Page 47 of Twin Babies For The Grump

The laughter is cut off when Macy shoves me, hard. I stumble back the half step of space between myself and the wine cask. It’s thankfully heavy enough not to so much as wobble, but that doesn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat. If we lose this barrel, then there’s no way we’re going to have a case of wine together in time for the contest!

“Macy,” I snap at her. “Put your hands on me again, and you’re going to find yourself without a job!”

She gives a laugh, and now I can easily tell that she’s been drinking. She would never be acting this way otherwise. “Oh, you’re going to really throw that weight around now, aren’t you? Is that what you’re going to do to everyone that calls you out on this? Fire them?”

“Macy,” I say, a warning note creeping into my voice.

She pulls her arms back again, as though she’s planning on shoving me a second time but Tipsy comes charging across the room, barking the whole way. He’s a friendly thing, but that doesn’t mean his bark isn’t loud. It echoes in the room, twice as thunderous.

Macy yelps and stumbles backward. Tipsy plants himself between me and Macy, ass to the ground, head hunkered down. The big white dog isn’tgrowling, but there’s something about his body position that makes it clear hewillif Macy comes toward us.

“Easy,” I tell Tipsy, not wanting the dog to get in trouble for actually biting someone. I grab onto the leather collar with one hand, holding him steady.

“Jesus Christ,” snaps Macy. “I’ve been telling everyone since I started that these damn dogs shouldn’t be allowed to run the place!” She staggers a step. “Look at what it tried to do! It tried to bite me!”

“It tried to stop you from doing something extremely stupid again, Macy. Go home. Now.”

Macy doesn’t move for a long moment, opting to stand there and give the big white dog the stink eye instead. The very corner of Tipsy’s upper lip pulls back, showing off a flash of teeth. It’s enough to have the slightly drunk employee turn and hurry out of the room.

The moment that the door is slammed shut behind Macy, my legs start to shake. I sit down in front of the wine barrel and throw my arms around Tipsy, pulling the big dog close.

“That was so far from what I wanted to deal with tonight,” I tell Tipsy, planting a big kiss on the top of his head. “But you aresucha good boy. Yes, you are. You’re a very, very good boy!” My tone drifts into a baby talk that is reserved exclusively for animals. “Guess who’s going to have a treat tomorrow? That’s right, you are!”

Tipsy wags his tail so hard that it sends his entire body into a fit of wiggles, his big brown eyes gone bright. Some people say that dogs don’t understand what humans are saying, but I think that the opposite is true. I think that dogs canalwaysunderstand, they just can’t talk back.

With one last kiss on his head, I haul myself up and let out a deep breath.

I need to talk to Owen about Macy tomorrow. The wine and the accusation.

I don’t want rumors like that to spread in the winery, but also— I don’t want even the slightest implication of me being involved with Thomas in the manner Macy implied. I know Owen would never believe that, but just the sound of it makes me feel like I’ve had a bucket of icy water thrown on me.

Macy knew Thomas very well; he had never been anything but a fatherly figure for all of us. To try to smear his memory like this makes no sense. Is this jealousy over the promotion because she’s been here longer than me? That also doesn’t make sense. I technically had these responsibilities before Owen arrived, this just made it official.

I try to shake those thoughts away. For now, I think that just going home is the best idea. I just need to get my thoughts in order.

Tipsy walks with me while I put up my clipboard, lock the doors, and grab my purse from the break room. There’s no one else visible on the grounds. I don’t even see Owen moving around up at the house, so he must have gone out.

That, or he’s busy inside trying to get Bear and Bubbles under control. The two dogs have proven to be quite the handful.

Whatever the case is, the bottom line stays the same: there’s no one else around.

I let out a huff, send Tipsy to go lay down, and then head for my car.

There are no more issues between work and home, and I’m feeling far more confident in myself and the situation with Macy by the time I pull into the driveway of my small but quaint little townhouse.

Macy was mad she didn’t get a promotion and nabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf. Everything else? Doesn’t matter. It’s a byproduct of the wine. She can’t really believe all that.

That means the core root of the problem needs to be addressed, and not the thorns on the stem.

Her stealing the wine.

With that decided, I get out of the car and into my house. My purse is hung up on the hook just inside of the door, and a bottle of soda is grabbed out of the fridge, along with a Tupperware container of cold, leftover delivery pizza.

It might not be the fanciest dinner in the world, but it hits the spot and satisfies the beast that had been growling in my belly. I shift a little bit, setting the empty container down on the table and then stretching out on the couch, lazily flicking through channels on the small TV sitting on the stand.

The window behind me still has the curtains open, and even though there’s little natural light coming in, it still hits the screen, causing the worst glare possible. It’s a chronic problem, one of many in the layout of my little house.

While there’s nothing wrong with it—and it’s certainly never been enough to make me consider moving before—tonight, it just doesn’t feel right.

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