The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(15)

“The restaurant is still there, then?”

“Still there,” he said, retrieving the dishwashing liquid from under the sink. “Forty years. Opened the year my parents got married. My sisters have mostly taken over, but my parents still go in every day.”

“You think you’ll go back someday?”

He shrugged. “Plenty of time to think about that later.”

“I used to be part of a family business. Now I’m a one-man band: vineyard manager, cellar rat, and winemaker. Not that I’m complaining. I’m the luckiest girl in the world to be doing what I’ve always wanted to do.”

Hand cupped under the running water to gauge the temperature, he cocked his head and smiled. “To each his own. Better you than me, sweetheart.”

Junie hopped up. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

“I got it. Hand me that pan, will you?”

She tidied up around him while stealthily scrutinizing his body some more from behind.

He whirled around just as she was returning the dishcloth to the sink. “’Bout time I get back to town. Sam had a meeting, but it’s probably over by now. We’re getting together at the site of the new consortium this afternoon.”

Feeling oddly disappointed, Junie thrust her hands into her pajama bottom pockets. “I have work to do, too.”

“Got time to walk me out to the truck?”

“Let me slip on my boots.”





Chapter Seven


Outside, Manolo pointed to the scaffolding surrounding the side of the house. “What’s the story with that?”

“My dad designed a new side porch, but he died before he could finish it. I’ve been trying to finish it myself along with taking care of the vineyard and everything else, but things keep happening.”

“What kind of things?”

“I’ve hired two different guys to do it, but they both disappeared after a couple of weeks. Then something else comes up that I need to throw money at. The winery’s not turning a profit yet. The porch won’t make me any money, but the vineyard will, so that takes priority.”

He stood pondering the framed-out structure. “Have you bought the rest of the lumber and the other materials yet?”

She pointed with her chin to a metal roofed building. “They’re over there, in the barn.”

He walked over and tried an exposed floorboard. “Decks feel secure. It’s just a matter of cutting the railings, attaching them to the posts, and adding the top caps.” He tipped his head back to scrutinize the house as a whole. “Good, solid construction. Shame your family didn’t get to live in it longer.”

“I know. We moved from base to base my entire childhood. When people asked me where I was from, I didn’t know what to say. Sometimes at Christmas we’d visit my dad’s family in Missouri. I envied my cousins, growing up in the same place their whole life, having what I called ‘old friends.’ Granted, I had friends from all over, probably even more than they did, but no one who’d known me all my life. Then, when I was thirteen, my dad retired from the military and bought this land so he could grow grapes on it and make wine. I was so happy to finally have a home of our own.”

Manolo sniffed at the irony. “You couldn’t wait to find a home, and I couldn’t wait to leave mine.”

Lost in separate thoughts, they ambled out to Sam’s truck, drawing out the short trip.

“Your dad was the one who got you interested in wine?”

“At first, it was a hobby passed down to him from my grandfather. Granddad was a tenant farmer. Growing up, his family didn’t have much money, but they had fresh-grown vegetables . . . homemade wine . . . fish pulled from the Ozark Mountain streams, and venison Granddad hunted in the woods. Dad said it was the best life a kid could have. Then the landowner sold the ground to a developer. Dad and his family moved to an apartment in Springfield, and at the age of forty-one, Granddad got a job in shipping and receiving for one of those big-box stores.”

She looked up. “Can you imagine the prospect of spending the rest of your life endlessly rotating stock inside a dark warehouse?”

Manolo didn’t respond.

“The day Dad graduated from high school, Granddad drove him down to the nearest recruiter’s office without telling him or my grandma where they were going until the papers were signed, rather than doom him to the same fate.”

“Your mom like to cook? ’Cause that kitchen was made for someone who does.”

“Honestly, she’s too busy with her practice. But Dad didn’t take shortcuts. He wanted to build us something solid and lasting.”

“He did a commendable job. Beautiful brick chimney. I saw the fireplace in your bedroom when I was helping your mom.”

Junie blushed. First her bills, now her dirty underwear. Could it get any more embarrassing?

“At least your dad left you with a comfortable foundation. You can even walk to work.”

The late morning sun felt warm on her back, her stomach was pleasantly full, and a cute, smart builder was joking with her. A smile tugged at the corners of Junie’s mouth.

“Speaking of work, how’s the wine business?”

“I think my pinot could really go somewhere—if I could find a way to get more people back here to taste it, get the word out.”