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I discreetly adjusted myself as I continued to drive, trying to listen in on their conversation. With the wind as loud as it was, it made overhearing Katie’s side of things more challenging.
“I don’t get why they wouldn’t want to sell to me. Did I not put in a competitive bid?” Whitney bit her thumbnail and then she must have thought better of it because she dropped her hand back into her lap. I supposed that didn’t take much inferring. “And what happens next? What are you going to do to make sure I get the place?” Whitney listened, making a few small noises in agreement and some in frustration.
Leaning over, I tried listening in. The look Whitney shot me suggested I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought.
“Fine, keep me posted.” Whitney hung up her phone and released a heavy sigh.
I looked over at her briefly before returning my eyes to the road. Fortunately, nobody else was dumb enough to be out in this weather, so the lanes were clear, but the wind was stronger than ever.
“That didn’t sound promising.”
Frustrated energy emanated from the other side of the car. But while Whitney stewed, I felt a calm relief that she’d need to stay in my house longer. I liked having her there. Selfishly, I needed to prolong her stay as long as possible. Then maybe she’d let down her walls and finally admit what the hell was bothering her.
She gave a half shrug. “Katie will fix it.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, not wanting to say anything that would set Whitney off. While I didn’t know the full story, it was obvious something fell through.
“I’m sure she’ll take care of it for you.” I meant it too. For all her faults, Katie prided herself at being good at her job.
“Are we there yet? Are we even still in Haver’s Creek?” Whitney muttered the second question under her breath.
I glanced over again, catching her eyes. “Patience, Sprinkles.”
Just then I turned my blinker on signaling to turn right up ahead. A massive sign came into view.
“Montgomery Winery,” Whitney read aloud. “Wait what?” Her head snapped in my direction. “Is this yours?” Her expression of complete surprise made me smile.
I had a few tricks up my sleeve.
“It is.”
“H-how?” she stuttered.
I laughed at the pure incredulity in her voice.
“I used my pro money to invest in a wine making business. Most of the grapes I source from California’s Central Valley, Lodi mostly. But people like to wine taste, so we make our own blends, in addition to a massive tasting room, a wine cave and an event space.”
Whitney tugged on her seatbelt to give herself more room to look around as the truck approached the stone building that sat in the middle of the grapevines.
“Welcome to Montgomery Vineyards,” I announced as we got out of the car. I couldn’t hide the pride in my voice.
A light drizzle got us wet as we moved from the car to the stone building that housed the winery. Wind whipped Whitney’s hair into a frenzy. I’m sure mine didn’t look much better. I fumbled with the keys briefly, distracted by the weather.
“This is getting rough.” I turned the lock, allowing us to finally head inside. “Get in.” I hauled Whitney inside the building where it was safer.
She stopped just inside the door, I almost plowed into her closing the door quickly behind me, making sure to lock it. It was made of a strong wood, but I didn’t want to run the risk of it blowing open.
“This is incredible,” Whitney said looking around. I tried to see the space through her eyes. While stone covered the outside of the building, the inside carried a blend of both stone and wood. A huge fireplace centered one of the walls, with stone carried all the way to the tall ceilings. Wood beams in the ceiling created a sense of warmth and the combination of wood and stone made it feel almost like a cabin.
Leather couches and chairs formed sitting areas around the fireplace where folks could take their wine and enjoy a cheese platter. It created a comfortable space that made people feel like a romantic getaway. I wanted people to want to be here, to enjoy the wine and the atmosphere equally.
Directly across from the fireplace sat the bar, where people would order, begin their tastings, and congregate. We didn’t offer a wide selection of wine. I wanted my blends to be focused. That’s why there were two whites, a rose and two red. It bothered me when wineries tried to do too much. Just make sure what you are serving was good and people would keep coming back for more.
What Whitney couldn’t see was the large deck out back. It overlooked the grapes and, in my opinion, was one of the best views in Haver’s Creek.
“Come over here, let me pour you a glass and then show you around.” I directed Whitney to the bar. She pulled up a chair, and I went around to pull out my favorite reserve wine. Then I realized I didn’t even know what kind of wine Whitney liked.
How sad was that? She’d left me long before turning the legal drinking age and even though we drank a little in high school, it was mostly wine coolers for Whitney. I knew being the daughter of an alcoholic made her cautious when it came to drinking.
