Page 32 of Kiss My Glass
I have more ideas about how the winery can communicate better with its customers, and even how it could promote via social media without spending a fortune. Those will keep for another day. Right now, I’m going to head back through the woods to Grandma’s house and google how to Lindy Hop. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.
On the way, I’ll also practice my stand-out karaoke number, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns ’N’ Roses. The falsetto at the end is pretty challenging, but I’ve nailed it before so I should be able to nail it again.
Nobody’s around, so I give the ending a shot in the glade just outside the workshop. There’s a raucous squawking and a gang of Steller’s jays flap off out of the trees. Philistines. Bet they would have hung around if I’d been singing boring old “My Way”.Probably would have joined in. Steller’s jays are talented mimics – can imitate cats, squirrels, chickens, and even machinery. Old Blue Eyes should be a cinch.
I open the front door and am once again struck by how ridiculously compact this place is, and yet how well every part of it’s been thought out. Cam built it with his own two hands, because of course he did. The last thing I built was a Porsche 911 RSR out of Legos. The age minimum was 10+, so it wasn’t allthatsimple.
But despite my resentment of Cam’s manly skills, I have to appreciate his handiwork. At the risk of sounding like an estate agent, the storage solutions are both creative and functional. The whole space under the stairs is filled with drawers and shelves. I snooped in every single one, and most are empty, but I did unearth a first aid kit, and next to it, a half-filled bottle of bourbon. The compact fridge has a tiny compartment for ice, and so I’m all set. I’ll check my emails, google dance moves, and chill out for an hour before dinner. Nate’s cooking for us all tonight.
I’ve left the front door open because while this place is built perfectly for winter, it’s a little close in summer. The hot air rises and if I forget to leave the window open, the bedroom’s a sauna. I should have bought an electric fan in Martinburg after lunch with Mom, but Nate and I were in too much of a hurry to get away. There’s a hardware store in Verity called Screw It. Next time I’m in, I’ll check out their range of small appliances. Maybe I can ask Frankie to come with me, and we could go for a drink at The Silver Saddle? As long as Brendan hasn’t banned everyone who’s even remotely connected to Chiara.
Cam’s table folds down from the wall and fits my laptop and not much else. I’m checking my in-box, when through the open front door, I hear more squawking. Some people use geese as guards, but frankly, any loud bird will do. Someone, or something, is in the woods, and the jays are shouting a warning. I was joking with Nate about bears, but maybe I should err on the side of caution and close the door?
“Shit!”
I appear in the doorway at exactly the same time as Frankie arrives outside it. We both take a startled step backwards.
“Hey,” I say. “I … er, wasn’t expecting you…”
Frankie gives me a “No shit, Sherlock” look. “That’s because I didn’t let you know I was coming.”
I notice a tightness about her mouth, like she’s fighting whatever impulse brought her here. Of course, my first hope is that she’s changed her mind about the no hanky-panky rule. But if it’s important enough for her to come all this way to see me, it’s much more likely to be something else, so I’ll put my libido to one side and be a courteous host.
“I’ve just poured myself a bourbon on ice,” I say. “Want one?”
“Yes,” she says. “Thank you.”
I open the door wide for her, and she enters a little hesitantly, stops and looks around.
“I’ve never actually been in here before,” she says. “This was Cam’s private space.”
“It’s barely big enough for me,” I say, fetching a second glass. “Cam could probably stretch out and touch all four walls at once.”
“Mm,” is Frankie’s response. I’m guessing she’s not here to talk about Cam.
She peers up the stairs. I’m a tidy guy so I’ve nothing to hide.
“Take a look if you want,” I say.
“I’m good,” she says.
“Bourbon time it is, then.” I make another and hand it to her. “Do you want to sit outside? I’ll bring the second chair.”
“Sure.” She seems to realize that her answers have been a mite abrupt and makes an effort to smile. “Should be rocking chairs, don’t you think?”
“So we can sit there and whittle? Maybe play a tune on the old harmonica?”
“And shoot a few varmints while we’re at it?”
She’s smiling properly now, with that full gorgeous mouth, and my libido pops up again to say hello.Down,I tell it. Frankie has initiated a rare and unexpected opportunity to connect, and I will not fuck it up.
For a while, we do nothing but sit and sip. It won’t be dark for a few hours, so the birds are still noisy in the trees.
“What’re those birds?” Frankie suddenly asks. “The ones that sound like squeaky toys?”
I listen. “Chickadees. Mostly juvenile. This is the time of year where a lot of young ones are figuring out how to bird.”
“You mean, learning to fly?”
