Slow Dancing at Sunrise

by Jo McNally

  He preferred tourists to locals. Something always went sideways with local women. Their friends or families would eventually have something to say, whispering warnings that he was “a Rutledge.” He’d get mad. The woman would get upset, and that was that. Not once had a woman ever stood shoulder to shoulder with him against the gossip. They always caved.

  This apartment served a limited but functional purpose, and it worked fine for him just the way it was. He’d grown up in worse, sharing a single-wide with three siblings. But having Whitney here gave him a sudden urge to straighten up the place. It was annoying.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, turning away. “It’s a man cave. I get it. But it’s my man cave, and I like it. Did you want coffee?”

  A soft sigh moved across her lips and hit him hard right in the chest. “I’d kill for a cup of strong black coffee.”

  “You got it.” He filled the basket with ten scoops of grounds and filled the water reservoir with eight cups of water. That should make it strong enough for her. He still had his back to her when she started asking questions. There was no accusation to her voice, just curiosity.

  “How did you know I was downstairs? Oh...you said there are motion sensors.”

  He nodded, reaching for a couple small plates and a box of day-old raspberry Danish. “The floor is pretty well insulated, so I doubt I would have heard you. That’s why we have a security system and cameras down there. I got the alert when you opened the front door and started your redecorating project.”

  That set her back a bit. “Wait, you were watching me?”

  He grunted in answer, cutting and plating two slices of the Danish. Her fingers tapped idly on the table.

  “You could have at least come down to help instead of sitting up here like some stalker.”

  He handed her a plate. “I figured if you wanted help, you wouldn’t have snuck into the place alone at five o’clock in the morning.”

  She took a bite of the Danish, and Luke forced himself to look away as she moaned in delight. She was killing him. Having her sitting here in his kitchen and carrying on a civil, almost lighthearted, conversation was too surreal.

  “Oh, this is good!” She took a second bite and gave him a soft smile. Killing him... “I’m sorry for waking you. I didn’t know about the security system. I’m surprised the service didn’t send the cops.”

  Luke filled two mugs with coffee, setting one on the table next to Whitney. “I’m the service. It’s designed to be a residential security system, and it sends an alert and the camera feed to my phone. Low budget but effective. What got you up and out of bed so early anyway?”

  She downed half her mug of coffee while he was still adding sugar to his. “Helen’s worried about the winery and this festival coming up. After looking at the mess the books are in, I’m worried, too. I’ve taken some marketing classes, and I started writing ideas down. I was too excited to sleep, so...here I am.” She looked down at her foot and grimaced. “It would have been a nice surprise for Helen if I hadn’t dropped that damn bottle and wrecked the place.”

  He sat across from her with his coffee. “You didn’t wreck anything other than a bottle and your foot. And my sleep, of course.”

  She winced. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He took a bite of his Danish, doing his best to sound unconcerned. “Sleep is overrated.”

  “Why do you work two jobs?”

  “Two? Try three, or maybe four, depending on the week.” He saw the question in her eyes and explained himself. For once, he didn’t feel like he had to. He wanted to. “I mow the lawn at the Catholic church during the warm weather, and shovel the sidewalks in the winter. And I pick up the occasional odd job around town.”

  Whitney looked out at the vineyard, her forehead furrowed. “But...why? This place seems like it should be a full-time job.”

  Luke stared out at the vines. They needed rain, but there wasn’t any in the forecast for the next few days. He needed to get up to the pinot gris block at the top of the hill and trim the roots and shoots. Today he’d be in the tasting room most of the day, but maybe tomorrow.

  “Is it some big dark secret?”

  He met her gaze in surprise. “What?”

  “The jobs.” She waved her hand in the hair. “Why do you have them?”

  He gave her a pointed look. “You’ve been working on the books. You tell me.”

  Her mouth thinned. “You’re saying you’re not getting paid?”

  “Not with any consistency. After what you said about Helen thinking I’m not paying rent, it makes more sense. Helen probably thinks this apartment is acting as my salary, but I can’t pay my bills with it. And I have been depositing rent into her account.”

  Whitney shifted in her chair. She pushed her hair behind her ear, then did it again when a strand fell free. She crossed her long, lean legs. Those short shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination. Neither did the little top she was wearing, with those tiny strings holding it up. This woman had to be bad for his heart. Had to be. She frowned, but it wasn’t her usual angry frown. When she spoke, she sounded worried. Apologetic.

  “I’m still digging my way through all the bank records. It’s a mess. I’m still missing stuff, but it’s hard to know exactly what. I’d like to see you get paid for the work you do, Luke. That’s only right. But...I still don’t know if Helen can afford it or not.”

  Something gray and hollow settled in Luke’s stomach. “It’s really that bad?”

  Her voice sharpened. “I just said I don’t know.” She blew out a long breath, tracing her finger around the rim of the coffee mug. “It doesn’t look good. Is this wine festival as make-or-break as Helen makes it sound?”

  Luke ran his hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck absently. It was weird having a beautiful woman—any woman—sitting at this table, much less discussing the winery with him over coffee and Danish. He hadn’t talked about the business with anyone, with the possible exception of Steve Jenkins, in an effort to keep the gossipmongers away. There were enough rumors floating around out there as it was, although Helen had helped dispel a few of them by showing up at the quarterly owners’ meeting in May. Some of the owners had fed into a whisper campaign, suggesting she was selling the place, or perhaps even letting it slide into bankruptcy. Luke couldn’t let either happen.

  “It’s the biggest event of the year in this area, and it kicks off the biggest season. Fall is harvest time, and that’s when the tourists want to come to the wineries. Add in the pretty fall views around the Finger Lakes, and it gets crazy busy. All the wineries depend on a good fall season for survival, and we’ve missed two.” He stared into his coffee cup, almost forgetting Whitney was there. “If we miss another, our reputation will be toast. We’ve gathered a few awards this year, but we haven’t marketed that news the way we should have. We’re not sold in many restaurants anymore, or even liquor stores. The world is going to forget we exist if we don’t make a big statement at the festival and after.”

  “What needs to happen to make that statement?”

  He didn’t completely trust her, but then again, no one else was showing an interest, and his back was against the wall. His imagination briefly took a trip to imagine Whitney’s back against the wall, legs around his hips... Uh, no. Bad idea. He managed to push the enticing image aside.

  He looked around the admittedly cluttered apartment. “Marketing, for one thing. And commercial sales. I’m not good at the fluffy stuff. And I don’t have any time to learn it.”

  He’d laid his weaknesses on the table in front of a woman who generally pounced on them, but instead, she went silent. Her brows furrowed, and she took a sip of her coffee. Finally, she looked at him and gave a sharp nod, as if in agreement to some question he hadn’t asked.

  “I’m not artistic—that’s using the wrong side of the brain for me—but I understand mark
eting theory and what appeals to consumers. I was never in sales, but I can negotiate a deal. Okay, let’s do this.”

  Luke stared at her in confusion. “Do what?”

  “The festival! Let’s go big. We’ll get some new marketing materials. Do a float for the parade. We’ll let everyone know that Falls Legend Winery is back in business.”

  Luke sat back in his chair. “Who’s this ‘we’ you keep talking about?”

  “Us! You and me. And Helen, of course.” There was a sparkle in Whitney’s eyes he hadn’t seen before now. She was excited, and...happy? It was a damn good look on her. She lifted her chin. “You’re in charge of making the wine. I’ll project manage. We can do this!”

  He shook his head. “We can do what exactly?”

  Her brows knit together. “Come on, Luke—we can bring this place back, maybe make it better than ever! We need to make a splash...” Her eyes lit up with laughter. “Ha! Splash...wine...get it?”

  “I’m sorry, but...” Maybe it was his lack of sleep making him fuzzy. He splayed his hands. “I don’t get any of it.”

  She leaned forward. “Luke, do you think we have a chance of winning anything in the wine competition?”

  “Of course. The chard is nearly perfect, and the pinot has already won a few awards.”

  “Okay, let’s be ready to capitalize on that.” She looked out to the vineyard. “This place has a wonderful story—Tony and Helen’s story. And stories sell. We need to tell people why this place exists, and make them want to be part of it. We have a website, right?”

  He winced. Tony used to take care of that. “Yeah, but...it’s not great.”

  “No problem. I can update it. And we should create some marketing pieces to hand out at the festival. Maybe little booklets telling the story of Falls Legend Winery.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. Maybe they could use the festival to turn things around. If they worked together. He and Whitney. He gulped.

  “Tony kept journals about the winery from the very start. They’re in his office up in the barn. There could be something interesting you could...”

  “Oh, Luke!” She reached out and took his hand, sending a sizzle of heat straight to his chest. “That would be great. I could put pictures of the old journal pages on the website.” She chewed her lip. “I know I said you just had to make the wine, but...the place is looking...”

  He nodded, feeling even more tired than he did before. “I know. It needs work. My plan is to have everything done before the festival, but...”

  “I’ll help.” He looked up in surprise.

  “You’ll...help...”

  She scrunched her face. “Well...maybe not with the repairs, but I’ll do as much of the other stuff as I can. I’ll learn about the wines, help in the tasting room, make plans for the festival.”

  It was tempting. But this could be one of those “slippery slopes” people always talked about. One wrong step would send him sliding downhill toward a fate he couldn’t see waiting for him. And Whitney was tied into that fate somehow.

  “Will you still be around next month?” It was a fair question. He didn’t need Little Miss City Girl messing around with Helen’s hopes, or the winery’s future, and then vanishing the minute she got bored. But he also didn’t want to see the light in Whitney’s eyes dim the way it did just now.

  “Why wouldn’t I be here?” She pushed her coffee cup aside.

  He needed to keep things real. For Helen’s sake. It had nothing to do with him, or how he felt having coffee with Whitney in his kitchen early on a summer morning.

  “Won’t your bosses want you back in your fancy Chicago office to count more beans pretty soon?”

  Her face paled, and she pressed her lips together again. It was a tell—she did that when she was struggling with what to say. Her voice went flat.

  “There’s no job to go back to.” She glanced at the clock on the microwave as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. And he let her do it, getting the strong sense she did not want to discuss it. “I should get up to the house before Helen comes down for breakfast. Thanks for the coffee, and the first aid.” She stood, wincing as she looked down at her bandaged foot. “I’ll talk to Helen and put a task list together. Once we have that, we can break down assignments by individual and set some due dates.”

  Back in charge again. Rather than ask about Chicago, he slid into their usual poking and prodding mode. They kept each other sharp that way.

  “Due dates, huh? Where am I going to fit your due dates in with what I’m already doing?”

  She swept her eyes around the apartment. “The same way I’ll fit them in around doing my audit of Helen’s books. It’s called compartmentalization and multitasking. We’re all going to have to get good at it if this plan is going to work.”

  Compartmentalization and multitasking?

  He watched her descend the stairs to the tasting room, with those shorts hugging her swaying hips. As if he wasn’t already juggling enough tasks? As if he wasn’t already stuffing his attraction to dark-haired, serpent-tongued Whitney Foster into a very tight compartment in his head? And now she wanted them to work as some kind of team?

  Luke wasn’t sure he had a compartment strong enough to hold his thoughts about that idea.

  * * *

  “OKAY. LET ME SEE if I’ve got this now.” Whitney set the bottle down after pouring a small amount of dark wine into her glass. “The three-year-old pinot has notes of dark berries, caramel and fresh earth. And saying wine tastes like dirt is a compliment.” She carefully swirled the wine around her glass, without sending it flying over the edge like she had earlier in the day. She raised the glass to her nose and took a sniff. She tried not to do it like a beagle hot on a rabbit’s trail, which Helen had accused her of earlier. It was more of a gentle sniff, but she still drew enough of the aroma in to form an opinion.

  It smelled like red wine.

  She was getting better at telling the difference between the varieties, but between the vintages of the same variety? All the pinots smelled the same to her.

  Helen laughed. “You’ve stuck your nose in too many wine glasses today. No wonder you’re confused. You can’t become a wine expert in six hours, Whitney.”

  “But I need to know enough to sound like an expert if I’m going to be able to sell Falls Legend wines to stores and restaurants, and...” Whitney took another sip. She held up her finger to put that thought on hold. One more sip, holding it in her mouth as Helen had suggested, then swallowing. “Wait! I taste dirt! I mean, I taste earth! Like fresh earth—the scent of earth after a summer rain. And...there’s the hint of caramel at the end. What do you call it? The finish? It finishes like melted caramel. Oh, Helen, I taste it now!” One more sip. Or more of a gulp. “That’s amazing! No wonder this vintage won a medal this year.”

  Helen poured herself a small amount of the wine and tasted it. “We’re entering it in the Blessing of the Grapes competition, along with the Legacy blend and the unoaked chardonnay you like. That’s the one that has the buttery finish. Luke did a great job with it.”

  That brought up a question that had been bugging Whitney. “Was it Luke’s idea to buy the steel tanks and do the ‘unoaked’ thing?”

  Helen nodded. “Yes, but it didn’t take much to convince Tony to go for it.”

  “Wasn’t it expensive?”

  Helen’s eyes narrowed on Whitney, as if she knew where she was going with this. “Sure. But so are French oak barrels. Those have to be replaced every few years, you know.” Helen leaned back in her seat. “French oak is becoming harder to find, and white oak just doesn’t have the same tannins. The tanks last forever, and make great wine. Like the chardonnay.”

  It gave Whitney an odd sense of relief to cross off the steel tanks as a possible reason to suspect Luke of taking advantage of Tony and Helen. All she had to do now was figure out the gaps in the bookk
eeping records, and hopefully clear his name in her mind for good. For some reason, that was becoming important to her.

  She turned the bottle in front of her to check the vintage. The winery labels all carried a variation of the bold Russo family crest, with its bright red lion and suit of armor. The background color of the label varied by wine variety, but the logo had been the same for decades.

  “Aunt Helen, have you ever considered updating the labels and branding for the winery?”

  Helen hesitated, her glass at her lips, before she took a sip and carefully set it back on the counter. “As a matter of fact, we did. Tony talked to my friend Lena about a new logo, but then he...well...”

  An idea was taking shape, but only if Helen was open to it. Whitney waited, knowing her aunt was sifting through her emotions.

  “What was the new logo like?” she asked gently.

  “I don’t really know.” Helen stared straight ahead at the wall. “I’m not even sure Lena created one. I know she and Tony had a couple meetings, but then he passed and...” Helen’s shoulders rose and fell with her deep sigh. “I never thought about it again.”

  Whitney hated causing her aunt more pain, but Helen wanted Falls Legend Winery to make a big, bold statement at the festival.

  “Helen, if you want to get people talking about the winery this fall, what better way than to rebrand the business?” She hesitated when Helen’s brows gathered together. “It would still be honoring Tony. We’d be finishing a job he started.” Helen nodded, still unconvinced. Whitney leaned forward. “We’ll create press releases about the ‘new’ Falls Legend Winery.” She warmed up to the idea as she thought out loud. “Maybe unveil a new logo at the festival, so everyone would want to come to our booth to see it.”

  Helen swirled the remaining wine in her glass, staring into it as if she could see the future there. Or perhaps it was the past she was looking for. Was Tony speaking to her from inside that glass? About the time Whitney thought her aunt wasn’t going to respond at all, Helen slowly nodded, her lips pursed. She gave Whitney a slow smile.