The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(46)
In fact, more than one visitor to the new tasting room had inquired where they could get something to eat. She was starting to feel like a broken record, repeating the directions to Main Street. Also, she didn’t like seeing the disappointment on their faces when the visitors realized how scarce food was on the wine trail.
They had a point. But even if she had had the money to spend on a kitchen, the very idea made her head hurt.
It’s not about Cheez Whiz and crackers, she wrote back, illustrating her point with a sketch of a face with its tongue sticking out sideways and Xs for eyes.
Keval rolled his eyes at her stubbornness.
Hardly any wineries serve food, she wrote.
Exactly, he scribbled back with a flourish, dropping the pen and folding his arms in a victory pose.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Sam sheltered his eyes as he peered up through the fine drizzle at the roofers. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. Laying shingles in the rain doesn’t seem like a good idea to me.”
“I made sure they kept the decking covered whenever they weren’t working on it. If we were laying a new roof on an old building, that could be a problem. Once the siding’s installed, everything’ll dry out.”
“If you say so.”
“I have interior paint samples to go over with you. But first I could use a cup of Poppy’s coffee. Want me to grab one for you while I’m over there?”
“That’d be great. Now I’m getting in out of this damp.” Sam shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and hustled back to his house.
Manolo took his time strolling over to the café. With Junie’s tasting room finished, he should be relieved to be doing only one job instead of two. But the truth was, he missed it. He’d loved everything about that project. Aside from the obvious, the actual construction, he’d found satisfaction in donating his time and expertise. Maybe EWC hadn’t found him a volunteer opportunity this summer, but he’d found one himself, right under his nose. The invoice Junie was expecting would never be sent.
He looked left and right as he traversed Clarkston’s main thoroughfare, admiring its clean streets, its red brick buildings and dark green awnings. It was easy to pick out the tourists from the locals. They were the ones in rain ponchos craning their necks at the architecture, peering into shop windows, reading menus posted in the windows of the few restaurants. There wasn’t a tour bus in sight, though. Clarkston was still unknown to the hordes who flocked to Napa and Sonoma. The town was still a charming slice of Americana, largely undiscovered. If people like Sam had any say, Clarkston would stay quaint, no matter how popular its pinot became.
As he reached Poppy’s Café, he thought yet again about Junie.
Red looked up from her corner booth when she heard the door’s bell jingle. Manolo envied how dry and cozy she looked, hunkered down with a steaming cup of tea, reading on an electronic tablet. They exchanged greetings as he headed for the lunch counter.
“Hey, Poppy. I’ll take two black coffees, to go.”
“Coming right up.”
“Your parents still up in The Great White North?”
“Huh?”
“Canada. Little country above Washington state.”
“Oh! I get it. We talked about that at the hike, didn’t we?” she recalled as she rang up his order.
“You told me you were just filling in.”
She pulled two cups from the sleeve. “It’s a little more complicated than that. I got a call from Portland. The wine shop I manage there is being sold, but there are still a million details to be worked out.” She secured the lids on the cups. “I’m juggling all that plus keeping an eye on the staff here and hostessing at a restaurant known for its extensive wine cellar.”
“Word is, you’re going to be a lady somm.”
“Just a somm,” she corrected him good-naturedly. “We take the same test they give the guys.”
“I grew up in the restaurant business, a long time ago. We used to call them wine stewards.”
“I passed my introductory test. The next step is becoming certified. I sit for my exam later in the year.”
He raised his to-go cup in a toast. “Well, here’s to you. I hope you pass the test with flying colors. By the time you take it, I’ll be long gone.”
“Oh? Where are you going?”
“Not sure yet.” Some place far, far away, where he could learn to forget about a certain brown-haired girl.
A photo of gooey-looking rolls on the stack of menus on the counter caught Manolo’s eye. Poppy’s Famous Buns, read the caption. He bet Sam, Keval, and Holly wouldn’t hate him if he brought back a plate to share. “Hey, you got any of these sticky buns?”
“Coming right up.”
The shop phone rang and Poppy answered.
“Dr. Hart! How are you? Junie? No, I haven’t seen her.”
Manolo froze at the mention of Junie.
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Junie never listens to her messages.” There was a pause. “Yeah, sure. Hold on. Red,” she called, “have you seen Junie lately?”
Manolo swung his head around to where Red sat curled up, reading.
Red shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Red hasn’t seen her either. She’s probably just swamped. You know how it is this time of year in the wine business. You need to get last year’s wine in the bottle, and this year’s crop picked. When those two jobs overlap, things can get really hairy.”