by him? She’d just sent him an email that morning after she’d woken with the revelation that she was trying too hard to make her life perfect when that didn’t exist. Of course, knowing this and doing it were two different things. But for some reason she had to tell him her thoughts . . . because he would understand exactly what she meant.
Dear Evan,
Have you ever tried to wear a shoe that doesn’t fit? I do that all the time. Or maybe the vision in my head doesn’t always match the reality. Take every holiday. I imagine hot cider by a roaring fire, people gathered around singing carols, and everyone laughing at the joy of it all. A crown roast sits on the table, and there are piles of presents under the tree. Like the perfect commercial. But then you wake up Christmas morning, and the coffee machine is busted, you have a sore throat, and someone bought you socks. Reality versus fantasy. Sometimes it’s more fun to live in a fantasy world. Maybe that’s why I write children’s books. It’s so much nicer in my pretend world.
Best,
Dee Dee O’Hara
“Miss, can I help you?” a woman with frizzy red hair and a gorgeous silk blouse asked, interrupting Ellery’s thoughts.
“Oh, I’m fine. Just browsing.”
“Is this your first time visiting the winery?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ellery said, placing the card with the monkey drinking from a goblet back in its slot. “I bought some wine at the Provenance Farmers Market in Shreveport a few weeks back. We drank it all. Since I was close, I thought I would come by and pick up some more.” And try to catch a glimpse of the owner, like some kind of nutcase who wasn’t engaged to the perfect—albeit distracted—guy.
“That’s awesome. We had good success at the farmers’ market there. We’re working hard on expanding our distribution and letting people know there’s a stellar winery here in East Texas. I’m glad we made such a good impression,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Marin Dorsett. My brother and I own the vineyard.”
Ellery put her hand in Marin’s. The woman’s grasp was cool and firm. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ellery.”
She intentionally left off her last name. Better to be on the down-low. Just in case.
“Have you visited our tasting room? We have several varietals here that we don’t normally distribute. Our anniversary white blend just rolled out last month. It’s really complex but refreshing. You can only buy it here.”
“I’ll do that. So tell me about owning a vineyard. Working with family is always hard, right?” Ellery asked, hoping her question sounded nonchalant and not like a fishing expedition for info on Marin’s brother.
Evan’s sister had rounded cheeks, a sprinkling of freckles, and bright-blue eyes, which made her both adorable and chic at the same time. “You could say that, though I cannot lie, my brother, Evan, is pretty spectacular. My father actually started the vineyard when we were children. Our mother left for greener pastures, and my dad, Bear McCallum, bought this acreage. It had been crosscut, and only one scraggly tree stood in the middle.”
“Thus One Tree Estates?” Ellery asked.
“Exactly.” Marin chuckled. “The name was a no-brainer; the actual building of a vineyard, inn, and restaurant, a little more difficult. My father knew how to grow oranges—he was originally from Florida—but not grapes. Big learning curve, but as you can see, it worked out. My brother went to college, majored in business, and then spent a few years working in California and Oregon vineyards, learning everything there is to know about growing grapes. Once he came back with all that knowledge, we expanded, adding more grapes and buying more land. We’re really proud of what we’re doing here.”
“You should be. The wines are good,” Ellery said.
“That’s good to hear, especially from someone so young.”
“I’m not that young,” Ellery said, hating that she did indeed look so young. “It’s the ponytail. I’m turning twenty-three in ten days.”
“Oh Lord, sugar, that’s young. I’m thirty-three and feel like I’m fifty years old. Three kids will do that to you. Well, it was nice meeting you. Buy some wine. Tell your friends. Bring them back with you. We love new patrons.”
“I will,” Ellery said, smiling as Marin disappeared through the tasting-room doors. Quickly, Ellery grabbed two goblets embossed with the One Tree Estates logo and walked to the register.
The woman working the gift shop wrapped up her purchases and handed her the bag with a smile. “No