Page 57 of The Difference Between

She was six months pregnant and napping when their house caught fire, attributed to a single burner of the stove being left on. Due to the weather—the air was bone-dry—it spread fast. By the time Greg got home, the house was already engulfed in flames. He went in to save her; they both died from smoke inhalation. Addie was with Gavin.

My best friend for thirteen years of my life was killed by a stove.

More than the tragedy of it all or how young they were, it reminded me that we are finite—we get one shot at getting life right. Then I looked at the list of all the things seventeen-year-old me wanted enough to scribble down on paper and thought of all the things Amanda would never get to do.

The next morning, instead of sending the email to Trish, I picked up the phone to run my thoughts by a colleague in accounting.

Based on the numbers, he confirmed, that with a little bit of work and some capital, Glass of Vine could thrive and be self-sufficient in no time. The bleed could be stopped immediately, a modest profit could be turned after that, and within a few years, it could be a thriving and resilient business that would sell for a pretty penny.

I had a verbal offer to Nancy before breakfast and the contract drawn up by midday. A cash purchase of 1.3 million with no strings and an unheard of fourteen-day closing. Her inspections are only a few years old, and while it’s not standard, I’m not here long enough for this to drag out. It’s imprudent to make a purchase like this without all the due diligence, but I trust her. And Gavin. Plus, Nancy was tickled—her words—that a fancy Chicago-based company would be interested in her vineyard and I was going to be part of it. “Bud would never believe this,” she said with a disbelieving laugh.

Banyan will keep his job—whatever that means—because she swore that he was the best unofficial viticulturist in the area. Even if he isn’t, there’s not enough time to find someone better this season with harvest mere weeks away.

I’ll have a project to keep me busy for a few months.

Nancy can move on from this chapter and downsize like she wants.

We all win.

Gavin looks at me expectantly through the din of the bar, and I clear my throat. “It was a good opportunity and my mother’s driving me crazy.”

“You’re doing the work?”

“While I’m here.” It’s an unorthodox model, but I’ll be the boots on the ground until I go back to Chicago. After that, if all goes as planned, someone will be put in place to run it until the time comes to sell.

“Hm.” He takes a sip of his beer. From a can. “That typical with a PE firm?”

I look at him sideways. “It is when their top partner is a few miles down the road.”

“Lucky for us then.” His gaze holds mine for a split second, and there’s that him-induced awareness, sizzling through me. “What brings you in here?” He eyes my outfit, the fabric of the black T-shirt slipping down my shoulder as he does. “Other than making us all look bad.”

“Same thing as you.” I rattle the ice in my glass. “And we’re dressed the same.” His casual clothes cling to the contours of his young body—I don’t need to see it all to know it’s a good body. And, of course, a happy trail that I’m thoroughly unhappy to know about. “I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt.” I bring the glass to my lips, smiling over the rim. “And my mowing shoes.”

His eyes drop to said shoes then rebound back to mine, brows raised. “And yet I noticed you the second you walked in.”

A slight—slight—warmth builds in my chest at the compliment. “Competition makes it easy.”

The bartender exchanges his beer for another then tops my glass off. She smiles at him; he winks at her.

It doesn’t bother me—she’s young and cute and curvy and looks nothing like me—but when she strolls away, I ask, “Friend of yours?”

The look on his face makes me regret the question. “If she is?”

My brows raise. “Then I’d say poor thing.”

He hums an amused sound then reaches into the community bowl of snacks to retrieve a handful of nuts, pretzels, and crackers. “And what kind of friends do you have?”

He tosses the whole handful of community snacks into his mouth at once.

“Ones who aren’t walking OSHA violations, for one.”

He laughs then brushes the crumbs from his hands and eyes my drink. “Not a drinker?”

After my pain-in-the-ass sisters and mother, I’m not in the mood to rehash the details of my pending pregnancy. And it’s none of his business. And, of course, he might not keep flirting with me if he knows I’m here on a mission to get knocked up after being told by my boss I have no life.

“Not tonight.” I take a sip. “What are you doing here? Hot date with some age-appropriate girl you met at recess today?”

He laughs. “I’m working on it.”