“Tasting room?” Maverick asked.
Grayson’s brows rose. “What? You’re eating lunch with me?” That was another thing that had changed since Maverick got engaged. Pre-Ella—which was how Grayson was beginning to refer to the time before his brother reclaimed the love of his life—he and Maverick had lunch together in the wine-tasting room a few times a week.
Lately, that had changed, as Maverick spent his lunch hour racing home to eat with Ella—and to squeeze in the occasional quickies. Apparently, getting laid every night and every morning wasn’t enough for the smug, lucky bastard.
“Ella’s having lunch at Edith’s today,” Maverick said.
Edith Millholland was the unofficial first lady of Gracemont. At eighty-two years young, Edith, who had run a boarding house before retiring, was like a grandmother to the Storms. She and her nephew, Manny, ate Sunday dinner with them every week, and it was Edith who’d been instrumental in Ella’s return to town.
Grayson nodded. “I don’t mind being second choice,” he joked. “I’m in the mood for one of Mila’s grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Maverick rubbed his stomach. “Me too.”
They made the short walk from the winery to the tasting room together, entering via the kitchen door.
Mila looked their direction when they walked in, took one look at their faces, and grinned. “Let me guess. Grilled cheese.”
Maverick crossed the space to give their sweet cousin a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t think either of us would complain if you tossed a few of those homemade potato chips on our plates too,” he said, like the charmer he was.
Mila rolled her eyes. “Two super-starch specials, coming right up.”
Grayson thanked her as they walked out to the tasting room. Because it was a weekday, there weren’t more than a dozen customers. He recognized the Grants, a local retired couple, who waved as he and Maverick entered. A few folks at a couple other tables nodded at them as well. Grayson didn’t know the three women standing next to the bar, looking at the wine-tasting menu. They got a lot of visitors from D.C., so it wasn’t unusual for him not to recognize customers.
Soft voices drifted through the open space, warm and lively, punctuated by quiet laughter and the clink of glasses. Sunlight streamed through the huge sliding doors. When the weather was nice, Nora opened the doors so that even the people seated inside felt as if they were outdoors.
He and Maverick each helped themselves to a glass of wine, Maverick offering a red wine suggestion to the women standing there, answering a couple of questions about the grapes. Then, as usual, his brother stopped to chat with the Grants, flashing that easy smile that made people feel like they’d just run into an old friend.
Sometimes, Grayson was jealous of his brother’s people skills, but that feeling passed quickly. He was fine with his quiet life just the way it was, happy to let his brother run the conversation, while he simply nodded and smiled pleasantly in the appropriate places.
They’d just claimed their usual table when Mila came out and placed their sandwiches and chips on the table.
“Bon appétit, guys,” she said, before heading back to the kitchen.
Grayson and Maverick moaned in unison as they took their first bites. Gooey cheese, butter, and crispy homemade bread had to be the greatest combination ever. They ate in silence, blissfully lost in the flavors, enjoying the downtime.
Everything was peaceful and normal.
Until it wasn’t.
The door to the wine-tasting room burst open with a gust of energy that didn’t belong in the calm rhythm of the space.
Nora, who’d just come downstairs from her office, sighed as Lark appeared. She swept inside like a spark in human form—long blonde hair bouncing, cheeks flushed like she’d run all the way here.
“I know I’m late. I’m sorry! I swear I thought I set my alarm last night,” Lark said hastily.
Ah…so she had run.
Nora crossed her arms. “Lark. We just talked about this.”
“I know! And I really, really am sorry. I’ll stay late to make up for it. I’ll even mop the floors after closing.”
That was clever, offering to do the shit task no one ever wanted.
“You can make up the time with the mopping. But please, Lark, don’t be late again.”
Lark nodded somberly. “I really am sorry, Nora.”
Nora gave her a tight smile. “I know you are.”
