At the Corner of King Street Read Online Free Page A

Middleton caught my eye and I decided to apply at Willow Hills. I was hired as a picker during the harvest season, but within days I surrendered to the heat and my aching muscles, which were still strained from the accident. The I-want-to-work-on-a-vineyard was officially exorcised, and I wanted my city life back.
    *   *   *
    â€œGive me Park Avenue,” I grumbled in my best Eva Gabor accent as I marched up to the vineyard’s main office, which was little more than a trailer, to quit. Even five days at the vineyard was enough to show me Scott was a dynamic visionary who spoke passionately to his workers about growing the best grapes and creating award-winning wines. He was a man to be respected. But I wanted nothing more to do with grapes.
    When I knocked on his door, he sounded gruff when he shouted, “Enter.” Tonight, he wasn’t the noble, sun-kissed man riding a tractor up between the rows, but a very tired guy, slumped over a secondhand desk, doing his best to make sense of the day’s accounting numbers.
    â€œScott.”
    He glanced up, his gaze gutted with fatigue and confusion. “Addie?”
    He knew my name. There were more than twenty of us working the fields, and I assumed I vanished in the masses. “Scott.”
    â€œWhat can I do for you?” Dirt-crusted fingernails dug through sun-drenched hair.
    I stared at his lean face, vivid blue eyes, and deeply tanned skin, and fell a little in love with him at that moment. He was the poet, the dreamer. I never harbored any big dreams and found I was drawn to anyone who did. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
    â€œYou’re not.” A very disarming half smile flashed. “It’s accounting and schedules, and I’m terrible at both.”
    With the rumpled resignation letter in my fist, I stepped forward. “Numbers are kinda my specialty.”
    â€œYou signed on to pick grapes.”
    â€œI have an accounting degree. I was stepping outside of the box and thinking of a grand adventure.”
    â€œAnd?”
    I held up the letter. “I hate picking grapes. I want back in the box.”
    He chuckled. “I love the fields. The sun. The smell of the wind. The feel of the rich soil in my hands. But I get that this life is not for everyone.”
    â€œWhich is why you should be here, and I shouldn’t. I’ll finish out the picking season, but I’m gone in two weeks.”
    Scott nodded. “Fair enough. Fair enough.”
    I laid the note on his desk and glanced at the open ledger and the scrawl of numbers and words. “Thanks for giving me a try.”
    â€œNo worries.” He tucked the note in the back of the ledger and tapped the page. “Thanks.”
    Suddenly, I sensed a broken energy that tore at me. Maybe becauseI grew up with so many wounded, I felt comfortable around the broken and bruised. “What are you trying to do there?”
    â€œPayroll. But it’s not balancing.”
    â€œWant me to take a stab at it?”
    â€œNo shit?”
    Extending dirty and vine-scraped arms and smelling like the inside of a barn, I smiled. “Don’t I look like I have an accounting degree?”
    He laughed. “No.”
    â€œGive me a try. And if I can fix this, you pull me out of the fields and turn me loose here.”
    He studied me a long beat and then finally nodded. “Okay, Addie. Show me your stuff.”
    From that night on, I ran the office, finding I could love the vineyard through numbers, logistics, through marketing plans. And, of course, through Scott’s eyes.
    *   *   *
    Now, as Scott stepped into the tasting room and whistled his approval, I couldn’t resist crossing to him and stepping into his arms. I savored his embrace as he rested his chin on the top of my head. “It’s all coming together.”
    â€œYes. It’s going to be perfect.”
    With an extra squeeze, he broke free