fun messy can be. I’ve already done messy. What was Nick, if not the biggest mess of my life?
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Absolutely no interest. None.”
“And yet you’re the one who brought him up in this conversation,” Grammy J says, confirming that I don’t know why I bother lying because I’m not convincing anyone. She hides her mouth behind her glass, but I can tell she’s grinning—it’s the way deep creases appear in her cheeks and her eyes dance with something playful. She’s enjoying this way too much.
“I really am going to soak in a bath now.” I lean down to kiss her cheek, then start to head for the Inn, but Grammy J’s voice stops me.
“Next time you see Ryan be sure to congratulate him. That bottle in your hand ranked in Wine Spectator ’sTop 100.”
My first thought is there’s no way a Tempranillo from Texas Hill Country made that list, but then I register the rest of her words. I turn to face her, my brow furrowed. “What does he have to do with it?” I ask. “He just works for the vineyard.”
Grammy J cackles, the sound overloud and too high-pitched, and I wonder if before I arrived she’d indulged in one too many glasses of wine during the Inn’s evening social hour. But what she says next leaves me dumbstruck.
“Oh dear Lord, child,” she says. “Ryan doesn’t just work for the vineyard—he owns the damn thing!”
8
M oose loads the last of the mangled boards onto his truck bed as the sun edges completely over the horizon. The world is a kaleidoscope of grays and purples and pinks. When he said he’d stop by the bed-and-breakfast in the morning to provide an estimate for the porch, I thought he meant when it was fully daylight. Instead he arrived an hour ago with a tool belt around his waist, a clipboard propped against his side, and a grin on his face that was annoyingly cheery for the crack of dawn.
At least the bump on my forehead is down to the size of a gumball, the swelling in my ankle has lessened so I can almost walk normally, and my muscles, while stiff, are still functional. Thank God for aspirin, a bubble bath, and a solid night’s sleep.
“That should do it for now,” Moose says, latching the tailgate and wiping the dirt from his hands.
I find another rusted nail in the grass and toss it into the bucket that’s weighing down the already-sagging porch steps. “How long will the rebuild take?”
“I’ll buy the lumber and other materials this weekend. My team works fast, so I’d guess about a week, especially since you did much of the demo for us.” He writes some notes on a form, then rips away the carbon copy and hands it to me. The rebuild is going to cost as much as a weekend getaway to the Ritz Carlton Grand Cayman resort. Still, it’s worth it.
“Because of the significant structural damage,” Moose continues, “I won’t know for sure until we get in there and determine the full extent of what we’re dealing with, but I’ll keep you informed.”
I nod, gazing out at the view. From my vantage point, I see groups of people picking grapes in the vineyards in the distance. A tractor trails each crew, hauling plastic bins to collect the clusters. I pull my hair into a ponytail, allowing the breeze to blow across my neck. It’s already hot enough to make my shirt stick to my back.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, but glancing around at the exterior, I can tell you the Inn isn’t up to code,” he says, opening the driver’s door and placing the clipboard on the dash. “The roof needs replacing. The walls are leaning slightly, meaning there’s probably foundation problems, and the egress windows in the bedrooms don’t meet the size requirements. You may want to speak to Joy about fixing those things first. Otherwise, renovating the porch will be a waste of time and money.”
“I’ve been informed the budget only allows for the bare minimum.”
“Then you have quite the chore ahead of you.”
“Don’t remind me. Today
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Absolutely no interest. None.”
“And yet you’re the one who brought him up in this conversation,” Grammy J says, confirming that I don’t know why I bother lying because I’m not convincing anyone. She hides her mouth behind her glass, but I can tell she’s grinning—it’s the way deep creases appear in her cheeks and her eyes dance with something playful. She’s enjoying this way too much.
“I really am going to soak in a bath now.” I lean down to kiss her cheek, then start to head for the Inn, but Grammy J’s voice stops me.
“Next time you see Ryan be sure to congratulate him. That bottle in your hand ranked in Wine Spectator ’sTop 100.”
My first thought is there’s no way a Tempranillo from Texas Hill Country made that list, but then I register the rest of her words. I turn to face her, my brow furrowed. “What does he have to do with it?” I ask. “He just works for the vineyard.”
Grammy J cackles, the sound overloud and too high-pitched, and I wonder if before I arrived she’d indulged in one too many glasses of wine during the Inn’s evening social hour. But what she says next leaves me dumbstruck.
“Oh dear Lord, child,” she says. “Ryan doesn’t just work for the vineyard—he owns the damn thing!”
8
M oose loads the last of the mangled boards onto his truck bed as the sun edges completely over the horizon. The world is a kaleidoscope of grays and purples and pinks. When he said he’d stop by the bed-and-breakfast in the morning to provide an estimate for the porch, I thought he meant when it was fully daylight. Instead he arrived an hour ago with a tool belt around his waist, a clipboard propped against his side, and a grin on his face that was annoyingly cheery for the crack of dawn.
At least the bump on my forehead is down to the size of a gumball, the swelling in my ankle has lessened so I can almost walk normally, and my muscles, while stiff, are still functional. Thank God for aspirin, a bubble bath, and a solid night’s sleep.
“That should do it for now,” Moose says, latching the tailgate and wiping the dirt from his hands.
I find another rusted nail in the grass and toss it into the bucket that’s weighing down the already-sagging porch steps. “How long will the rebuild take?”
“I’ll buy the lumber and other materials this weekend. My team works fast, so I’d guess about a week, especially since you did much of the demo for us.” He writes some notes on a form, then rips away the carbon copy and hands it to me. The rebuild is going to cost as much as a weekend getaway to the Ritz Carlton Grand Cayman resort. Still, it’s worth it.
“Because of the significant structural damage,” Moose continues, “I won’t know for sure until we get in there and determine the full extent of what we’re dealing with, but I’ll keep you informed.”
I nod, gazing out at the view. From my vantage point, I see groups of people picking grapes in the vineyards in the distance. A tractor trails each crew, hauling plastic bins to collect the clusters. I pull my hair into a ponytail, allowing the breeze to blow across my neck. It’s already hot enough to make my shirt stick to my back.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, but glancing around at the exterior, I can tell you the Inn isn’t up to code,” he says, opening the driver’s door and placing the clipboard on the dash. “The roof needs replacing. The walls are leaning slightly, meaning there’s probably foundation problems, and the egress windows in the bedrooms don’t meet the size requirements. You may want to speak to Joy about fixing those things first. Otherwise, renovating the porch will be a waste of time and money.”
“I’ve been informed the budget only allows for the bare minimum.”
“Then you have quite the chore ahead of you.”
“Don’t remind me. Today
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