The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(30)

“Wait!” her mother called, her mouth full of pizza. “Where’d you get this?”

Upstairs in the bathroom, Junie turned on the water full force to drown out Mom’s voice. She took her time splashing her face with cold water, changing her shirt, hoping all evidence of the pizza would be disposed of by the time she got back to the kitchen.

Crossing the living room, she grabbed her bag and called, “Where should we go?”

But Mom didn’t answer.

Junie came to an abrupt halt when she saw her cramming the second slice into her mouth, her cheeks pouching out like a squirrel’s.

“You don’t even like pizza.”

“I know.”

“That’s covered with cheese, you know.”

“I know!”

“And that looks like meat.”

“I know!” Mom exclaimed, gulping. “But this—this is the best pizza I’ve ever had.” She folded up what was left and crammed it into her mouth. When she’d swallowed that, she said, between licking her surgeon’s fingers, “I’m serious, Junie. Where’d you get that?”

“A friend made it.”

“Well,” she said, wiping sauce from her mouth, “I could eat an entire pie.” She rinsed her hands and only then noticed Junie had changed her top. “I’m sorry. You wanted to go out. I won’t be able to eat another thing all day.”

Junie sighed. “It’s okay.” She’d lost her appetite. She sank into a kitchen chair. “How was your first week in your new townhouse?”

“Lovely! It’s very spare and modern. Here, look at these. . . .” She pulled photos up on her phone, handed it to Junie, and leaned over her shoulder to run commentary.

“Spare, indeed,” said Junie, scrolling through Mom’s pictures. “White walls, white rugs . . . is everything white?”

“I like white.”

Sterile was more like it. Operating-room white.

“Speaking of friends, who’s this latest man you started telling me about?”

Behind Junie, Mom stood up to her full height. “What did you hear?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. Did you meet him online like the other ones?”

“Noooo?” Her reply rose in a question. Mom’s astronomically high IQ went down the tubes when it came to men.

“Am I supposed to keep guessing?”

She smiled coquettishly. “It’s too early to talk about it.”

Fine. Junie didn’t want to talk about Manolo, either. Not that Manolo was Junie’s man. Not in any way, shape, or form.

Mom sat down catty-corner to her and drummed her fingers. “Have you thought any more about Portland?”

Junie slid her mother’s phone across the table and took a drink of cold coffee, wincing at its bitterness. “Mom, can we drop the whole Portland thing? You know how I feel.”

Mom folded her hands. “If you’re absolutely sure, I won’t try to persuade you to move any longer.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then, I have another proposition.”

Now what?

“First, tell me. Do you truly believe this will be the year you finally start turning a profit?”

Junie nodded enthusiastically. “Sam says the valley’s getting more recognition by the day. All I need to do is get the right people here during the crush to create enough buzz to get a distributor. That’s what everything hinges on.”

“I’m trying my best to be supportive. How many years have I heard that? But if I can’t get you to change your mind, then how would you like to buy me out of my interest?”

Junie blinked. Dad’s will had divided the property among Mom, Storm, and Junie. No doubt it had seemed like a good idea, back when everyone presumed both kids would someday make the winery their living. And then Storm had walked away. Since then, Junie had lain awake countless nights after watching Worst-Case Scenario, fearing that Storm would show up out of the blue someday and meddle, make some crazy decision reversing all her hard work.

But if she owned her own third plus Mom’s, that would give her controlling interest. No one could touch her.

“It would also help me with my mortgage on the townhouse.”

She should have known there was more to it. “Why would you buy a townhouse if you couldn’t afford it?”

“I opted for higher monthly payments and a shorter term. That means I’ll have it paid off sooner, but in the meantime, I’m feeling the pinch.” She lowered her head and folded her hands on the table. For a long moment, the only sound in the farmhouse was the ticking of the mantel clock in the living room. “I might have overextended myself a bit. But I just want to move on, Junie.” There was desperation in her eyes, raw yearning in her voice. “I want to dance again. As much as you need to hang on to the past, I need to let go of it so that I can live again, even if I have to cut back on my lifestyle a little. Can’t you find it in yourself to understand? I’ve tried to be compassionate with you all this time. Now, I need you to show me some empathy.”

Junie met her mother’s earnest gaze. The computer dating, now the townhouse. Suddenly, Junie saw the woman across from her in a different light—not as her mother, but a vibrant yet lonely young widow, stuck in a backwater town with people she had nothing in common with.