Page 29 of Lighting Up Christmas

“No pressure,” Riley said, looking regretfully at the last coffee in her hand. She hadn’t heard from Zhang in three days. She and her crew had finished late Thursday night at his property. She hadn’t seen him once after Monday and her clumsy invite to the First Friday. But it had worked.

He finished placing the wine in the bucket and then looked up. Riley felt like his intent gaze flipped a switch inside of her.

“He’s not wearing a hat?” she hissed at Sophia trying to tap down her reaction.

“You go tell him it’s mandatory.”

“You could have texted a warning.”

“I was afraid you’d run.”

Not a chance. But she would have bought another coffee. The peppermint mochas were tradition tonight, and now she was without.

“When have I backed down from a challenge?”

“Never. Ever. And he haschallengetattooed all over him.”

Why did Sophia have to mention that? Riley had a thing for tats. Did Zhang have any tattoos? Would it be too flirty to ask?

“Challenge accepted,” she said softly to Sophia and then surged forward, smile on her face. “Zhang. You came. I brought you a coffee. Peppermint mocha. It’s the first day the Caffeinated Goat makes them, and it has whipped cream, sprinkles, and a candy cane. If this can’t launch the merry, you don’t have a pulse.”

*

She handed hima large coffee and smiled like she was happy to see him.

Why would she be?

But she had told him about the event.

Her smile encompassed her face, and her eyes shone as if lit from within. Electrician was an apt profession for her—the random thought popped in his brain.

He’d waffled about coming. But everything in his body settled and warmed as much as his hands, now holding the unexpected and unasked for peppermint mocha. He loved coffee but avoided flavors. Still, it would be rude to shove the coffee back at her.

“It’s good to see you,” she said softly. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I did.”

It was the most stupid and obvious conversation, but somehow that didn’t matter, nor did it reflect the tension riding him the last few days as he wrestled with whether to come or not. Sell his wine or not.

He’d been on the verge of ignoring the invitation. He’d been at his Cupertino office working with Jackson, fine-tuning an investor pitch on a new project. He’d been energized and engaged and yet had missed the vineyard. If he attended the First Friday event, he’d rationalized, he’d be showcasing his wines, which would benefit the winery brand if he used it as a corporate retreat or event space.

His indecision had irritated him.

He hated to fail.

He hated to put himself out there to be judged.

But he also hated being ruled by fear.

And that was what had sent him home and made him contact Sophia Gonzales Friday morning.

He had this drive to create, to accomplish, and as Riley had pointed out, he made wine; wine was meant to be consumed and enjoyed. How would he get it to consumers if he didn’t have a tasting room? Or at least place his wine with a distributor. Theprofit margin on that was in the negatives, and he hadn’t climbed to where he was by not watching his bottom line.

But if he had a tasting room, he’d have employees on his property.

And then…

“Where are your glasses?” Riley asked, interrupting the annoying train of thought. “I can help you finish setting up.”

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