Page 56 of Won’t Let You Get Away

“Quinn, how do you feel about conducting tours for the event space and catering?” I ask.

“I feel confident. I’ve shadowed Ma during all the recent ones, and we have another one scheduled for tomorrow,” she replies without hesitation.

I tilt my head to glance past her and raise an eyebrow at my mother.

“Yes, yes,” Ma responds in a huff. “I’ll let her take the lead on this one, assisting only if necessary.”

I nod and blow her a kiss before returning my focus to Quinn.

“Great, I thought it would be beneficial to have you showcase the event space to Mr.Henderson next week.”

“Me?” She questions cautiously, and I nod, glancing down at my clipboard as if this isn’t a significant responsibility for her.

“The best way to convince someone like him to invest here is to demonstrate that he can trust us completely. He’ll expect me to paint a pretty picture and provide all the necessary details. But showing that our staff can do the same? Even better. I want him to realize that in case my family or I need to take time off,” I pause, running my free hand over my stomach and smiling atMa again. “Those we leave in charge can competently handle the business.”

Quinn simply stares at me, a wide grin spreading across her face as she nods excitedly. I nudge her lightly with my shoulder.

“You don’t need to suppress your excitement.”

Immediately she lets out a surprised squeal and does a little celebratory dance. I can’t help but smile at her joy and the fact that she’s fit in so perfectly here.

My parents were initially hesitant about hiring her, given their previous experiences with managerial hires for the winery. They have a fantastic hourly staff, but finding a local individual capable of overseeing things was challenging—mostly due to our local hiring pool being populated mainly by teenagers too young to serve alcohol or retirees looking for part-time work.

Hiring Quinn proved to be an excellent decision. Ma offered her the job before we had even concluded the interview, without consulting my father first. Fortunately, he agreed with Ma’s choice.

Ma helped Quinn find an apartment to rent in town, made Pa and Tommy help her move in the following week. Then she began training her.

If I didn’t trust that she knew what she was doing, I wouldn’t have mentioned her leading part of the visit at all and done it myself.

After a few more seconds of celebrating, Quinn takes a deep breath and regains her composure.

She smooths her dark curls back into place before refocusing on me. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to have the folders and space set up for a walk through the day before Mr.Henderson arrives. That way we can do a practice walk through,” Quinn suggests, still smiling. “Not because I don’t think I can handle it, but because I want to be thoroughly prepared.”

“Of course,” I respond, turning to silently confirm with a nod from Ma before continuing. “I’ll compile my notes and email them to you this week for you to review.”

We manage to cover most of my list of business points and do our weekly walk through of the tasting room before Ma interjects.

“Alright, can you sit down now?” She pulls out a chair and gestures toward it.

I roll my eyes but do as she asks, considering I’ve been on my feet all day and the doctor advised me to start taking it easy at my appointment last week. Noah took this advice very seriously; he doesn’t even want me standing up to get a glass of water when he’s around.

I suppress a sigh of relief as I take the weight off my feet, not wanting her to see how much they were bothering me. “Okay, the last thing we need to discuss before we wrap up is…”

I glance down at my list, but Ma answers for me.

“Wine Wednesday is tomorrow!”

I bite back my laugh at her enthusiasm. Wednesday is Mom’s favorite day of the week, thanks to half-priced wine glasses and live music.

“Right, have either of you checked with the kitchen staff to make sure they’re prepared for the specials menu tomorrow?”

She nods, placing a foil-wrapped glass container next to my elbow as she answers. “Yes, Andrew said this might be his best week yet!”

I smirk, catching Quinn trying to hide her own smile. Neither of us mentions that our head chef Andrew makes that same claim every week.

“Perfect, and what’s this?” I ask, pointing to the container.

“My banana bread,” she says while taking a seat next to me.

---