but I do know a crush facility is where grapes are sent to be made into wine for vineyards who don’t want to invest in their own equipment. “The Etched Reserve was voted best of North Carolina two years in a row. The Murrine Rosé once. Chambourcin and Seyval blanc are the grapes we grow.”

“Interesting names for the wine,” I say. Annealed Reserve, Torch Red, Incalmo Port . . . they aren’t familiar.

“Glass terms,” Nancy says.

At my raised brows, Gavin adds, “Greg’s idea.”

I nod and exchange one bottle for the next. “You sell any?”

“Three restaurants in town.” She smiles too big for the implication. “They do well.”

No way they do well enough to carry the costs involved.

I return the bottle to the case. “That’s the only source of revenue?”

“It is.”

Gavin gives me a grim look. I don’t need to know anything about wine to know this isn’t sustainable. She isn’t breaking even; she can’t be. It helps explain why she’d sell if that’s as far as she’s willing to take the business. She’s nowhere close to tapping into the full potential of this place if she has boxes of award-winning wines sitting in dusty boxes and a usable space that’s sitting vacant.

Across the dusty counter of the horseshoe-shaped bar that juts into the middle of the room, my attention once again goes to the back wall of windows and the rows of vines reaching for the horizon.

“You have any numbers I can look at?” I ask. “And the offer?”

“Of course,” Nancy chirps. “Inside. I need to check on Addie anyway.” With a laugh she adds, “She’s watching Overboard for the millionth time. The girl just loves Goldie Hawn.”