Page 12 of Baby for my Daddy's Best Friend

“You’ve been such a good listener that I thought you deserved a reward.” I grin before popping open a bottle. “This is one of our finest aged wines, straight from the cellar.”

“Oh my.” Her mouth is slightly agape.

I pour us each a glass, and with a gentle clink, we toast to the moment. “Here’s to Quinn.”

“Tome?” Quinn glances up at me through thick lashes, surprise in her eyes.

This woman is a goddamn stunner.

“Yes. I usually hate giving these tours, as that is more of Valentino’s department. But it wasn’t so bad this time.”

She laughs, taking a sip out of her glass.

A strange thrill passes through me at the sound.

“Well, thank you. I think?”

“How’s the wine?”

“Oh, it’s delicious.”

I can tell that she’s being genuine.

“If this was meant to be a bribe for a good review, then you might have just been successful.”

A good review?

I had almost forgotten that I am here strictly for business.

“What happened to your moral high ground?” I tease, recalling our conversation from earlier. “Weren’t you the one who said that your approval cannot be bought?”

“Through flattery, yes.” She takes another sip, savoring it before gulping it down. “But with wine that tastes as good as this, I might be able to make an exception.”

“So, I’ve cracked the secret after all.” I smile.

When she looks up at me, I hold her gaze for a moment and suddenly the air feels tense.

Neither of us says anything for a moment, and her throat bobs up and down.

I feel a strange longing toward her, and the desire to close the distance between us grows with each second until it becomes suffocating.

“Maybe,” she breathes. “Did you say that there was a museum?”

“Oh, right, yes. I’ll take you there now. I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy it.”

We’re both sounding off, and the nervousness makes me wonder if she’d been thinking the same thing.

I lead her over to the museum, which showcases a collection of artifacts and memories that encapsulate the essence of Valentina Vineyard.

She pauses, looking up at the large portrait hanging in the middle of the room.

“Who is that?”

My chest tightens, and I hesitate briefly before finally answering, “That is Valentina, my late wife, who the vineyard is named after.”

“Oh.” Her tone softens immediately, “I am so sorry to hear that.”

A surge of emotion flutters within me, but I swiftly mask it, my resolve firming like iron.

---