Page 90 of Lochlan

When we arrive at my motel room, Livi is gone. I check my phone and find a text that says she'll eat at the players' party and to meet her there. “I really wanted you to meet my partner Livi.”

He doesn't hide his grin. “That would be a treat. Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to meet her the next time I see you.”

“Do you think you might come to another game? We have a tournament in Santa Cruz next weekend. It's close to home and you won't have to take a plane ride.”

“I'll be there. Just send me the information.”

“Geordie, you say that we’re friends, right?”

He eyes me cautiously. “What's on your mind, lass?”

I hesitate a bit, looking up into the face of a man who's expecting the worst. “I'd like to take you to a surf shop before my next tournament to find suitable clothes for the beach. Boots and jeans can be uncomfortable on hot sand. Shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops would make you part of beach culture.”

He glances down at his clothes. “Are you saying I'm not suitably dressed?”

“You're not suitably dressed, and I'd like to introduce you to the women on the beach circuit.”

He considers this for a moment. “Aye, well, if it will make you happy, I'll succumb to your expertise. I must go now. Let me give you my number so you can text me about your Santa Cruz tournament. I'm looking forward to meeting the beach lassies.”

CHAPTER38

MAN DATE

LOCHLAN

Battering fists of rain pound the landscape for the second day. No one complains of the inconvenience, because the state has suffered near-drought conditions for a few years now.

Tasting room visits have been down since the start of the bad weather. Not everyone wants to brave a country road up to a winery when there's a possibility the road might be flooded.

When we get a few souls who make the trek bedraggled and drenched, we make certain their efforts aren't wasted. I instruct the tasting room staff to treat them as VIP guests. We open our higher-end wines, not normally on the regular tasting menu, and offer gourmet appetizers for them to fill their bellies. They sit tucked in our cozy, dry tasting room, watching rain-filled skies through the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows.

Fiona and I have been working together for the last few days. I'm using her business skills to improve the running of the winery and to complete the first phase of the Catriona project. As far as Granda knows, she's taken control of the California operations.

Geordie avoids most interactions with Fiona. If she sends him a request for documents, Connell does the delivery.

Granda trained her well. Fiona asked to see all the financials for the winery from the first year to the present. Then she reviewed staff resumes and positions.

Fiona found areas we could cut, while improving and expanding other portions of the business. Some cuts were overreaching because she doesn't know the day-to-day workings of the operation. We'll revisit her suggestions in a few months. I won't admit it to her, but sharing the management duties has lightened the load.

I've left the tasting room after having a short meeting with Patricia, the new manager. She's been an asset since taking over the position. It was a good idea to hire someone who's already worked in the tasting room; her training to be a manager was minimal.

I head back to my office, not wanting to engage anymore with Fiona today. She's resilient and, after our talk, she's resigned to whatever fate I deem fit. I push open the office door just in time to pick up the phone on my desk. “Lochlan MacTavish,” I say.

“Lochlan, I've been trying to get a hold of you. I left messages all over.”

“Sorry Logan, there have been major changes at the winery that have kept me almost a recluse. I was going to call you tonight when I got back to my apartment.”

“No problem, man. I saw your segment onGood Morning San Pacitas. I wanted to congratulate you and confirm a date when we can have our dinner. There are thirty paintings I'm considering, but my agent says that it's best if we only show twenty. I really need your help.”

With all that's going on, I'm inclined to turn down the invitation, but getting away, even for a few hours, would be a relief. “I'm free tomorrow; is that soon enough?”

“That's great. That means I don't have to wait long to be put out of my misery. Let's have dinner at Coquette's in town, then we can go to the studio and sample your wine while you review paintings.”

* * *

Intermittent showers batter the evening.When I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant, there are fine specks of rain hitting my windshield.

The waitress accepts my jacket and offers to take the bottle of wine I brought, but I decline, saying that I'd like my guest to see it before it's opened.

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