“A trip over on Saturday sounds nice. But let me get back to you. Fingers crossed, I'll get all my projects wrapped up by Friday. But if I don't, I'll need to work next weekend. I want nothing hanging over my head while I'm in Puerto Rico, and I'm not bringing work with me.”
“Sounds good. Just let me know.” He'd spent the last two nights working until midnight for the same reason.
“Okay, your turn. What were you going to ask me before I interrupted you?” Tory asked.
“Where do you work?”
Many, but not all, of the Sherbrookes worked for the family's hotel chain or its largest charitable organization, the Helping Hands Foundation. He'd already ruled out the foundation. She would've moved to Providence, not Boston, if she worked for it.
“That is something you should know, isn't it?” Tory answered. “I'm the marketing director forBoston Home, Life, and Style Magazine.”
After stopping at the intersection, Duncan turned left onto Vineyard Lane. “Never heard of it.” But, then again, it didn't sound like a magazine that would interest him or any of his friends, either.
“It's been around for eight years. I'm good friends with the cofounder's daughter. Sienna works there too, and she knew I was looking for a change. So when the position opened, Sienna suggested I apply.”
“What did you do before you went to work at the magazine?” Duncan asked as he turned into Primrose Winery and Restaurant's main parking lot.
“I worked as the assistant marketing director at Desjardin Winery.”
If he'd known she'd worked for a winery, he would've taken her somewhere else today. “A winery is probably the last place you want to spend your day then. I can call and cancel our reservations.”
“We're already here, and I enjoy wine tastings. Besides, when I worked at Desjardin, I spent my days in the office, and the only wine I saw was in pictures. Although the job would've been much more interesting if we'd had samples on hand.”
“I imagine it would've been.”
He wouldn't argue with her if she was okay with their plans, especially since he didn't have any other ideas for the day.
Although he'd never seen the place empty, today looked busier than usual. Duncan was about to look for a place in the lot by the apple orchard when he saw a car backing out.
“This looks like a popular place,” Tory commented as he pulled into the spot and shifted the car into park. “I've never heard of this winery. How did you find it?”
“When we left Sanborn, we moved to a town not far from here. My parents still live there. They're the ones that told me about it. The restaurant here is one of their favorites, and I've been here a few times with them and my sister.”
He intended to open the car door for her, but Tory was already closing it by the time he reached the other side. “Looks like this was a farm at one time,” she said, adjusting the straps of her purse. Unlike earlier in the week, this one wasn't large enough to double as a body bag. But he still couldn't imagine what she carried around that she needed such a purse.
Based on the old photos hanging inside the winery and the restaurant next door, Primrose Winery and Restaurant occupied the land where a large farm with multiple buildings had once been. According to its website, the current owners purchased the property twenty-five years ago. Before purchasing it, the husband-and-wife team had been experimenting with making wine using grapes and other fruits at their home. Once they'd perfected their technique, they purchased the old farm and started producing on a larger scale. Now the largest of the three original structures served as a tasting room and winery. The farmhouse operated as a restaurant, and customers could rent the small barn off to the left for private events such as weddings and retirement parties. He'd never counted to verify it, but the website claimed Primrose produced thirty different wines today.
Ten of them were made from grapes, while the others were made from fruits grown either on the property or in the area.
“I love when people repurpose old buildings. I wish more people would do that instead of tearing them down.”
He'd had similar thoughts in the past. “Me too, but older buildings are a lot of work. I spent ten years living in an old house. My dad was always fixing something. He still is. Last year, he remodeled an upstairs bathroom. It was frozen in the 1930s. For him, it's kind of a hobby, and he enjoys it. Most people, though, don't have the time, skill, or money to maintain an older home.”
“True, but it's still unfortunate. Some of them have unique details that aren't found in houses today.”
Although the owners had replaced the old barn doors with large glass ones, the original wooden planks still covered the floor, and the large beams supporting the structure remained exposed. A bar spanned the left wall, and tables that could accommodate either four or six customers occupied the center of the building. On the right, a staircase led to a private room upstairs that customers could reserve for small gatherings. And at the far end of the building, another set of glass doors led to the outside patio. Customers occupied almost all the seats while others waited at the bar for their orders.
“Good afternoon. We're unable to accept any more walk-ins at this time. Do you have a reservation?” the employee at the hostess station asked.
He'd been enough times to know that, while reservations weren't required, the winery highly recommended them. And if a person didn't have one, there was a chance they'd be turned away, especially on the weekends.
“We do. It should be under Ferguson.”
Next to him, Tory moved closer so that a group of women could walk past them, and her hand brushed against his. Instantly, the muscles in his arm clenched as an electric jolt shot across his skin. If his body reacted like that to such a brief touch, he'd probably go into cardiac arrest if something less innocent happened between them.
No, not probably. Would.
What they'd shared on stage the previous weekend barely qualified as a kiss, yet it had sent his pulse to a place it'd never been.