The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(62)

No wonder Sam and Junie were so optimistic! The excitement was infectious.

He got the plants in and went home to shower, then met with Sam for the final walk-through before the inspectors arrived.

“You did a fantastic job,” said Sam.

“This summer was way more than I thought it would be,” said Manolo. “This is a special place you got here. Good people—even if they do dress like blind dumpster divers. I can almost see why you moved back here.”

“Almost?”

“You know me. I don’t let grass grow under my feet.”

“What’d Junie say?”

“What do you mean?”

“About you leaving.”

He shrugged. “She didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t tell her.”

Manolo couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes.

“That is messed up. You got to tell her, man.”

“I will.”

“No, I mean, soon. What time’s your flight Sunday?”

“I’ll be out of here by dawn. It’s an hour’s drive to Portland, and I have to return my truck to the rental place.”

Manolo spent that evening typing all his family’s handwritten recipes onto his computer using the time-consuming hunt-and-peck method, and then he went to the additional trouble of sending the document to a print shop and driving several miles to pick it up.





Chapter Thirty-seven


Manolo was at Junie’s place by ten hundred hours. Wearing her shoulder-baring yellow sundress, Junie thumped a bottle onto her new bar. “Let’s christen this place,” she said.

Manolo grabbed the opener and did the honors. “Say when.”

“All the way to the top.”

He raised an inquiring brow. “Nervous?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Trust me. It’s going to be great.” He raised his glass. “Buckle up, Buttercup.”

There it was again—the T word.

But there was no time to worry about that today. They clinked glasses just in time before the flow of people began.

Poppy snuck out of her parents’ café to support Junie, arriving with a gift of sticky buns cut into appetizer-sized bites. “Have you seen the bistro?” Poppy asked.

“I’m too busy behind the counter, selling wine.”

“It’s packed!”

Rory and Heath included her in their rounds, too.

Junie barely had time to breathe. The tasting room was jammed with people, talking, laughing, and drinking her wine. And before they left, many of them bought bottles.

Mid-afternoon, Manolo came through the door and joined her behind the bar. “How’s it going?”

“I can’t believe it,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd. “It’s all because of you.”

He gave her a one-armed squeeze. “Without your wine, nothing I did matters.”

“What’s it like outside?”

“Why don’t you take a break, come on out and have a look?”

Junie left her help to man the bar and followed Manolo outside to see people everywhere, seated at the tables and on the stone benches, or standing, looking out at the magnificent view. Some curious guests were even checking out the vineyard.

Keval arrived with Sam and Holly and a van full of avid wineaux who had signed up for a crush tour months ago.

“OMG. Love what you’ve done with the place!” Keval exclaimed, snapping photos left and right. “This is like your very own she shed.”

“She shed?”

“Like a man cave, but for a girl.”

She shook her head.

Manolo kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations,” he said above the music.

“Congratulations, indeed.”

Manolo and Junie whirled around to see Tom Alexander standing shoulder to shoulder with Junie’s mother.

Keval leaned over and whispered, “Uh-oh. I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

“Mom!”

Mom wore a swingy dancing dress that Junie hadn’t seen in years.

“Look at you!” she exclaimed. “You’re glowing. I’m so glad that you didn’t give up on your dream.”

Manolo said, “Nice to see you again, Dr. Hart.”

“Have you met my friend Tom Alexander?” asked Mom.

“I have,” he said coolly.

“Cheers.” Tom bowed and lifted his glass to Manolo and then to Junie. “Looks like the crush is a success.”

“I’m blown away,” Junie said, fanning herself. “Today’s been phenomenal.”

Mom said, “This bistro is beautiful. Manolo. I understand you built this yourself?”

“I used to be part of a PRT. Provincial Reconstruction Team. We coordinated construction projects and provided humanitarian assistance, post-military action. Fancy way of saying we mopped up.”

“But the food . . .”

“I grew up working in my family’s pizzeria.”

Sam appeared with Red on his arm.

“Pizzeria?” he repeated to Manolo. “Is that what I heard you say?” He turned to Junie. “Manolo’s too humble. Santos’s isn’t just a pizzeria. It’s a famous Italian restaurant. A landmark in the New York area. I’ve been there. There are pictures of celebrities with Manolo’s grandfather and thank-you letters from presidents lining the walls.”