Page 91 of Kiss My Glass
“You okay?” he says, with a frown.
“Yes. Why?” I reply, immediately on the defensive.
“You’re walking weirdly,” he says. “Been practicing your Lindy Hop moves in between peddling jalopies?”
“I am not walking weirdly!” I protest. “This is a perfectly normal casual saunter!”
“Uh-huh,” says Nate, with a skeptical lift of his eyebrows.
Before I can saunter over to give him a dead arm, Frankie’s mom comes in through the back door. I catch the sound of enthusiastic kibble-crunching from the porch. She’s fed the dogs.
“Danny, good morning,” she says, with a smile. “Did your business calls go well?”
“Thank you, Lee, they did,” I say, with dignity and a side-eye glare at Nate. “And thank you for dinner. It was much appreciated.”
“My pleasure.” Lee still looks a little weary. “What would you both like for breakfast?”
“I’ll make breakfast, Mom.”
It’s Frankie. Looking sweet and fresh in a peach-colored cotton blouse and cropped jeans. I want to be with her so badly, I only just manage to stop myself pulling her into my arms. I settle for a hopeful smile, and to my huge relief, she gives me a quick smile back. It’s only a fraction of what I want, but right now, I’ll take what I can get.
“Pancakes alright?” she asks us.
Nate and I vote with a resounding yes.
“Mom?” Frankie double-checks and I remember that Lee’s not a fan of refined flour and sugar.
“Why not?” she says. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Frankie gives her mom the same quick smile she gave me. Not that I’m comparing or anything. No, sir.
“I’ll make coffee,” I say. No need to consult. I’m the only one who’ll drink it.
Of course, I also want the excuse to be close to Frankie. She’s busy assembling all the ingredients for pancakes, and I don’t like to interrupt her because despite eating all the mac ’n’ cheese last night, I’m hungry. I grab the ground coffee and do my thing over by the sink. Try to time my move to the stove to coincide with hers, without being too obvious about it.
“If that thing explodes, you’ll be the one wiping pancake mix off the ceiling,” Frankie says.
It’s not a declaration of undying affection, but as I said, I’ll take what I can get.
“This thing has made it through snow, rain, heat, and gloom of night.” I give the coffeepot lid an affectionate pat. “Nothing will stay it from its appointed round.”
Frankie’s response is to flip a pancake. She’s focused, and I, for one, am going to back away and let her get on with it. I’m starving, and luckily, still young enough to metabolize a towering stack of carbs.
Lee and Nate are seated at the table, chatting quietly. Nate’s phone pings. Normally, he wouldn’t have it with him at the table, but these are exceptional times. He reads the message with a frown, and I can see Lee’s face grow taut with worry.
Nate sees that, too, when he looks up, and makes an apologetic face.
“Cam,” he explains. “He and Javi have been out checking the vines and they feel strongly that we need to harvest as soon as possible. Like, tonight.”
“How can they be so sure?” I ask.
“They can’t,” says Nate. “But then, no one can be, not a hundred percent. Yesterday’s test came back with a pretty ideal balance of sugars, pH and acidity, but there’s no rain forecast and Shel’s keen to give the grapes more hang time. The risk then is that the tannins won’t have the same opportunity to develop, which means the wine won’t age as well. But Flora Valley wines have always prioritized drinkability over aging, so I guess it makes sense…”
“What doesyourinstinct tell you?” says Lee.
Nate shakes his head. “Honestly? My brain is too fried right now. I trust Cam and Javi’s judgement, but I trust Shelby’s too.” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Shel wants to put off the harvest until after the baby.” Frankie offers her opinion from the stove. “Whereas Ithink it would be way better for everyone if she didn’t try to oversee it with a newborn. Especially a newborn that might have to be in the neonatal ward.”
