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“I need to hear your voice more. I’ll call you later, before I go to bed.”
She smiled. “Okay. Talk later.”
“We will.” His voice was gruff. “Only a few days more.”
Yeah, but right now, that felt like forever.
* * *
“Hey, wait here with me for a minute,” her dad asked right as she was about to leave the boardroom. They’d just finished their strategy meeting for the vineyard partnership. She’d been the one who spoke out the most, having had on-the-ground experience.
Talking about France made her feel wistful. Not because she missed Pascal. That was so over. But because she regretted letting herself get so upset by his rejection.
And because Michael was closer to France than he was to Hartson’s Creek right now.
“Sure. Is everything okay?” she asked him.
He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. He was a handsome man. Not old enough to be distinguished yet, but he was getting there.
“Everything is fine. I just want to talk through my meetings scheduled in France with you. Do you think I should try to use the language?”
“No. They’ll all speak English.”
“Thank God.” He smiled. “I might try a few words, though. Just to show I’m willing.”
“Sounds good. I’ll write some down for you. Just some greeting words will do. The French like it if you at least try to speak their language.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Her stomach tightened. “You don’t need to thank me. You wouldn’t be having to do all this work if it wasn’t for me.” She hated that her relationship – or lack of it – with Pascal meant the distillery needed a new European partner. Her dad had worked hard for the original relationship with Pascal’s family.
All she had to do was make it work in practice. And she’d completely messed that up.
“Honey, you know it’s not your fault.” His lips tightened. “He never should have treated you like that. I wish he hadn’t.”
She looked into her dad’s blue eyes. “I know.”
“Do you?” he asked, his voice soft. “Do you know what you’re worth?”
It was funny, because conversations like this barely ever happened with her dad. Maybe once every five years or so. And yet every time they did, every time her dad stepped over that invisible line between stoicism and emotion, it hit her in the gut.
“I know what I’m worth,” she told him. “That’s why I walked away from Pascal.”
Her dad reached for her hand. Curled his fingers around hers. “You did the right thing, honey. From the moment you were born, I knew you were special. I held you in my arms and looked into your bright blue eyes, and I knew you would change everything. You ruled our roost from the moment we brought you home from the hospital. Not because you were bossy, but because you were so damn strong. And I’m so proud of you for walking away from him when he wanted you to be anything but strong.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, and he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight. She had no idea why he was doing this, but she liked it.
“Hey, look at you two,” her mom said, her voice full of warmth. “Have I interrupted a moment?”
“Just telling our daughter how proud I am of her,” her dad said gruffly.
Her mom beamed. “That makes two of us. Did the meeting go well? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. There was something going on with one of the stills.”
Despite all the years she’d sat on the board, her mom was more at home as a distiller than anything else. It was the whiskey she loved, not the boardroom politics.
“Not too much. It looks like we’ll be going to France in the next couple of months, though.”
Her mom caught Grace’s eye. “Won’t you want to go?” she asked her.
