“Okay,” I said.
She frowned slightly. “That’s it?”
“What you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” she shot back. “Something. You got all these opinions about me, so say them.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got,” I said calmly.
She exhaled in frustration, turning away from me for a second. Her arms crossed, then she laughed under her breath. “Unbelievable.”
“Look. I’m sorry that happ?—”
“I don’t want your pity.”
My lips fastened shut.
“See, that’s your problem,” she continued. “You think you got it all figured out. You don’t.”
I stepped closer. “Then prove me wrong.”
For the first time since she walked in, she didn’t have something quick to say. She may think she’s this deep, unsolvable mystery, but she’s not. She’s just scared. And lonely. Lashing out and biting at anything she sees as judgment. She doesn’t want my sympathy. She wanted something to sink those biting teeth into. Something with meaning.
Something to do.
So, I gave it to her.
“You want to be taken seriously?” I added. “Then act like it.”
“How?” she asked finally.
I nodded toward the door, toward the vineyard beyond it.
“You said you’d turn this into a tasting space,” I said. “Open seating. Views. All that.”
She straightened slightly. “Yeah.”
“Then do it,” I said. “Plan it. Show me it makes sense for the business.”
She studied me, trying to figure out if I meant it.
“You serious?”
“I don’t waste time playing,” I said.
“…okay. Sounds good. I will get started on it tomorrow.”
I nodded once. “Okay.”
MS. GET IT DONE!
Rory.
“Up! Up—no, up more!”
