I laughed as we continued on.
“It seems like the house found something in you that it had been looking for in the Havercamp heirs,” he said. “There was a quality in you it craved. So it traded up.”
“Lord knows what that quality might be.”
He looked down on me as we stopped at the corner, waiting for a few cars to roll past.
“Courage, confidence, a desire for adventure, quick wit, steadfast, trustworthy, loyal… I mean, take your pick.”
My face flamed hot. “Boy have I got you fooled.”
“Nah. I was just making all that up so you’d feel good about yourself.”
“Oh well, thanks a million, man.”
He put his hand on the small of my back again as we crossed the street, guiding me. It was almost like he thought I’d randomly decide to go sprinting into oncoming traffic.
Wouldn’t have mattered if I did, though. There was no oncoming traffic. The pace in this place was slow and tranquil. No one was in a hurry. Time didn’t compress until you felt like you were always in a race.
The difference was welcome. I felt like my shoulders were looser, my blood pressure lower.
“There sure are a lot of tasting rooms for a town this size,” I said as we got to the other side of the street. They dotted our path.
“It brings in a lot of tourism. It’s good for the town, though the tourists are mostly pompous old fuddy-duddies or obnoxious twenty-somethings. I try to avoid this strip in the tourist season.”
“Are we in tourist season? Must be, right, because October is harvest?”
“Correct. Add smart and insightful to that list.”
“I hope you’re not trying to get me to list your personality wins. I’m still struggling to find any.”
“You’re intent on boosting my ego, huh?” His crooked grin was back. This guy didn’t need my help to bolster his confidence—he knew exactly what he was good at, and based on the way other people in town reacted to him, he was dead right.
We passed a small alleyway with baskets of flowers hanging on the sides of the buildings, no dodgy streams of murky water and not one piece of litter. This definitely wasn’t L.A..
Standing against the wall, halfway down the alley, stood Mr. Tom. He wore a trench coat, bowler cap, and a pair of circular Harry Potter glasses. His arms hugged his sides and he stared straight ahead. It appeared he thought himself either disguised or invisible.
I paused, squinting at him. Austin backed up to see what I was doing.
“Good God,” he murmured. Rather than confront Mr. Tom, he immediately shifted his gaze away and kept walking.
Big belly laughs wracked my body. I hurried to catch up, grabbing his arm to steady myself. We stopped in front of the tasting room, and I gulped in air—I’d laughed so hard I’d stopped breathing.
“Part of his magic is blending into buildings, especially stone, and certain types of scenery,” Austin said, looking the other way. It seemed like he didn’t want to catch Mr. Tom sneaking out of the alleyway after us. That just made me laugh harder. “He’s clearly lost the knack. Because what is he thinking?”
“With the trench coat in eighty-degree weather…”
“And the glasses. What’s with the glasses?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “He’s lost his touch.”
I calmed down a little and wiped my eyes. “You said he was a gremlin?”
“Shall we?” Austin opened the door for me. “Gargoyle,” he whispered, following me inside.
A couple of groups were tasting wine, one of them much merrier than the other. The latter group listened to the attendant in polite boredom as he described the wine he was about to pour.
I led Austin to the edge of the counter and looked over the list of available wines to taste.
“I cannot see how his kind inspired the stone carvings on gothic structures,” I said, leaning against the counter.
“That’s because you haven’t seen his other form.”
“His other form…” I let the words drift away. It was impossible to think Mr. Tom was cool enough to don another form, let alone one as awesome as a gothic-looking gargoyle.
Before I could ask more about it, the tasting room worker bustled up to us, grabbing a couple of wine glasses as he did so. His eyes widened when his gaze landed on Austin. Immediately, his spine bowed.
“Hello, welcome,” the man said, in his fifties with a comb over and a previously pleasant disposition. “Are you here to taste?”
Austin looked at me, waiting for me to take the lead again.
“Yes. Do we just go down the list or…do we pick and choose?” I tapped the paper.
The man wet his lips, his eyes flicking to Austin. “Of course, yes, down the list. Right away. Actually…” He held up a finger, his gaze flicking to Austin again. “Let me go ahead and open some different bottles. We have better bottles than… Just hang on, if you would.”