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She poured him a half glass of wine, and he took a brief moment to mourn his productivity for the rest of the day. “Thank you. Are you joining me?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, eyes twinkling.
Yes, it was becoming quite clear why Hallie felt the need to rob and vandalize in this woman’s honor. Kindness rolled off her in waves. “Great.” He sipped the wine, holding it on his tongue for several counts before swallowing. “Wonderful. I’ll take three cases.”
She almost spat out her wine. “Three cases?”
“Yes, please.” He grinned. “I’ll pay now and pick them up later, if that’s all right.” Seemingly in a daze, she took the American Express he handed over, but like any smart businesswoman, she beelined for the register before he could change his mind. “With an established shop like this, you must have local regulars.”
“Lately, everyone seems so busy. And it has become increasingly easy to order wine online.” Her tone retained its pep, but he could see wilting beneath the surface. “I do have some loyal customers, though, that refuse to let me down.”
“Oh? Who might those be?” Good God, he was fishing. “Maybe I know them.”
“Well, there’s Boris and Suki. A lovely couple that come in every other day for a bottle of their favorite Shiraz. There’s Lavinia and Jerome—they own and operate Fudge Judy and make the most delicious Boston cream pie donuts. But I’d have to say my most loyal regular is the granddaughter of one of my dearest friends, God rest her soul. A local gardener named Hallie.” Lorna brightened. “Actually, she’s close to your age. A bit younger, maybe.”
Yeah. No mistaking that his heart had picked up speed. “Hallie Welch?”
Lorna ripped the credit card receipt with a flourish. “That’s her! Did you go to school with Hallie, then?”
Sore spot prodded, he hid a grimace. Why could he not remember?
“Yes. High school.” He took a casual sip of his wine, set it down, twisted the stem. “She’s doing some gardening work for my family at the moment, actually. Small world.”
“Oh my, isn’t that a coincidence?” laughed Lorna over the register, her lips turning down at the corners after a beat. “Poor girl took it very hard when Rebecca passed. I don’t think she knew up from down. Came to the funeral in two different shoes and everything.”
The sensation of having his chest stomped on was so visceral, he actually looked down to make sure nothing was there. Hallie in mismatched shoes at a funeral, not knowing up from down, made him feel very helpless. Was she better now? Or just better at hiding her grief?
“Of course, she does have some very good friends to see her through. She’s joined at the hip with Lavinia. And of course there’s that lovely Owen—but I doubt you know him, he moved here about—”
“Owen. And Hallie. Have they . . .” He relaxed his grip before he could snap the stem of the wineglass. “Dated?”
The older woman went right on smiling, clearly unaware there was a shiv to his throat. “Yes, I think they have. Casually, though.” She spoke in an exaggerated whisper out of the corner of her mouth. “Although I think Hallie is the one who keeps putting on the brakes.”
“Oh.” Tension escaped him like air leaving a balloon. “Interesting.” He barely restrained himself from asking Lorna why Hallie continued to put on the brakes. Did Owen have any annoying habits? Did he double dip, perhaps? Any reason to validate Julian’s irrational dislike of the man would be welcome. But he’d gone far enough with this line of questioning. Going any further would be considered stalking in at least twenty states.
No more inquiries about Hallie. But . . . the whole making-her-smile thing was still on the table, wasn’t it?
“Lorna, do you happen to have business cards of any kind?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve always relied on foot traffic. It used to be enough to have a sign outside that said ‘free wine tasting.’”
“As it should be.” He twisted the glass right to left. “I would be happy to make you up some cards. Maybe . . .” It had always been rare for him to drop the Vos name, but there was no way around it in this instance. “My family owns a vineyard here in St. Helena. Maybe we could give cards for Corked out to our visitors. If they bring in the card, ten percent off their first bottle? Does something like that sound agreeable to you?”
“Your family owns a vineyard?” She handed him back the credit card, along with his receipt to sign. A blue pen. “Isn’t that nice. Which one?”
He coughed into a fist. “Vos Vineyard.”
Lorna lurched against the tasting table, nearly upsetting the open wine bottle. “Vos . . . Are you the son? Julian?” Her mouth opened and closed. “I haven’t seen you in years. Forgive these old eyes, I didn’t recognize you.” She shook her head a moment. “And you would really offer to hand out cards for me?”
