Page 83 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
Mabel's Guest House proves to be a Victorian architectural confection painted in faded blues and creams, itswraparound porch festooned with banners reading "Thank You Angel's Peak!" and "Renovation Celebration!"
The property buzzes with activity—locals carrying food to long tables, children racing across the lawn, musicians setting up in one corner of the wide porch.
"Dominic Mercer at a community gathering," Mabel exclaims, hurrying down the steps to greet us. "Will wonders never cease?" She enfolds me in a warm hug before I can prepare for it. "And you brought your lovely wine expert. Perfect timing—we just opened some local vintages that desperately need professional assessment."
The welcome is so genuine that it momentarily bridges the chasm between Dominic and me. As we're swept into the celebration, I'm struck by how many people greet him with genuine affection—Martha and George Washington arguing good-naturedly about whether he's lost weight, Jason from The PickAxe introducing his fiancée, Hannah's son Liam racing over to give detailed updates on the proper care of dog ears.
Despite our tension, I find myself charmed by this glimpse of Dominic as a community member rather than a mountain recluse. He moves through the crowd with a reserved warmth that suggests he's more comfortable here than he might admit, accepting teasing comments about his "California guest" with better grace than I expected.
The tension remains, though, evident in the careful space he maintains between us, in the way his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes when introducing me to yet another curious local. The townspeople notice—I catch knowing glances exchanged, concerned looks directed our way, whispered conversations that pause when we approach.
As the afternoon progresses, Mabel corners me by the dessert table, her shrewd eyes missing nothing. "Trouble in paradise?"she asks without preamble.
"I'm not sure what you mean," I deflect, selecting a cookie I have no intention of eating.
"Honey, I've been married three times. I know the look of a relationship hitting a crossroads." She pats my arm with grandmotherly affection. "You two were inseparable yesterday at Margie's, according to reliable sources. Today, you're orbiting each other like wary satellites."
I glance across the lawn where Dominic stands with Sheriff Donovan, his posture stiff, and his expression closed. "It's complicated."
"Love usually is," Mabel agrees, ignoring my startled look at the word "love." "Especially when it arrives unexpectedly and requires rearranging the life you've carefully built."
"We've known each other for a handful of days," I remind her and myself. "That's not a rational basis for life-changing decisions."
"Oh my dear." Mabel's laugh is gentle rather than mocking. "If you're looking for rationality in matters of the heart, you'll be disappointed every time. The question isn't whether it makes logical sense, but whether it’s worth the risk."
"And if it isn't?"
Her expression softens with something like compassion. "Then you'll return to your carefully planned life and always wonder what might have been." She squeezes my hand. "But if it is—if that man and this place have touched something in you that your rational mind can't explain away—then the greater risk is walking away."
Before I can respond to this unexpected wisdom, Martha Washington appears, commandeering Mabel's attention for some potluck-related crisis. I'm left alone with thoughts I've been avoiding since Catherine's call this morning.
As I wander through the crowd, I overhear Ruth Fletcher and Eleanor Morgan in heated conversation behind a large hydrangea bush, Dominic's name mentioned repeatedly.I shouldn't eavesdrop, but my feet slow of their own accord.
"He called Hunter for information about the ownership group, the business structure, even property values in her neighborhood."
"That doesn't sound like someone planning to let her walk away," Ruth replies.
"Unless he's looking for reasons why she should," Eleanor counters. "You know how he is—finds the obstacles before admitting the possibilities."
I step away, heart pounding. Dominic has been researching my life in San Francisco? The implication sends conflicting emotions racing through me—hope that he's considering solutions to our geographical dilemma and unease that he's done so without discussing it with me.
The celebration continues around me, but I'm suddenly desperate to speak with Dominic, to break through the distance he's imposed since this morning. I find him near the porch steps, deep in conversation with Lucas Reid from The Haven resort.
"There you are." I thread my arm through his in a deliberate breach of the invisible boundary he's established. "Would you mind if I stole him away for a moment?"
Lucas’s knowing grin suggests he's fully aware of the undercurrents.
"All yours," he says, with a meaningful emphasis that makes Dominic tense beside me.
I lead him away from the crowd, toward a quiet corner of the garden where ancient roses climb a weathered trellis. Before I can broach the subject of his research, his phone rings—the specific tone he's designated for vineyard alerts.
He glances at the screen, frowns, then silences the call. "It can wait."
The gesture—prioritizing ourconversation over work—surprises me. I've rarely seen Dominic ignore anything related to the vineyard.
"You've been researching my life in San Francisco?" I decide directness is the only approach that will work with him. "Property values. Business structures. My company."
"I have." He doesn't flinch under my scrutiny.
