He directed me up the stairs before reaching around me to grab the door handle.
“It always weirds me out when you don’t acknowledge the people saying hi to you,” I murmured, entering the tasting room. “Are we day drinking? Because with the news that my parents are coming, I could definitely get behind that. I’d prefer a different winery, though.”
“They’re acknowledging me to show respect for my position, and if I reciprocated, I’d do nothing but greet people whenever I went into town.”
“What do Janes and Dicks think of people calling you alpha?”
“I don’t care. What do you think of this setup?” He gestured around the spacious tasting room, sparse in furniture and plentiful in dead space.
I huffed out a laugh at his response before glancing around. I’d been here before, but I hadn’t paid much attention.
“What are they expecting, huge crowds to pack in here?” I whispered, knowing someone would pop out to wait on us at any moment.
He didn’t control his volume. “In the busy season, there are enough tourists to fill the place, but I’ve heard it doesn’t typically happen.” He didn’t move toward the counter.
I didn’t wait for him. “Right. So why all the space? Why not add in a few high tables without chairs and maybe a little display area to sell wine paraphernalia? Is this place even open? Where’s the pourer?”
“Hmm.” Austin finally joined me, leaning against the counter as a woman with a pinched face and an air of smug importance drifted up to the counter. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and her failure to recognize or acknowledge Austin meant she was probably new to the area. Even non-magical people knew the scary, standoffish bar owner of the Paddy Wagon.
“Welcome.” She laid her hand, her pink nails perfectly rounded, on a cream-colored piece of paper to my right. Several similar menus lay across the stretch of counter. “We have two options for tastings. The regular flight, where you can choose five wines, is ten dollars, and the reserve tasting is fifteen dollars. If you buy two bottles or more, the tasting fee is waived. Which would you prefer?”
I glanced at Austin. “What’s happening here? Are we doing a wine tour? Because if this is your way of getting me out of meetings with Edgar, then we just became best friends.”
He smiled, pulling one of the papers closer. “It’s up to you. What do you want, the reserve tasting? One of each?”
I nodded at the woman. “One of each. If we’re going to do this thing, we’ll do it right.”
Her deadpan stare said she didn’t appreciate my nonchalant humor. “Would you like to start with white?”
As Austin looked on, I chose a wine from each list. She sniffed and turned to grab the bottles from the coolers at the far right.
“Out of all the winery options, you chose this one, huh?” I asked, tapping my fingers against the counter. “Oh, this town carries Pabst Blue Ribbon, doesn’t it? My father likes Pabst. If I don’t have it, he’ll just send my mom looking for it.”
“Of all the tasting rooms on this strip, this one gets the least foot traffic,” Austin said as the woman screwed off a cap. The other had a cork, and she set to work. “The tasting room is upscale, though, and the operations at the winery look good.”
“You’ve been to the winery? Are you sizing up your competition or something?”
“No. I’m looking to buy it.”
The needle screeched off the spinning record in my mind. “What’s that now?”
Glasses clinked as the woman placed them in front of us. She explained the wines as she poured, but I wasn’t listening.
“You’re thinking of buying a winery?” I whispered as soon as she drifted away.
“Yes.” He swirled the contents in his glass and lifted it to sip. I watched his lips press against the glass, my mind struggling to compute the enormity of what he was saying versus the easy, unconcerned quality of his tone.
“How do you have that kind of money? I mean…” I blinked a couple of times and shook my head. “Sorry, that was rude, but… To buy a winery, you’re talking millions. Right?”
His face scrunched up. He held out the glass for me. “It’s tart.”
I took it without comment and sipped, not prepared.
“Oh, man.” I lowered the glass to the counter, my right eye shutting of its own volition and my mouth puckering at the sourness. “That wine is intense, and not in a drinkable sort of way.”
“I’m from a long line of alphas,” he said, as though that explained something.
I lifted my glass and swirled good and proper, running the liquid around the glass to get as much oxygen in there as possible. It would help the flavor, and this place needed all the help it could get. I didn’t remember it being this bad. Or maybe it was just the pick I’d made for Austin. I raised the glass and took a cautious sip.