Page 73 of Lochlan

I'm surprised that she's not inviting me to stay. Other than the kiss on the cheek, she hasn't done or said anything provocative. She hasn't even asked to talk about our time in the study. “I'll have a drop of whiskey.”

“The bottle and glasses are in the cabinet in the corner. I'll be back; I just need to check my phone calls.”

When she returns, I've poured two small glasses of whiskey and hand her one. “To your health,” I say.

“To yours as well,” she says.

“Do you want to manage MacTavish Cellars and Catriona?” I ask.

Her eyebrows raise slightly. “I seem to remember you were more diplomatic in the old days.”

“I was more diplomatic when there wasn't much at stake. I want to know your intentions.”

She shrugs, then settles on the couch, looking up at me. “I go where I'm sent and do what I'm told, as we all do.”

“There's no question that you're a good soldier, I just want to know if it's in your heart to run the operation here in California.”

She considers my question. “I want an executive position at MacTavish Distilleries. Achieving that could take several paths. I certainly could do the job. I'd like to run the operation, if we could work together as if three years had never passed.”

“Have you changed, Fiona?”

“Maybe you need to ask a third party that question. I would say I'm still the girl you left behind.”

I drain the rest of my whiskey and set it down on the coffee table. It's time to leave before old memories take me down a road I shouldn't travel.

“Thank you for the drink. I'd better leave now if I want an uninterrupted night of sleep, if I'm going to look my best tomorrow. Call me when you get to the winery in the morning and I'll drive us to the studio.”

Fiona walks me to the door. She holds the knob as she watches me walk across the threshold. “Good night,” I say.

She rests against the jamb of the door frame, the porch light illuminating her face. “Lochlan, you'll tell me when you finally decide if it's me or Kenzie. It's not fun being in limbo.”

* * *

I've never beento a studio. WatchingGood Morning San Pacitas, I didn't realize there was that much activity behind the scenes. We sit in one place for a few minutes, then we're whisked to another location until we're finally in our seats, lights blazing. Jillian Barry, a blonde with long legs and a bubbly personality, shows up at the last minute and introduces herself as they're hooking up our mics.

They start a sort of countdown as everyone around us scurries away and the three of us are left. Music that is way too happy to be played in the morning comes on and as the tune dies down, Julian talks to the camera.

“Good morning, San Pacitas,” Jillian sings to the camera. “Thank you for coming back with us after that break. Today we have Lochlan MacTavish and Fiona Campbell from MacTavish Cellars. How are you two today?”

“We're well. Thank you for asking,” Fiona says just as brightly.

I'm silent, a bit overwhelmed by the place. Jonathan simulated the interview, but not the environment.

“I hear you have a huge announcement for us,” Jillian gushes at us.

The bright lights in my eyes are disorientating. “Aye,” I say, looking into the camera. “Silicon Valley has just become the next premiere wine destination. We've secured land in an industrial part of the city that has been underused for years—”

Jillian cuts me off before I can make my full pitch. “Are you stealing thunder from Napa Valley? Doesn't everyone far and wide come to California for their world-famous wine?”

The artist drawing of the site flashes from a screen on the side. It's a rendering of one of the tasting rows that dots the complex. Someone from behind the camera is making a motion to us that I don't understand.

“Napa will always be Napa,” I say, tearing my attention away from the distraction, “but Catriona is a complete wine destination. No need to jump on and off a bus to enjoy wine, attend an event, shop, or have a meal—”

“Catriona.” Jillian says it correctly with a wistful sigh. “It sounds like a beautiful Irish haven, like Brigadoon.”

An understanding passes between Fiona and me that we're speaking to an uninformed caricature.

“Catriona means pure in Scottish Gaelic,” I say. “It's a way to pay homage to our Scottish roots.”

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