Page 28 of Corkscrew You
I sit for a moment while my sense of duty fights my wish to not be anywhere in proximity to Shelby Armstrong. The pile of paper otherwise known as the winery accounts looks up at me accusingly, as does the new computer, now installed with the latest accounting software. I should be doing my job as boss. I should be operandizing, as Shelby put it.
Goddammit. I grab my pickup keys and check my phone to see where Izzy dropped the pin. It’s a café called Potters, which seems to have nothing at all to do with cattle. But what do I know?
When I pull up outside, Idoknow that I should have asked who Izzy meant by ‘we’. I thought she and Max were the ones taking Mom out, but Danny’s Porsche is parked beside Mom’s SUV and that means there’s no chance Ava won’t be here, too. I love my siblings, but I was hoping for a peaceful afternoon where the loudest noise would be the genteel clink of teacups on saucers. Instead, it’s highly likely this will end with whipped cream splattered up the walls.
The café is one of those that brings to mind the word ‘whimsical’ and not necessarily in a good way. It’s a riot of British-themed twee, with the centerpiece being an extensive collection of small porcelain animals all dressed in human clothing. Like mementoes of some miniature Island of Dr Moreau.
“Nate!”
Izzy calls me over to their table, on which has been placed a three-tier stand filled with tiny sandwiches, scones and cakes, as if they’d been baked for the porcelain animals instead of full-size humans. There’s also a floral-patterned teapot and matching cups, and bowls holding sugar cubes, butter and preserves. And a milk jug shaped like a cow. Got it.
“About time,” is Ava’s greeting, after I’ve kissed Mom’s cheek and sat down. “We weren’t going to hold back much longer.”
“Here, Mom,” says Max. “Let me serve you before the horde descends.”
“Who are you calling a horde?” says Ava. “And don’t skimp on Mom’s plate. You know there won’t be a hope in hell of seconds.”
“My point exactly,” says Max.
“No squabbling, children,” says Mom. There’s a faint smile on her face, which is a relief to see.
“There’ll be no squabbling at all so long as I get that mini macaron,” says Ava.
“Iwant the macaron,” protests Izzy. “Youknowthey’re my favourite!”
“Problem solved,” says Danny, and he grabs said macaron and stuffs it in his mouth. “Mm-mm,” he says, smirking through pink meringue crumbs.
“You’re such a dick,” says Izzy, but she’s smiling. Unlike some of our other siblings, who will remain nameless, she’s quick to forgive. And unlike one of those nameless siblings, she never does anything she needs to be forgiven for.
“You’re looking a little pale and interesting there, bro,” says Ava. “Hangover? Or something else?”
“Don’t interrogate me,” I reply. “I’m not in the mood.”
Ava shrugs, but before I can find out whether that means she’ll back off, Mom pipes up.
“Nathan, dear. Tell us about this young woman you’re working with. Is her name Shelby? JP says she’s a delight.”
Of course, JP will have talked to Mom. There are no boundaries between McRae Capital and the family Durant. But I can hardly tell Mom to back off, so I give the answer I assume she wants to hear.
“Shelby Armstrong. Her dad Billy founded the winery. She’s a talented winemaker.”
“Thought you said she was a nut?” says Danny. “Like the worst kind of manic pixie dream girl?”
I’ll kill him later. Choke him with pink macarons.
“Let’s just say first impressions weren’t favourable.” My poker face is on full. “But she knows her stuff. Flora Valley Wines are top quality.”
“Is she cute?” says Max.
I’ll choke him, too.
“How doesthatmatter?” says Izzy. “Why don’t you ask about herwinemakingskill instead of her appearance?”
“Because I want to know if she’s cute,” says Max, the wind-up kid.
“Sheiscute!” Danny, goddamn him, has been googling on his phone.
He shows the screen to Max, who whistles. “Cute as abutton.”
