Someone new had joined the tour.
Deputy Sheriff Mark. While she stood there and stared at him in surprise, the corners of his mouth tipped up slightly.
“I think it’s time for some wine, am I right?”
In the tasting room, she let everyone mill around and talk while she ran to the bathroom, tore out a few paper towels, and shoved them inside her top and beneath her pits to stanch the flow of flop sweat.
“The first time is the hardest,” Mark said quietly behind her.
She squeaked and pivoted. “I was doing fine before you showed up,” she said, yanking the paper towels out from her shirt and tossing them into the trash. “You give me stage fright!”
Again, that slight curve of his mouth. “Okay, it’s all my fault. So let me help you.” Taking her by the hand, he dragged her out of the bathroom and back to the tasting room. He caught Owen’s eye and the winemaker gestured them over. “Give us a minute, folks,” Mark called out to the tour group, all friendly-like, adding a flirtatious wink.
Owen’s desk looked like something right out of a science lab, covered with beakers and equations written on every surface. He’d been working on a sample and Mark offered Lanie a taste.
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.
Owen started to answer, but Mark held up a hand to stop him. “Does it matter? Just drink.”
She took a little sip.
Mark shook his head. “More.”
So she took another. Whatever it was, it was actually quite delicious and . . . once it hit her system, she relaxed a little bit.
He flashed her a smile. “Now go get ’em, tiger.”
She started over with the whole Capriotti love story and the strangest thing happened. The people were totally into it. They wanted her to be good at this, she realized. They wanted her to succeed, and it was a huge confidence booster. She loved their reactions to the story and in truth, she fell a little bit in love with the winery herself.
After the tour, Cora came into the offices and stopped short, tossing up her hands. “I remember every lyric to every eighties song, but hell if I can remember why I just walked into this room.” She turned and walked out again.
And then suddenly she was back, carrying a bottle of wine. She set it down on Lanie’s desk. “I remember! You’re amazing. Mia caught the flu and you stepped up in a huge way today, doing a job that wasn’t yours without complaint.”
Lanie opened her mouth to admit she’d done plenty of complaining to Mia beforehand, but everyone around clapped and toasted her. Including Mark, who’d come in without her noticing, although she was pretty sure his expression was more amused than congratulatory.
“Anytime,” she murmured, feeling like a fraud. They clearly wanted her to feel like one of them, but she knew nothing about being part of a big family. Plus, she didn’t know their endgame. Or how they could really be so close and happy. She needed to learn to keep her distance better around them.
Especially Mark, because the man was one of those quiet troublemakers, she could tell—the kind that sneaked in under a woman’s guard and made himself at home. And then decimated her heart and soul . . .
“You okay?” Cora asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” Lanie shook her head and spoke the utter truth. “It still feels a little bit like you’re all too good to be true.”
Cora didn’t get insulted. In fact, she tilted her head back and laughed. “Oh, honey. Believe me, we’re not all that good. I mean, our hearts are in the right place, but trust me, we’re human.”
Just then, Uncle Jack walked by. He looked at Alyssa’s artfully torn jeans that probably cost her a hundred bucks and said, “Hey, did you know there’re holes in your jeans?”
Alyssa rolled her eyes and Jack farted audibly. “Jet power!” he yelled and kept walking.
Cora waved the air with her hand. “See? Proof we’re a little insane. Now let’s all get to work. Alyssa, open a damn window and someone get that man some Tums, pronto. Back to work, people!”
And back to work they all went.
Lanie settled in. Two months wasn’t really a lot of time given what she’d been hired to do—which was basically a redo of the entire Capriotti brand. She was working on everything from design and execution of simple business cards to their wine club brochures to their complex catalogs. And then there was the website that needed to be completely redesigned and overhauled as well, not to mention label designs that would hopefully sit up and beg people to pull Capriotti bottles off busy crowded store shelves and into their shopping carts. Almost two-thirds of all purchase decisions were still made in-store, and a great wine label design could be what closed the deal. On top of that, she needed to properly execute and manage the packaging, ads, and logos that would end up on menus, table tents, shelf-talkers, bottleneckers, posters, banners, window clings, case cards . . . everything.
She was completely lost in the work when Samantha and Sierra appeared with hopeful faces.
“Purple toes!” Samantha yelled cheerfully.
Right. She’d promised earlier in the week, but the girls had been busy after school ever since. Tonight was the night, even though what Lanie really wanted was a hot shower, a marathon session of a really bad reality show, and a pot of mac and cheese all to herself. “Now? Don’t you have more homework or another dance class or something?” she asked hopefully.
“Nope,” Sam said.
Lanie looked at Sierra. “How about you?”
Sierra shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Lanie said, curling her hand around her ear. “I didn’t hear you.”
“She said no,” Sam said.
Lanie slid her a look. “Maybe I was trying to get her to talk.”
Sierra grinned.
So did Sam. “Everyone tries that trick. It never works.”
Okay, then. They followed her to her cottage, where she began the pedis. She was painting Sierra’s big toe when Sam asked, “Are you my daddy’s girlfriend?”
Lanie jerked and painted Sierra’s entire toe, making both girls laugh. She wiped off the polish and slid them both a look. “Of course I’m not. Whoever said such a thing?”
“We watched you out the window when Daddy walked you home the other night.”
Lanie kept a careful gaze on painting toenails and most definitely didn’t give away any of her private thoughts. “Which was a very nice thing for him to do. But it doesn’t mean I’m his girlfriend.”
“You stood close to each other and everything,” Sam said. “We asked Grandma and Auntie Alyssa about it, and they got pretty excited.”
Dear God.
“And you smiled,” Sam said. “And so did he. He doesn’t do that very much.”
“Why?” Lanie asked before she could help herself.
“He has a sad,” Sam said. “If you were his girlfriend, maybe you would take that sad away.”
Lanie set the toenail polish down and bent low to blow on the wet paint, making Sierra giggle. Then she met Sam’s gaze. “It doesn’t work like that,” she said gently. “Having a girlfriend or a boyfriend doesn’t make you happy.”
“Then what does?”
Yeah, genius, what does makes one happy? She put a hand over Sam’s heart. And then Sierra’s. “The happy comes from inside yourself.”