Page 34 of Lighting Up Christmas

“I didn’t imagine you would.”

Was that a touch of amusement in his voice?

“You were fairly aggressive with your services pitch and the lights.”

Riley laughed. “Scary?”

“Unexpected.”

“I’ll take that,” she mused. It was strange. He seemed more approachable in the dark. Or maybe it was that they had been side by side for First Friday and he was more comfortable.

She was trying to not get too comfortable. She had to fight her urge to take his hand. Zhang Shi definitely didn’t look like a hand holder.

“I know you can probably design your own website in your sleep,” she confessed. “And I’m not a pro, but if you do want to bounce ideas or have me get it jumpstarted or up and running for you, I’d love to help.”

Poor man. She probably overwhelmed him with her rocket mouth.

Riley heard an owl, and they both stopped. She strained in the darkness to see if she could spot an owl in any of the trees across the creek. The owl called again.

“Barn owl,” she whispered. “There’s a screech owl I often hear near here too. Once I saw him fly—silhouetted against the moon. He was huge. I wish I could have gotten that photo, but I was too busy gaping to get my phone out of my pocket. He was so fluid and beautiful.”

“I have owls in the woods above my house. I sit on my porch and listen to them at night.”

She liked that they had something in common. They continued walking along the path.

“I haven’t given the winery much thought,” he said quietly, and it sounded like a confession. “It was more of a—” He broke off.

Riley bit the inside of her lip to keep from interrupting. Maybe he processed differently. Maybe he needed silences, and she had to stop nervously filling them.

“Challenge. A curiosity that became a passion project. I don’t think I had a vision of it as a whole, more like incremental challenges I had to master. Finding a site, soil samples, researching the trellising, learning which grapes would do best with each microclimate of the site.” He looked at her.

“Details. Not big picture,” Riley encouraged and pressed her lips again. She wanted Zhang to speak. She needed to learn more about him—no, more about his winery in order to help him with the marketing—and, she was honest enough to admit, help him settle into the community more. Make contacts in the wine industry and in town. Be a good neighbor.

But Riley worried she was in deeper than that.

He just seemed so isolated up there on that ancient rock land bumping up toward the extinct volcano Mount Ashland.

But he probably loved being alone. He’d bought the property.

“Do you have notes from cloning and planting?” He must. He screamed meticulous.

“Of course.”

“That’s good. Wine drinkers love a good story.”

The look of unfiltered doubt he shot her caused a laugh to burble up, tickling her lips.

“I took pictures as I grafted, planted, of the vines as they grew during different seasons.”

She nodded. That was good. “Do you have drone shots of the vineyard during summer and harvest?” It seemed like something he would have.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll need you to send me some pictures to curate—hopefully showing the stages and progression of your vineyard. I’ll get bottle shots done. I’ll need information from you about the technical aspects about the site, and the specifics about the wine you want in there, the tasting notes. The usual stuff.”

He nodded.

“But like I said, the most important thing that will distinguish you and your vineyard and wines from other winemakers is your story.”

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