Page 26 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner (Angel’s Peak #6)

Morning sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating Dominic's sleeping face beside me.

Watching the play of light across his features, I'm struck by how quickly this has become familiar—waking next to him, studying the relaxed expression he wears only in sleep, feeling the solid warmth of his body against mine.

I should be in San Francisco by now. I should be presenting the Silverleaf contract to Davis and the ownership group, securing my professional standing and returning to the career trajectory I've carefully built.

Instead, I've extended my stay, telling myself it's for proper due diligence on the vineyard's operations.

Even in the privacy of my thoughts, the excuse sounds hollow. I'm staying because I'm not ready to leave Dominic. Not ready to discover if what we've found here can exist beyond this mountain.

"You're thinking too loudly," Dominic murmurs without opening his eyes, his voice morning-rough in a way that sends pleasant shivers through me .

"Professional hazard. My brain doesn't come with an off switch."

He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. "What's on the analytical agenda today?"

"I should see more of your production process. Properly evaluate operations." I attempt a businesslike tone, but it’s undermined by how I curl into his embrace. "For the contract."

"Of course. For the contract." His smile against my skin tells me he sees through the pretense as clearly as I do. "After breakfast, I have something I want to show you."

"Something wine-related or something personal?" I trail my fingers along his chest, enjoying how his breath catches.

"Both." He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "But breakfast first. I promised Margie we'd stop by the bakery this morning."

"You told her I was staying longer?"

His expression turns sheepish. "I might have mentioned it when I called to thank her for the bread she sent with Hannah."

"And how quickly did that information spread through town?"

"Considering Margie's bakery is the primary gossip exchange in Angel's Peak... approximately thirty seconds."

I laugh despite myself. "So much for your reputation as a recluse."

"Already in tatters," he agrees solemnly, though his eyes dance with amusement. "Might as well embrace my fall from hermit grace."

The ease of this exchange settles something within me. Yesterday's decision to stay feels increasingly right, regardless of the complications it might create for my future.

Margie's Bakery sits in the heart of Angel's Peak's main street, a cheerful storefront with windows displaying pastries that would look at home in any upscale San Francisco patisserie.

The bell above the door announces our arrival, drawing every eye in the packed café toward us.

Conversations pause momentarily before resuming with increased enthusiasm, not even pretending they aren't discussing our entrance.

"Dominic Mercer, twice in town in one week." A round woman with flour-dusted hands emerges from behind the counter, her face creased with genuine delight. "And you've brought your guest. Come in, come in."

Before I can introduce myself, Margie envelopes me in a floury hug that somehow feels like coming home. "Elena Santiago. We've all been so curious about you. How wonderful that you're staying a few more days."

Dominic catches my eye over Margie's shoulder, his expression a mixture of apology and amusement. "Margie, maybe let Elena breathe?"

"Oh!" She releases me, patting my cheek like a beloved niece. "I'm just so pleased to finally meet you. Dominic has been alone on that mountain for far too long."

"It's lovely to meet you," I manage, strangely touched by this effusive welcome from a woman I've never met. "Dominic speaks very highly of your bread."

"High praise indeed from our resident food critic." Margie beams, ushering us to a table that appears to have been reserved despite the morning rush. "Sit, sit! I've prepared something special."

What follows is a parade of pastries and coffee, each item accompanied by Margie's running commentary on local happenings and not-so-subtle inquiries about my background and future plans. Through it all, Dominic maintains a patient half-smile, clearly accustomed to Margie's enthusiastic mothering.

"Your cardamom buns are exceptional," I tell her after sampling what must be my fourth pastry. "The balance of spice with the orange zest is perfect."

Margie clasps her hands in delight. "A proper palate. I knew it." She turns to Dominic. "She's a keeper, this one. Appreciates the subtleties."

Dominic's ears redden slightly, but he doesn't contradict her assessment. Under the table, his hand finds mine, a silent acknowledgment of something neither of us is ready to name.

By the time we leave, laden with a box of pastries "for later" and Margie's effusive good wishes, I feel as if I've been adopted into a family I didn't know existed.

The warmth of the town's acceptance—based solely on my association with Dominic—touches and unnerves me.

These people care about him and have invested in his happiness.

My temporary presence in his life suddenly feels weighted with unexpected responsibility.

"Sorry about the inquisition," Dominic says as we drive back toward the vineyard. "Margie means well."

"She's wonderful," I assure him. "They all are. You've found good people here."

"They found me," he corrects, a note of wonder in his voice. "I did everything possible to keep them at arm's length, and they just... persisted."

"Like me," I observe, half-joking.

His expression softens as he glances at me. "Exactly like you."

Back at the vineyard, Dominic leads me past the main buildings toward a narrow path I haven't noticed before. "This is what I wanted to show you," he explains as we hike up a gentle slope. "It's not on any of the vineyard maps or business plans."

The path winds around a rocky outcropping, eventually opening to a sheltered plateau I wouldn't have guessed existed from below.

Here, nestled in a perfect microclimate protected from the harshest winds but bathed in southern exposure, grows a small, meticulously maintained plot of vines unlike any I've seen on the property.

"What am I looking at?" I ask, professional curiosity piqued by the unusual trellising system and the distinct pattern of the plantings.

"The future," Dominic says. "At least, I hope so."

He explains as we walk between the rows—this is his experimental hybridization project, combining resilient, high-altitude varietals with traditional vinifera to create vines specifically adapted to this elevation and climate.

Years of cross-breeding, grafting, and selection have yielded these few precious rows, which represent his vision for truly indigenous Colorado wine.

"The V79-H sample you tasted was an early harvest from these vines," he tells me, kneeling to brush winter mulch away from a dormant plant.

"But this generation is even more promising.

The root systems are developing exactly as I hoped—deep enough to withstand drought but with the right nutrient exchange for complexity. "

The technical precision of his work astonishes me. Without institutional backing or formal research support, Dominic has undertaken genetic selection that would be impressive even at a university viticulture program.

"This is... extraordinary," I admit, professional admiration overriding any attempt at a casual response. "The implications for climate adaptation alone?—"

"That's part of it," he agrees, eyes lighting with that passionate intensity that first drew me to him. "As traditional growing regions face increasing climate instability, these hybrids could offer a path forward for regions previously considered marginal."

"Have you documented your methods? The crossings, the selection criteria?"

He nods toward a weatherproof container secured to one of the end posts. "Everything's in there. Notebook, USB drive with data backups, even DNA samples from each generation."

"This could revolutionize high-altitude viticulture," I tell him, my mind racing with possibilities. "Especially if you can replicate the results in other microclimates."

"That's where I've hit a wall," he admits. "I can maintain this test plot alone, but expanding to prove the concept would require resources I don't have."

"You need partners." I pace between the rows, professional excitement building. "Research collaborations, possibly grant funding."

"All things that require stepping back into a spotlight I've been avoiding."

The vulnerability in this admission touches me. Here is the heart of Dominic's conflict—his vision requires exactly what his trauma has made most difficult.

"You wouldn't have to do it alone," I say carefully.

His eyes meet mine, something like hope flickering in their depths. Before he can respond, the sound of an approaching vehicle draws our attention.

"Expecting visitors?" I ask.

Dominic shakes his head, expression shifting from open to guarded as we return to the main property.

In the driveway sits an elegant black SUV I don't recognize. Beside it stands a tiny, silver-haired woman leaning on a carved wooden cane, her posture suggesting both advanced age and indomitable will. Merlot dances around her excitedly, clearly a familiar friend.

"Eleanor," Dominic says, surprise evident in his voice. "I didn't know you were coming up."

"Clearly," the woman replies dryly. "Or you wouldn't have been hiding up on that experimental plot you think no one knows about."

This, then, is Eleanor Morgan, former winery owner, and the subject of my critical review years ago. My stomach tightens with apprehension.

"And you must be Elena Santiago," Eleanor says, turning piercing blue eyes on me. "The sommelier who thought my '15 Riesling lacked structure and my Cabernet Franc was 'ambitiously uneven.'"