Page 20 of A Taste of Chardonnay

Of all people, I thought I could trust her. I thought she saw me for more than my circumstances. She didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t blame her. No one could see me without seeing my circumstances. They were as much a part of me as the scars on my skin.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway. You can get a better understanding of the disease from those.” She pointed at the papers, then let her hand fall to her side.

“I guess I should read some of this then.” I wasn’t used to Chardonnay going out of her way to help me. At least not since we were kids. “Bullshit aside. Why are you helping me?”

Her lip quirked at the edge. “It’s the right thing to do.” She spun around and went straight for the door. She bent down and gave Jack a good scratch before disappearing into the night without another word.

I walked to the door and waited for her car to exit the parking lot. If something happened to her, her brothers would rip my limbs off and beat me with them.

Once her headlights had vanished from sight, I flipped the lock and went to the bar. Jack followed close by, sitting at my feet as I stopped in front of my glass, placing the papers beside it.

The outline of Chardonnay’s lips glistened on the glass. It was stupid, but the fact that she drank the whiskey I made from scratch and didn’t even bat an eye as it hit her throat, caused a kind of pride to well up inside me. It was as if she was so used to the taste, she knew exactly what to expect.

She might have thought I was trash, but she didn’t think my whiskey was.

A knock on the door caught my attention, and I turned, expecting Chardonnay, a weird excitement brewing in my chest, but it was a woman I had never met. I meandered over and unlocked the door.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

She lifted her hand and waved, the overhead light glinting off her nose ring. “Hi! I’m Meadow Simpson. I was just stopping by to see if you’re hiring. And before you ask, I’m twenty-eight. I know I look twenty. Thanks Mom and I guess Dad for those great genes.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Straight shooter. I like that. This is your place, right? Really nice. I was at the Movie Night thing the other night, thought it’d be a great way to meet the locals, get to know the town. I spoke to an Odette. Lovely woman, really. Makeup choices questionable, but she’s doing her, and I dig it. She said you had a lot on your plate, and you could probably afford to hire some help. I would have spoken to you then, but you were clearly busy running the show. Then I tried to come back, but again… another crowd. You definitely could use some help. And the only other place hiring is that Gold Crest Winery, but the vibes were off there. Anyway, I saw the light on as I was driving home from overindulging in Sonya’s tacos. Have you had them?”

“Uh. Yes.”

“So good. Anyway. I saw your light on and figured I’d shoot my shot while you’re not surrounded by a million customers.”

“You’re new in town?” Considering I’d never seen her before, it was pretty obvious, but she was speaking so fast, I was just trying to get words in.

“I am. Moved into the apartments over at Robin’s Landing. Great place. Reasonable rent. Nice neighbors. Pet friendly. Not that I have a pet, but I get to pet all the puppies, and they make me happy.”

Jack took that as his cue to emerge from behind the bar. He nudged her hand, and she dropped to her knees with a squeak, taking Jack’s whole face in her hands and kissing his snout. Her brown curls covered both of their faces. “Aren’t you a cutie patootie?”

“What brought you to Vine Valley?” I asked, trying to get her back on track.

She let go of Jack and ran her fingers through her wavy bangs. “I’m what people would call a drifter. I guess I’m trying to find my purpose in life, so I move from town to town, meeting new people, learning new skills. But…” She stood. “I am reliable and would never take off without giving my two weeks. I’m more respectful than that.”

“I just hired someone.”

“You’ve been really busy every time I’ve driven by. I’m sure another person on the schedule would only help.”

She had a point. Even with the new hire, I was still working way more hours than I needed to. I was finally turning a profit and could afford to take on multiple people. “Do you have any experience working in a distillery?”

“No… But!” she exclaimed, holding her finger up. “I was a bartender at a dive bar. I can break up a fight faster than you can blink. I can also maintain a line of customers, total out drawers, do a one ounce pour without even looking. I know how to make cocktails and love to be creative with that if you’d let me. I’d make a weekly special list for you, so your customers have more than just the basics.”

“Say I give you a job. How long do you plan on staying? You said you were a drifter.”

“You’re right. I did say that. I tend to stay in most places for six months, but if the town and the people capture my heart, I’ve been known to stay for a year or two.”

“Do you have family?”

“That’s a weird question to ask in an interview.”

“This isn’t exactly a normal interview.” It wasn’t even scheduled or planned. She showed up at my door, asking for a job. I was working with what I had.

“Touche. I have a grandpa. Never met him. Heard he’s a drunk. At least that’s what my mom said. She died when I was twenty-one. The Big C took her out. She fought like hell, though. I like to think I get my tenacity from her.”

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