At the Corner of King Street Read Online Free

lit again.
    I deepened the kiss, already looking forward to the end of the day, when we would share a glass of wine on the new stone veranda as the sun set.
    As I drew back, I glimpsed my phone. The display read: Janet Morgan. Fingers of tension rubbed against the nape of my neck. “I have phone calls to make for the wine launch.”
    He winked. “Don’t let me keep you.”
    I scooped up my phone along with my papers and hurried from the tasting room to my office, a small room located at the back of the building. The phone buzzed in my hand, insistent and demanding, but I refused to answer or look at the display. When the buzzing stopped, I shoved out a breath. I waited several minutes, gripping the phone and praying she didn’t call me back.
    Janet was the past. My future, my life, was here now at the vineyard.
    Closing my eyes, I imagined the tasting room five days from now, filled with people from all over the region gathering to taste the new wine that Scott was launching. It was a Viognier aged in French oak barrels. Its smooth, honeyed flavor possessed a tropical twist. Scott had been nurturing these vines for ten years and these were the first grapes he’d withheld from the wholesale market so that he could make his own signature wine.
    The terroir of the Willow Hills Vineyards, like the terroir of any vineyard, was unique. Terroir was not simply the soil, but also the way the sun warmed the earth, how and when the rain fell, and the mix oftemperature in summer and winter. A mile or two east or west, north or south ensured the grapes grew differently. Perhaps they’d be better, perhaps not.
    Scott’s gift as a winemaker was his ability to use the land. He worked with the terroir instead of against it. He understood the synergy of man and earth.
    My phone buzzed a third time. Janet. Again. Frowning, I stared at the display. “What do you want?”
    The last time Janet called me, she was living in Chicago and working as a cocktail waitress. She was drinking again and facing a DUI charge. She needed bail money. When I said no, she cried and begged. I maxed out my credit card and got her out on bond. Two days later, Janet jumped bail, leaving me to eat the cost.
    Janet always possessed a talent for reemerging when my life was perched on the edge of hopeful and good. An exam. A job. A new wine. Janet knew when to call and tip over the applecart that I carefully filled.
    Tense seconds passed as I stared at the display. Finally the buzzing stopped. “Stay away from me.”
    The doors to the reception hall opened and, immediately, I lowered the phone and rose from my desk. I hurried into the main hall to find a tall, burly man wearing jeans and a work shirt bearing the name Billy stitched above the pocket.
    â€œWhere do you want the tables, Addie?”
    I blinked, shifting my brain from the past to the present. Tables. For the tasting. In five days. “You brought rounds, correct?”
    Billy owned a party rental company in Staunton, Virginia, which was about twenty-five minutes south of the vineyard. He and I had traded several e-mails, texts, and calls over the last few days as I revised the head count for the opening.
    â€œThirty rounds according to the e-mail last night. Looks like you’re gonna have yourself a crowd.”
    â€œWe’re getting more RSVPs than I imagined. It’s exciting.”
    â€œI’m glad for the business.”
    â€œYou and me both. Start placing the tables in the center of the room, and then we’ll work it out from there.”
    Billy nodded. “Will do.” He headed back out the glass doors to a large yellow truck. As he unlocked the back of the truck and raised the door, Scott entered the room.
    Seven years ago, I left Alexandria with no fixed destination, but determined to go far. And then two hours away, the rolling hills, the white farmhouses, and peace seduced me. The Help Wanted sign posted in the small town of