3- Boston

The rest of the wine festival went well—at least from a sales perspective. I introduced myself and West Wines to a few wineries I hadn’t spoken to before, making connections that would hopefully help us grow. Dad had made us one of the biggest distributors in this part of the state, but there was always competition. And now that West Wines was going to essentially support the launch of Mom’s winery, well, I didn’t want to tell her this, but it was going to be tight for a bit.

My mother wasn’t wrong about needing help. Besides not having the first clue how to make wine, she wasn’t much of a salesperson. She was too kind. If I left it to her, she’d be giving the wine away. Jacques already had his hands full in the winery—he’d mentioned that Mom was a lot more prepared to embrace the “art” side of winemaking than she was willing to undertake the more scientific aspects.

But making her own wine was Mom’s dream, and it was the only thing that had made her smile since Dad had died. So even though Cunning Ham Wines looked to be a money sink, if it made my mom happy, I was going to support it. I’d just have to work twice as hard.

“That’s right,” I told the final winery I visited, smiling over a surprisingly excellent Bordeaux blend I knew I could sell into mid-range lists locally, “we’re a family business. Three out of four sons joined my dad at West Wines, and the Cunningham family has been running it for the last fifty years.”

“That’s great, son,” the man on the other side of the table told me. He was the owner and winemaker of a place I’d heard of a few times recently, and I’d tried unsuccessfully to get a meeting with him in the past. “Well, give me a call this week and I’ll bring you in and show you the operation. I’m curious to see how much you think we can move, especially into retail.”

I smiled at him, pulling on the version of my smile I reserved for closing. “Sir, if you keep making excellent wine, I’ll make sure it’s in every four-star restaurant and retail store from Redding to Phoenix.”

“I like the sound of that.” He clapped me on the back, his smile growing as he envisioned it. That was the key, I knew, getting people to see something much bigger for themselves than they’d imagined before. And making them believe you were the only one who could deliver the dream.

“I’ll give you a call this week. See you soon,” I told him, shaking his hand and then turning back toward the slowly dissipating crowd.

The sun was streaking down the sky in the west, and the air was taking on the chill of evening, bringing the faint scent of the Pacific on the light breeze coming over the distant hills. Vendors were beginning to pack up their wares, and wine-tasters were starting to take themselves back to the parking lot, heading for home.

I was headed back to help Mom pack up, crossing the now-vacant dance floor, when a body slammed unceremoniously into me from one side.

“Whoops!” The body cried loudly in a distinctly feminine voice.

I turned, catching the quickly toppling pile of girl in my arms and setting her back onto her towering wedge shoes. As I set her upright—even before I got a glance at her pretty face—I knew it was El. And for that brief second she was in my arms, something inside me let out a sigh.

But then I was righting her, my hands on her soft hips and my eyes drawn to her very low-cut top. “There you go,” I managed, pulling my eyes up to look into her face. She had amazing blue eyes—wide and fringed with dark lashes, and there was something so sweet and honest in them. I’d noticed it long before I’d had the chance to sit across a desk from her during our ill-fated interview. “You okay?”

As soon as El realized who it was that had kept her from toppling over, she practically jumped to move away from me, nearly crashing over in the other direction. “I’m fine.” Her words came out in a rush, and she sounded indignant that I’d even asked.

“You practically fell over there,” I pointed out, wanting her to realize I hadn’t exactly sprinted over and put my hands on her for no reason.

“I was fine,” she said, her voice taking on a somewhat terrifying edge of anger.

This was going about as well as our interview had. “Okay, well. Did you have a nice time?” I tried. I could be friendly. Maybe she’d see that I was actually a nice guy.

She sniffed and crossed her arms over her body, “Yes, thank you. But now I need to go.” Her eyes held mine for the briefest of seconds, and in that instant my insides jumped into some kind of jiggling rhythm, and I wanted to hold that gaze forever. But she was already turning around, heading away from me.

“See you at the office,” I called, though if she heard me, she didn’t respond.

El joined her friend on the other side of the dance floor, and while her friend looked back at me with a quizzical expression, El kept right on wobbling toward the parking lot, clearly hating me with every unsteady step. Man, she was cute.

For the second time in a few minutes, another body jolted into my side, tearing my attention away from the pretty girl who despised me. I was evidently in the middle of a high traffic area or something.

This time, the body was Chad, and from the grin on his face, I knew he’d slammed into me on purpose. One of his less-charming ways of commanding my attention. Like a puppy, the guy didn’t seem to realize his own strength.

“Good day, bro?” he asked, the grin still in place. “I take it you had a good time?”

“I always have a good time.” That was true. I envied that about him, actually.