would be small but memorable with Gabriella at the helm.
“We’re starting today with arancini filled with a white wine risotto and fontina cheese, and the Goodfella, which is a slider topped with salami, pepperoni, prosciutto, mozzarella, roasted red peppers, and a vinaigrette you’d elbow your infant for.”
“I have no infant.”
“Even better, because you’re not gonna wanna share the not-your-mama’s cannoli I’m serving today. The shells are, of course, homemade.”
“Listen to you. You make trucks fancy.”
“Gotta keep up with the delicious wine.” She gestured to the tasting room, just yards away. “I actually chose my flavors alongside Tangle Valley sips. I had a bottle of each of your varietals open. I didn’t get drunk, though.”
Joey nodded. “Great restraint.”
Gabriella closed one eye. “Maybe a little drunk.”
“Well, that’s okay, too,” Joey said with a wink. She took note of the fact that Gabriella was very put together as she reported for work. Fluffed and sparkly. She even had her nails done, something Joey never gave much thought to but that looked beautiful on Gabriella’s elegant hands.
Back in the tasting room, Joey celebrated Jolene’s reception. The food truck had only been open for a couple of hours now, but from the buzz she’d overheard at the bar, it was a smash hit. Their guests were gushing, and the advertising they’d done to promote the truck’s opening had paid off. Joey estimated they had triple their typical traffic for a Saturday. She’d even set up their outdoor bar for folks to purchase glasses of wine, and the line was never empty. She grinned to herself as she moved about the grounds, saying hello to guests and helping to clear stray glasses. She’d wisely scheduled several of her part-time pourers as reinforcements in the tasting room, which freed her up to move around and fill in as needed.
“This place is hoppin’,” Loretta said as they passed each other in the storage room. She had two bottles of pinot gris in her hands and was headed in the direction of the tasters.
“Right? It’s been a while since we’ve been this busy. I will not complain about my feet, which are already killing me. It’s good pain.”
Loretta turned back from where she stood at the door. Her eyes carried that fierce sentimentality that she was known for. “Your dad would love this.”
Joey felt the wistful pang, but she was also hit with something else. Pride. She hadn’t fallen on her face, and the winery was still up and functioning, and doing quite well.
“Ton of people out there,” a voice behind them said.
They turned. “Hey, Uncle Bobby.”
“Think I’m gonna get a fourth cornhole game set up. People are waiting in line for a turn.”
Joey shook her head. “Everyone loves a good game of cornhole with their chardonnay.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth.” He gestured with his chin in Joey’s direction. “When the crowd dies down, I challenge you to a match.”
Joey laughed, remembering playing against her uncle when she was a kid. It had been a while since they’d battled it out. “I’m game. But it’s good that we’re waiting until the guests are gone. Wouldn’t want to hurt your ego in front of them.”
Her uncle’s eyes flashed steely and competitive like she knew they would. He was a total sweetheart until it came to competition. He’d toss his ball cap on the ground when he didn’t do well, his signature tantrum. “Oh, you’re trash-talking now. Reminds me of my brother.”
“Always,” Joey said, standing taller. Loretta shook her head, enjoying their back-and-forth, before going back to work. Joey followed suit and headed out to the patio where Matt Tremore played on his guitar and sang a slow rendition of “Brown Eyed Girl” into the microphone. A crooner, that guy. She walked across the lawn to the food truck where she could see Gabriella and Lynn, the part-time pourer they’d placed on cashier duty today, laughing through the window with a couple at the front of the line. She continued her stroll and found Deacon, Madison’s assistant, gearing up for the next tour of the vineyard’s grounds. Madison was likely at work in the barrel room if she had to guess. She’d been pulling long hours since she’d arrived at Tangle Valley. That was Madison—a total workaholic, lost in measurements and sampling.
“Oh, hello there,” Joey said to a medium-sized dog who approached her slowly on the edge of the patio, the part still kissed by the sun. In another two hours, the whole thing would be overtaken by shade and markedly