Page 42 of Twin Babies For The Grump

Owen wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. Don’t quote my father at me.”

“Your father was right about it, though. Happy workers make tasty wine, and I can get the people here three times as happy if you just trust me,” I insist. “You’re doing well. You got a handle on Marco and honestly, that’s not something I thought would ever happen. But the older workers are valuable too. And they’ll be a lot happier if you treat them with some amount of respect.”

“It’s not meant to be a lack of respect. I just need them to know that I’m in charge now, taking over for my father. I can’t run the winery like he did because it will never feel like mine. And I know he’d hate that. But to get to that point, to honor him, and also create something of my own, I need to make changes.

“You are making changes,” I tell him, pulling away and heading to the fridge. I grab a can of blackberry-flavored sparkling water. The metal feels extra cold after the heat of the shower. “You’ve picked out a palate of wine that we’ve never made here before. And the staff knows that you’re trying to do some wonderful new things.”

“You’re not going to let go of this until I agree with you, are you?”

I nod.

“Alright, fine. Call him. But make it clear that just because my father did things one way—” Owen starts.

I interrupt him. “I’ll handle him. Just trust me on this one.”

A quick kiss and twenty minutes later, I’m stepping out the front door. Both dogs push past me. Tipsy gives a joyful howl and all but throws herself at the man coming up the path.

“Oh, Beau!” I say, surprised to see him. “Owen’s in the kitchen. You can just— Tipsy, Blanc! Stop that!”

The two dogs have tag-teamed him, jumping around the man’s legs, twisting and clawing at his front and his hips, shoving their noses against his white and silver pin-striped button-up and sniffing so hard that they leave wet smears in their wake.

Beau laughs. “It is fine, it is fine!” He waves his hands, easily pushing the dogs down. “They smell my boys on me, that is all.”

I still hurry over and grab Tipsy by the collar, pulling him down. “Sit!” Tipsy gives a mournful sound but listens to me, haunches hitting the ground. “That’s better. Blanc, sit!”

Blanc reluctantly slides onto the ground, too.

“They know better than to act like that,” I say, with a shake of my head. “Sorry, Beau.” And then, “Uh, I mean, Mister—”

He interrupts me, making a face. “Ugh, no! You had it right the first time. No mister, please. Just Beau. I am far too young to be mister anything.” The smile that he flashes me is downright devilish. “Except for Mister Handsome. That one would be acceptable if I did not think it would make Owen so angry.”

My cheeks flush. “No clue what you’re talking about,” I say, utterly failing to be even a little bit convincing. “I really do have to go! Like I said, kitchen! Dogs, come on. With me!”

I figure that taking the dogs down to the winery for a bit of a lounge is a good reason for a quick escape away from the man. I just don’t know how to respond to what he said, that’s all.

Owen and I didn’t really have any conversations about what our future would look like, nothing definitive.

I don’t want to go starting rumors or agreeing with comments until we’re able to have that sit-down talk. Between the business, my role in the company, and the contest going on… Well, as happy as I am thatOwenis also happy, the pregnancy is still coming at a seriously bad time.

I have to whistle twice more to keep the dogs trailing after me instead of turning and going back to the house. I’ve barely stepped into the grounds of the winery before Macy is on me. She’s been staying late these past few weeks.

“What were you doing up at Owen’s house?” she asks, with a tone of voice that implies she already knows.

Tipsy smells one of Macy’s palms. The woman pulls her hand up, out of the way, and gives the dog a truly disdainful look.

“Tipsy, go and lay down,” I tell the dog. “Go on.”

Tipsy wags her tail once and then trots away. Blanc hesitates a moment and then trails after the other white-furred canine.

“I don’t understand why they’re allowed down here,” Macy says.

It’s a conversation that I’ve had with Macy before, a lot. I hum and step around her, not bothering to explain again; the dogs aren’t allowed anywhere that food is prepared, or the grapes are processed. They aren’t allowed in the room with the shelf systems either, in case they get too rowdy and knock one of them down.

No reason to risk losing the product or getting glass in a dog paw! But everywhere else? It’s free game for them, and it’s free game for a reason.

Macy follows me. “You know, I’ve seen you up at Owen’s a lot lately.”

“Is that suddenly an issue?” I ask, a little more sharply than I probably should have. I can’t help it. Thinking about the fact that Macy took that last interview on purpose has me soiled on the woman. We’ve never been particularly close with each other, and that was such a blatant show of disrespect!

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