Page 71 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
"I had most of it prepared before you arrived," he admits. "I've been considering limited distribution channels for some time."
The revelation stings—that what felt like a connection built from nothing was, at least partially, a business strategy long in the making.
"I see."
He must read something in my expression because his professional façade cracks slightly.
"The terms are negotiable, of course. And separate from... everything else."
"Is that possible?" I ask quietly. "To separate everything so neatly?"
His eyes meet mine, conflict evident in their depths. "It has to be. You're returning to San Francisco. I'm staying here. This contract is the only part of our... interaction... that can survive those realities."
The stark truth of his assessment silences me. He's right, of course. Whatever developed between us during the storm was always temporary—a hothouse flower that can't survive transplantation to the real world.
"The road crews said the main highway is open all the way to town," Dominic continues when I don't respond. "You could make it to Denver by nightfall if you leave soon."
"Actually..." An idea forms, part professional strategy, part desperate attempt to delay the inevitable. "I'd like to meet Ruth Fletcher before I go. Put a face to the name after hearing about her support for Silverleaf."
Surprise flickers across his features. "ThePickAxe doesn't open until noon."
"Then I have time for breakfast," I reply, offering a tentative smile. "And I believe I was promised an introduction."
Something shifts in his expression—relief, perhaps, that I'm not simply walking away.
"Ruth would never forgive me if I let you leave without meeting her. Fair warning, though, she has no filter and even less mercy."
"Sounds like my kind of woman."
The drive into Angel's Peak reveals a landscape transformed from what I glimpsed during the storm. Sunlight glitters off snow-covered peaks, and the small town nestled in the valley looks like a postcard come to life.
Dominic navigates the winding road with the confidence of long familiarity, Merlot sitting happily in the back seat of his Jeep.
"It's beautiful," I say, breaking the comfortable silence that settled between us.
"That's the thing about mountains," he replies, eyes on the road. "They're most impressive after a storm passes."
I wonder if he's speaking about more than geography.
The PickAxe sits at the far end of Main Street, a rough-hewn log building that looks as if it's been there since the town's mining days. A hand-painted sign featuring crossed pickaxes swings gently in the mountain breeze. Inside, warmth and the scent of something delicious greet us, along with the distinctive smell of well-worn wood and beer.
Despite the early hour, a few locals occupy scattered tables, all of whom turn to stare as we enter. Their curious gazes track our progress to the bar, where a striking woman in her sixties polishes glasses. Her silver hair is cut in a stylish bob that frames her sharp features and knowing eyes, which miss nothing.
"Well, well, well," she says by way of greeting, setting downher towel. "The hermit emerges from his cave. And with company, no less."
"Ruth," Dominic acknowledges, his tone exasperated but fond. "This is Elena Santiago."
Ruth's shrewd gaze assesses me, lingering on the slight space between Dominic and me, the way we carefully don't touch despite standing close enough to. A knowing smile curves her lips.
"So you're the California wine expert who got trapped up the mountain with our resident grouch." She extends a hand across the bar. "I've been fielding calls about you for days. Half the town's wondering if you survived, the other half's making bets on whether you'd kill each other."
Her directness startles a laugh from me. "And which half were you in?"
"Oh, honey, I started a third category entirely." She winks, the implication clear. "Now, what can I get you two? We're not officially open, but I've never turned away Dominic yet, especially when he finally brings a woman to meet me."
Ruth turns to me with conspiratorial warmth. "He thinks he's such a mystery, but this town's had his number since day one."
I instantly like Ruth. She has the same no-nonsense authenticity as Dominic, but without the protective layers he's built around himself.
