Page 75 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
His expression turns sheepish. "I might have mentioned it when I called to thank her for the bread she sent with Hannah."
"And how quickly did that information spread through town?"
"Considering Margie's bakery is the primary gossip exchange in Angel's Peak... approximately thirty seconds."
I laugh despite myself. "So much for your reputation as a recluse."
"Already in tatters," he agrees solemnly, though his eyes dance with amusement. "Might as well embrace my fall from hermit grace."
The ease of this exchange settles something within me. Yesterday's decision to stay feels increasingly right, regardless of the complications it might create for my future.
Margie's Bakery sits in the heart of Angel's Peak's main street, a cheerful storefront with windowsdisplaying pastries that would look at home in any upscale San Francisco patisserie. The bell above the door announces our arrival, drawing every eye in the packed café toward us. Conversations pause momentarily before resuming with increased enthusiasm, not even pretending they aren't discussing our entrance.
"Dominic Mercer, twice in town in one week." A round woman with flour-dusted hands emerges from behind the counter, her face creased with genuine delight. "And you've brought your guest. Come in, come in."
Before I can introduce myself, Margie envelopes me in a floury hug that somehow feels like coming home. "Elena Santiago. We've all been so curious about you. How wonderful that you're staying a few more days."
Dominic catches my eye over Margie's shoulder, his expression a mixture of apology and amusement. "Margie, maybe let Elena breathe?"
"Oh!" She releases me, patting my cheek like a beloved niece. "I'm just so pleased to finally meet you. Dominic has been alone on that mountain for far too long."
"It's lovely to meet you," I manage, strangely touched by this effusive welcome from a woman I've never met. "Dominic speaks very highly of your bread."
"High praise indeed from our resident food critic." Margie beams, ushering us to a table that appears to have been reserved despite the morning rush. "Sit, sit! I've prepared something special."
What follows is a parade of pastries and coffee, each item accompanied by Margie's running commentary on local happenings and not-so-subtle inquiries about my background and future plans. Through it all, Dominic maintains a patient half-smile, clearly accustomed to Margie's enthusiastic mothering.
"Your cardamom buns are exceptional," I tell her aftersampling what must be my fourth pastry. "The balance of spice with the orange zest is perfect."
Margie clasps her hands in delight. "A proper palate. I knew it." She turns to Dominic. "She's a keeper, this one. Appreciates the subtleties."
Dominic's ears redden slightly, but he doesn't contradict her assessment. Under the table, his hand finds mine, a silent acknowledgment of something neither of us is ready to name.
By the time we leave, laden with a box of pastries "for later" and Margie's effusive good wishes, I feel as if I've been adopted into a family I didn't know existed. The warmth of the town's acceptance—based solely on my association with Dominic—touches and unnerves me. These people care about him and have invested in his happiness. My temporary presence in his life suddenly feels weighted with unexpected responsibility.
"Sorry about the inquisition," Dominic says as we drive back toward the vineyard. "Margie means well."
"She's wonderful," I assure him. "They all are. You've found good people here."
"They found me," he corrects, a note of wonder in his voice. "I did everything possible to keep them at arm's length, and they just... persisted."
"Like me," I observe, half-joking.
His expression softens as he glances at me. "Exactly like you."
Back at the vineyard, Dominic leads me past the main buildings toward a narrow path I haven't noticed before. "This is what I wanted to show you," he explains as we hike up a gentle slope. "It's not on any of the vineyard maps or business plans."
The path winds around a rocky outcropping, eventually opening to a sheltered plateau I wouldn't have guessed existed from below. Here, nestled in a perfect microclimate protected from the harshest windsbut bathed in southern exposure, grows a small, meticulously maintained plot of vines unlike any I've seen on the property.
"What am I looking at?" I ask, professional curiosity piqued by the unusual trellising system and the distinct pattern of the plantings.
"The future," Dominic says. "At least, I hope so."
He explains as we walk between the rows—this is his experimental hybridization project, combining resilient, high-altitude varietals with traditional vinifera to create vines specifically adapted to this elevation and climate. Years of cross-breeding, grafting, and selection have yielded these few precious rows, which represent his vision for truly indigenous Colorado wine.
"The V79-H sample you tasted was an early harvest from these vines," he tells me, kneeling to brush winter mulch away from a dormant plant. "But this generation is even more promising. The root systems are developing exactly as I hoped—deep enough to withstand drought but with the right nutrient exchange for complexity."
The technical precision of his work astonishes me. Without institutional backing or formal research support, Dominic has undertaken genetic selection that would be impressive even at a university viticulture program.
