Page 18 of A Taste of Chardonnay

“You know damn well it’s there.” I’m pretty sure he helped Franc put it up for me.

“Is that right?”

A loud honk echoed through the tasting room, followed by a very long, dragged out one.

“Son of a bitch!” Brady exclaimed.

“That your truck?” Nero asked, lifting his chin toward the parking lot.

Brady ran a hand down his face, yanking on the ends of his beard. “Jack learned how to honk the damn horn. When I take too long, he lets me know he’s ready to go.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that burst past my lips. “Even your dog knows when you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Brady narrowed his eyes and moved toward me. His large frame dwarfed my five foot-seven one even in three-inch heels. My laughter dissipated, but I stood my ground. The scent of warm oak and spicy bergamot surrounded me, but I refused to admit how good it smelled. Or how his eyes were especially green today.

I arched an eyebrow, waiting for his response. Another round of honks sounded from the parking lot, and with a curse, Brady hurried from the tasting room.

A smile curved my lips, satisfied I got the last word in that bout. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, ready to retreat to my office.

“Can you take it easy on him?” Nero said, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

I turned toward him, confusion pulling at my forehead. “Why would I do that?”

He rested his hands on the bar and leveled his gaze at me. “He has a lot going on right now, and I’m not exactly sure how his head space is. It’s Brady, so of course he says he’s fine, but you never really know with him, do you?”

A smidgen of concern wriggled its way to the surface. “What’s going on?”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you, but fuck it. You’ll find out when the game of telephone reaches you eventually, anyway. His dad is having memory issues. Forgetting how to get home, going to Espresso Yourself and trying to order something, thinking it’s still Tony’s.”

“Tony’s? Tony’s closed down twenty years ago.”

“Like I said… Memory issues.”

“Do they think it’s Alzheimer’s?”

“Ron wouldn’t listen to me or Ray or Albert, so he’s been ignoring it, but the other day when Brady skipped out of here while you two were arguing—”

“When are we not arguing?”

Nero didn’t even bother to answer. “He’d come here to get something from Laurent’s office. Apparently, it was a number for a specialist. Laurent knows a guy.”

“Naturally.” Our brother was well connected, thanks to his position in sales.

It all made sense, but there was one thing that didn’t add up. “Why does Brady care? Ron was downright abusive, so why is this his problem?”

“Despite what you think of Brady, even if it goes against everything he stands for, he’ll always do the right thing. Every. Single. Time.”

Regardless of the animosity I had toward Brady for his relentless jabs and unsolicited comments toward me, Nero was right. When it came down to it, at the end of the day, whether I liked him or not, in spite of every awful thing Brady had endured, he was inherently a good person.

With Halloween getting closer, I was unpacking all the decorations and props for my annual Halloween party, but for those who couldn’t make it, I still wanted them to experience the haunted décor which was why I was setting it up way ahead of time. Also, once word spread, people would want to stop by and check it out. Each week, I added more and more, giving my customers something to look forward to.

Normally I hated parties and preferred the solace of my cabin in the woods, but Halloween was my only exception. I lived for this shit.

The horror movie night I had implemented last year had grown and become even more of a success than I could have imagined. I wanted the distillery over the top for the final two nights.

I plugged in the seven-foot-tall animatronic talking clown with two red tufts of hair and suspenders, and stepped back to watch it in action. Its arms moved, eyes lit red, and circus sounds filled the air, creating the perfect vibe to go along with theWelcome to the Carnivalsign I snagged at an antique store in Stroudsburg.

Jack barked as the clown moved again. I rested a hand on his head. “It’s not going to hurt us,” I assured him, and he went back to his bone.

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