Page 27 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner (Angel’s Peak #6)

I straighten my spine, meeting her gaze directly. "That's correct. Though I'd add that I also called your rosé 'a promising glimpse of Colorado's potential' and your approach to high-altitude viticulture 'pioneering if imperfect.'"

For a moment, Eleanor's expression remains stern. Then, unexpectedly, she laughs—a rich, genuine sound that transforms her face.

"She quotes herself verbatim, Dominic. I like that. No backpedaling."

"Eleanor prefers honesty to flattery." Dominic relaxes slightly beside me.

"Flattery is for fools and politicians," Eleanor agrees, gesturing toward the house with her cane. "Now help an old woman inside before my joints freeze. These mountains get colder every year, or perhaps it's just my ancient bones complaining."

Inside, Eleanor settles regally in a chair by the fire, declining refreshments with a wave of her hand.

"I didn't drive all the way up this godforsaken mountain for cookies, Dominic. I came to see what's got Hunter in such a state about your wines and meet the woman who's apparently convinced you to rejoin civilization."

"I haven't—" Dominic begins.

"Ruth Fletcher called me," Eleanor interrupts. "Said you brought Ms. Santiago to The PickAxe. Voluntarily. In daylight hours. That constitutes a miracle worthy of investigation."

Despite her caustic delivery, there's unmistakable affection in Eleanor's manner. She reminds me of my grandmother—sharp-tongued but soft-hearted, missing nothing behind her facade of aging eccentricity.

"Now," she continues, fixing me with that penetrating gaze, "Ruth says you're from some fancy restaurant group in San Francisco. Here to acquire exclusivity for Dominic's wines?"

"That was my original purpose," I confirm.

"And now?" Her shrewdness misses nothing.

I glance at Dominic, who watches our exchange with carefully controlled neutrality. "Now I'm exploring broader possibilities."

Eleanor's eyebrows rise. "Interesting choice of words." She turns to Dominic. "Hunter tells me you've refused his invitation to the Denver Wine Festival again this year."

"I have," Dominic says, his tone definitively closing the subject.

"Stubborn fool," Eleanor mutters without heat. "That boy is offering you a platform without the circus. A chance to let the wine speak for itself while he runs interference with the social vultures."

"I'm not ready for that kind of exposure," Dominic insists.

"You weren't ready," Eleanor corrects. "People change. Circumstances change." Her gaze flicks meaningfully between us. "Partnerships change perspectives."

The deliberate emphasis on "partnerships" makes it clear that she’s referring to more than just business arrangements. Heat rises to my cheeks, confirming my suspicion that nothing escapes this formidable woman's notice.

"The most successful wine ventures aren't solo endeavors, you know," Eleanor continues, settling more comfortably in her chair.

"Even the great 'auteur' winemakers—the ones who insist their genius is singular—they all have partners behind the scenes.

People who complement their strengths, shore up their weaknesses, push them beyond their comfortable limitations. "

"Is that what you had with Mr. Morgan?" I ask, genuinely curious.

A smile softens Eleanor's features. "Harold knew nothing about wine when we met.

He was a mining engineer with a good palate and better business sense.

I had a viticultural background, but couldn't balance a checkbook to save my life.

" She taps her cane thoughtfully. "Together, though, we built something neither of us could have managed alone. "

"Until you sold it," Dominic says quietly.

"Until we recognized its time under our stewardship had ended," Eleanor corrects gently. "Everything evolves, Dominic. Vineyards, wines, people. The question is whether we direct that evolution or merely survive it."

Her wisdom hangs in the air between us, applying to far more than vineyard management.

After extracting a promise from Dominic to "at least think about that damned festival" and giving me a handshake that communicates both approval and warning, Eleanor departs as abruptly as she arrived, leaving behind the lingering scent of French perfume and unspoken possibilities.

"She likes you," Dominic says as we watch her SUV navigate the driveway. "That critique about her Cabernet Franc would have earned most people a lifetime ban."

"She's remarkable." I turn to him, curious. "How often does she pop up like this?"

"Often enough that I should have expected it after we appeared in town together." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I now recognize as signaling emotional processing. "Eleanor has opinions about my self-imposed isolation. Very loud, persistent opinions."

"Smart woman."

His smile is rueful. "Too smart. Like someone else I know."

We spend the afternoon in his office. Eleanor’s visit opens a conversational door neither of us were willing to push. Dominic shows me detailed projections for his experimental varietals, production capabilities, and potential expansion plans that have remained theoretical until now.

I offer insights from my industry perspective—covering distribution challenges, marketing considerations, and partnership structures that might provide the support he needs while preserving the creative control he values.

Our professional strengths naturally complement each other, and my practical experience balances his visionary approach.

As the afternoon progresses, we move from his desk to the floor, spreading papers and diagrams around us, building something that begins to feel like a shared vision rather than parallel monologues.

The creative energy between us is intoxicating—each idea sparking three more, our different perspectives creating something stronger than either could produce alone.

And I love the creative energy we create. I don’t want to leave.