Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

The clientele at Blue Mountain Farm may be the most rarefied I’ve served. But that doesn’t mean guests won’t appreciate something different. Something they don’t see at every high-dollar steakhouse and hotel they visit. I think it’d make the whole experience of staying here that much more memorable.

I manage to squeeze in that blind tasting with Hank.

“Australian Shiraz?” His eyes had widened adorably as he poured himself another glass of my favorite red from last year. “Not sure if I’ve ever had it before, but goddamn is it delicious. It’s just the right amount of sweet.”

“Right? The spice and hint of velvet evens out the sweetness nicely.”

He’d run his tongue along the inside of his mouth. “Velvet. Yes. That’s exactly how it feels. Good for chilly, cloudy days like this one—makes me feel all warm and cozy inside.” His eyes flashed with understanding. Appreciation too. “Which is exactly why you picked it.”

I’d smiled so hard my face hurt. “Yup. Originally, I selected an Israeli Grenache blend, but when it started to rain earlier, the Shiraz just felt right.”

“There’s such a thing as Israeli wine?”

“Heck yes, there is! They’ve been making wine there literally forever, and it can be really, really good. What do you think Jesus drank?”

He’d laughed at that, and so did I.

I meet Beau’s friend Annabel and her daughter, Maisie, when they stop by the restaurant for an early dinner one night, and they’re lucky enough to witness Samuel and me sparring over which wine she might want.

She went with a mocktail, and I went away rolling my eyes and biting back a smile. Samuel is not immune to the professional chemistry we have. I see it in the way his eyes gleam with appreciation when our ideas come together just right. I see it in the way he no longer greets me with a grunt. Granted, he doesn’t say hello, either, but it’s better than it was.

I also see it in the way he watches me. Every so often, I’ll catch him looking at me as I pour wine, or converse with a guest, or take the mic at a meeting. A few times, he downright stares like he’s trying to work me out inside his head.

The professional in me would say it’s weird. But the woman doesn’t mind it. In fact, she likes it.

Reason one hundred eighty-five why I’m grateful I have Blue in my back pocket.

“Ho-ly shit,” I breathe.

I set my tote bag on the edge of the nearest table and stare at the gorgeousness that surrounds me.

Today is the Charleston Heat luncheon. It’s barely half past seven in the morning, but the pavilion is a beehive of activity. A small army of staff in matching Blue Mountain Farm aprons crisscrosses the open-air space. They spear the stems of white peonies and limelight hydrangea into mason jars set out on a massive farm table and place locally crafted clay plates on brass chargers. Crisp white linens and embroidered napkins are an elegant counterpoint to the rustic wooden chairs and artfully mismatched silverware.

Excitement floods my chest as my eyes catch on the spotless wine glasses accompanying each place setting. Only a place like Blue Mountain Farm would have hundreds of mouth-blown Czech crystal glasses on hand, in more shapes and sizes than I could count. Milly and I pored over the collection earlier this week, selecting glasses that were just the right shape and size to complement the varietals we’ll be serving.

For a wine nerd like me, it was nirvana.

In a corner, staff set up the station where Chef Katie will be making paella in a Kia-sized paella pan. Others decorate the dozen circular chandeliers hanging from the massive ceiling beams with garlands of greenery and hydrangea. Their light casts everything in a warm, cozy glow.

The smoky-savory smell emanating from the fire burning in the massive stone fireplace fills the crisp morning air.

It’s such a picture-perfect moment—something out of a movie, if Last of the Mohicans had a feast scene it’d look and smell like this—that I get goosebumps.

Milly sidles up beside me. “What do you think?”

“Chills.” I hold out my arm and pull up the sleeve of my jacket. “Milly, I have literal chills. This is magical. Thank you so damn much for your help.”

“My pleasure. This kind of laid-back event is fun. Y’all are gonna have a ball, I can already tell.” She cuts me a glance. “Things going okay? At the restaurant, I mean. I know Samuel’s been less than accommodating.”

“I’ll make it work. Always do.”

“The staff at The Barn Door already love her.” Hank appears at my elbow, almost making me jump. “Can’t tell you how many good things I’ve overheard in the past few days. Morning, Emma.”

I look down at the cardboard cup of coffee he holds out. “Good morning. What’s this?”