The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(34)

The EWC might not have been able to find any opportunities for him this summer, but ironically, Junie’s tasting room had fallen into his lap like a ripe Roma tomato. And if Sam didn’t like it, he’d prove to him when he left in the fall that the whole time he’d been here, his actions where Junie was concerned had been nothing but honorable.





Chapter Nineteen


When Junie gave her mom the news about the bank turning her down, she responded by suggesting Junie drive up to Portland on her next day off to have dinner and see her new place.

At the moment the snow-covered peak of Mount St. Helens came into view through the Volvo’s windshield, Manolo called Junie’s cell phone.

“I’m coming over to look at that oak slab in your barn. Did you get a chance to think about what I said?”

“I’m not there right now.”

“I thought this was your day off.”

“It is. I’m on my way to my mom’s new place.”

There was a pause. “Is she getting to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s no secret she’d love you to move to Portland with her. I was there when she offered to put your bedroom suite in the moving van, remember?”

“Then you heard me tell her no way.”

“I hate to join the naysayers, but maybe your mom has a point.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours. Definitely yours. I just hate to see you banging your head against the wall. Now that the porch is done, it’ll up the market value of the farmhouse.”

“I’m not selling the house. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so. Then how about that new bar?”

“Don’t we need permits or something?”

“I know the local zoning officer from working on Sam’s project. I have her eating out of my hand.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

“Here’s something I bet you didn’t know. The town officials can’t praise your dad enough. Besides, those laws exist in case some big developer comes along. Clarkston’s not interested in slapping down their vintners. You’re the ones who draw in the tax dollars. I’ve never seen a place where politicians and businesses shared the same agenda more than they do here. What’s good for the wine is good for everyone. Wine is sexy.”

But Manolo’s provocative talk couldn’t sway her.

“It was never part of the plan to redo the tasting room this year.”

It was enough that he’d finished her porch. At least now it wouldn’t look like she couldn’t afford even the basic maintenance of her place.

“Now, here’s what I’m thinking. We replace the current bar with the live-edge slab, boom. Done. Then I install a drop ceiling, put in a cork floor, knock out the south-facing wall, and build a covered patio.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” She had to admit his grandiose ideas were tempting.

“We’ll install a patio with some high-tops so people can take their drinks outside when the weather’s nice. Get some container plants, maybe put in some climbing roses. Take out one of the tables to make room for a guitarist in the summer evenings, for atmosphere.”

She could see it all now, exactly as Manolo described it. Tourists mingling with locals under tiny white lights, the heady fragrance of roses in the twilight, the tinkle of crystal, and best of all, her bottles flying off the shelves.

“It sounds amazing,” she admitted wistfully. “But it’s way out of my reach.”

“It’s not just about the ambience. Think of it as a long-term investment that will bring in business.”

“That’s crazy, Manolo. You’re talking thousands in materials alone.”

“I know all the tricks of the trade. It’ll cost less than you think. You’ll see.”

The highway dipped under an overpass. When it rose again, the rolling green countryside was gone, replaced by the Portland cityscape.

If she had extra funds, she’d spend it buying out Mom’s interest, not on some gigolo’s pie-in-the-sky ideas. She hadn’t forgotten the Holly incident.

“I have to go now. There’s traffic.”

“Think it over, but don’t take too long. I’ll be tied up for the next few days with the sewer work and watching them pour concrete, but I’ll stop by next week. We have to get on it quick to get done by the time your big tourist season starts.”

If Junie got lucky and landed a distributor this fall, she could pay some bills and then maybe think about renovations to the tasting room next year. But what if Jed Smith had been right when he’d advised her not to gamble? What if she only ended up deeper in debt?

Junie parked her car in The Pearl and strolled past chic stores, thriving ice cream parlors, and funky bars to the restaurant where Mom said to meet her.

Once she was inside, it took a moment for her pupils to adjust to the dimness. Tables crowded up against a long, mahogany bar lined with businesspeople dressed in somber tones of navy and gray.

Mom was already seated. She saw Junie and waved.

“I feel a little underdressed,” worried Junie, in her jeans, as she sat down opposite her mother.

“Glory Days caters to a professional crowd. But don’t worry, you’re fine,” she replied, sipping her cocktail.