Page 5 of Lighting Up Christmas

He’d had enough of that growing up.

And with his start-ups.

He wished he hadn’t come into the store. But the unusual light fixture he’d seen through the window had spurred him to action, and now he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He wished he’d brought his coffee.

He looked up at the twisted roots of a mature grapevine hanging from the high ceiling by rough-looking rope wrapped incopper wire with a few pebbles woven through the wire. The vine had been turned into a chandelier with unusual golden filament light bulbs hanging down from it at different lengths, casting a warm glow over the shop.

It managed to look rustic but elegant. The simplicity and function appealed to him. And the light’s grounding in nature. An old vine. The roots, symbolizing a permanence he’d never had but had craved, and sweated for but that still proved elusive.

He’d been working on planting a vineyard as a “hobby” for nearly a decade—learning, planning, getting his hands dirty. It had been sort of a vision quest—something his grandfather had once tried. But now Zhang wasn’t sure what should come next. He’d planned. Cleared some land. He’d farmed. He’d harvested. He’d made the wine alongside his winemaker—apprenticing himself. And he’d bottled and waited.

Now what?

“You got yourself a winery,” his vineyard manager had laughed and clapped him on the back like he’d scored a touchdown instead of engaged in an expensive learning challenge and overly indulgent gift to his driving curiosity.

But a winery meant people. Staff. Customers. Judgment. The natural culmination of his efforts, only nothing about it felt natural, which even Zhang knew was dumb. He abhorred the idea of any of his projects not being a stellar success, but a winery was far outside his area of expertise, and he would have no Jackson—former roommate and classmate—to coordinate the public face of it.

His appreciative gaze lingered on the light—much more appealing than dealing with the card-wielding woman, the shop owner, and his unexpected head full of doubt.

If he did open his winery for an appointment-only tasting room, this vine light could be what he thought was called a focal piece of décor. It was something Brin had yelled athim during their first “fight” when she’d tried to “refresh” the monochromatic look of his penthouse condo and he’d objected. His city penthouse condo might still be mostly monochromatic, although he’d started adding a few paintings from Northwest artists. Maybe this light would make him feel more settled in launching a winery.

“I want that.”

Both women looked up at the light fixture and then back at him.

“You want to buy the…?” the woman with the long, dark, glossy hair asked him doubtfully.

Oh. He hadn’t been clear.

She smiled. “I’m Sophia Gonzales the owner of Lost and Found Objects. Welcome to my store. Is this your first time in?”

Small talk. Not interesting. Not his skill set. “How much?”

He didn’t see a price tag. It could be part of her shop’s decoration. But this was America. Everything was for sale for a price.

“Ummmmmm.” The owner looked at the other woman—a shopper or her friend, he’d never been good with the undercurrents of relationships.

“If you are interested in that particular style, I could bring a selection by for you to choose from this afternoon,” the redhead who’d blocked his truck said and offered him another brilliant smile. Her eyes seemed to change colors even as she smiled and talked to him. They exuded energy. It was as if she glowed, vibrated with life. It was rather fascinating. “Say in a couple of hours?”

“A selection?” He didn’t want to choose. He was bad at choosing. He wanted that one. This was why he was here. Now.

“Choices spice up life.” She winked at the other woman, who laughed.

“I choose this one,” Zhang said firmly, his gaze still on the light.

Firm declaration. No give. Stamped with arrogance. Jackson would have known to back off.

God, I sound like my mother.

But it was hard to switch gears. And the light would add a personal touch.

Being less rigid should be on the list.

First, a hobby.

Second, a way to connect to his roots in a way to persuade his grandfather to come live with him so he could take care of him—this was why he’d bought a ridiculous amount of dirt. For his grandfather. But his grandfather had yet to agree to come. So Zhang, who had become fascinated with the art and science of wine when Jackson had dragged him to several Napa wine tastings when they were doing product launches, had decided to grow different varietals of grapes to prove to his grandfather that he, too, had an affinity to land and that he meant to stay.

The hobby vineyard had continued to take on a life of its own—almost like it was one of the monsters he’d created in one of his early video games—strangling him unless he found a way through or out.

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