Сьюзен Виггз: The Lost and Found Bookshop

She and Rick had once talked about kids. Correction: Rick had talked about kids. She’d listened. And doubted. They hadn’t brought it up again.

En route to Tess’s, other doubts crept in. Was Tess her friend, or had she taken Natalie in like a stray cat? After what she’d overheard at work, Natalie wasn’t so sure anymore. She wasn’t sure of anything.

Turning at the signs for Rossi Vineyards and Angel Creek Winery, she followed the long gravel lane. Like Natalie, Tess Delaney Rossi had been raised by a single mother and had been living in San Francisco before moving to Archangel. Yet unlike Natalie, Tess had settled in the small town to marry, following her heart, not a career.

Natalie parked in front of the rustic farmhouse where Tess lived with her husband, kids, stepkids, and two rescued dogs—an aging, pointy-nosed Italian greyhound and a hulking mutt that was part akita and part Wookiee, as far as anyone knew. The dogs were lolling deliberately in the middle of the walkway between the driveway and house.

Tess came out to greet her. She wore her red hair pulled back in a scarf and a grape-stained work apron tied over her clothes.

“Hey, Nat,” she called. “Thought you’d like to join us for happy hour.”

“Sounds heavenly. Thanks.”

“Dominic and the kids are all out back. Big harvest day for our little vineyard.” With a gesture, Tess led the way to a sunny spot beside a large shed. The harvest team unloaded the crates of just-picked grapes and dumped them on the long, stainless steel sorting table. At one end, the table vibrated, eliminating unripe or rotten grapes. At the opposite end, the grapes moved along a conveyor for destemming.

The family gathered around, sorting the grapes by hand, laughing and talking as the juice stained everything it touched.

She took in the sight of kids and dogs running around; Tess’s whistling husband; the older children helping Dominic with practiced skill. It all seemed so normal, a family having fun just being together.

“Hey, everybody,” she said.

“Hey, yourself,” said Dominic. “Welcome to Friday night at Angel Creek.”

Dominic Rossi was the type of husband who gave husbands a good name. The type of guy for whom the expression tall, dark, and handsome had been coined. The type of guy who exuded humor and heart along with a can-do attitude. He was the former president of the Bank of Archangel, but his passion was making wine.

And babies with his pretty wife, apparently. Natalie eyed Tess’s apron. Viewed from the side, the bump was impossible to miss. “Are you pregnant again?” she asked in a low voice.

Tess answered with a redhead’s classic blush and a grin of delight.

“She promised me a sister,” said Trini. Dominic’s daughter, now in high school, threw a glance at her brother Antonio, who had stepped away from the table to amuse Tess’s two sons by chasing them around with his grape-colored hands. The little boys, known as Thing One and Thing Two, responded with squeals of glee.

“That’s great,” Natalie said. “Congrats, you guys.”

The Rossis made the whole blended-family thing look easy. An illusion, Tess had assured her. Natalie knew it had been challenging to put together Dominic’s kids by his first marriage and the two he and Tess had had together. But there was no denying that in moments like this, they looked happy and secure. It was impossible to miss the undercurrent of passion Dominic and Tess shared.

“People say the third time’s the charm,” Trini pointed out. “Why do they say that?”

“Good question,” Natalie commented. “And does it imply the first two times are not charmed? Because when I look at those two little guys, I see something pretty special.”

As she spoke, Thing One plopped a fistful of discarded grape pulp on his brother’s head. The younger one howled with outrage.

Dominic’s sister, Gina, wiped her hands. “I got this, Tess.”

“Thanks.” Tess settled herself on a stool and looked at Natalie. “So . . . Where’s Rick tonight?”

“Not sure. He had a test flight late this afternoon.”

“You look like you had a tough day,” Tess observed.

Natalie didn’t bother denying it. “So I got this giant promotion at work . . .”

“Hey, that’s great,” said Tess. Something must have flickered in Natalie’s face, because she added, “Isn’t it?”

“It all seemed like a fine thing. The company had a little party, even, because I put together a big deal for them. My mom was supposed to come up from the city, but she never showed. Which is probably a good thing, because it turns out the whole promotion was a ruse to isolate me so I don’t have to work with anyone.”

“What?” Tess’s hands flew expertly through the grapes. “I don’t get it.”

Natalie sighed, staring at the ground. “I’m a toxic boss.”

“No way. You’re one of my favorite people.”

“You don’t have to work with me. Apparently I’m a nightmare. Micromanaging, control freak, see-you-next-Tuesday. According to the conversation I overheard in the restroom, I’ve checked all the boxes.”

“Oh, Natalie. That doesn’t sound like you at all. For what it’s worth, I’m guessing the trouble is with your coworkers, not with you. Someone who said what they said is objectively awful. I’m sorry you heard that, and I want you to know it’s not true.”

“Thanks,” Natalie said. “You’re probably right, but it was hard to hear. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of glad they moved me to a department where my only coworker is a flat-screen monitor.” She sighed. “My coworkers can’t stand me.”

“Well, we love you here at Angel Creek Winery, so roll up your sleeves and help out.” Tess tossed her a rubber apron.

“Putting me to work?”

“This time of year, everybody works.”

“I’m toxic, remember?” She gamely tied on the apron.

“Say goodbye to your manicure,” Tess warned. “The next one is on me.”

Natalie always had a flawless manicure. It was something she considered necessary to look professional at work. For all the good that did her. She dove into the destemming with both hands, turning her fingers the deep rich color of old-vine zinfandel.

They worked side by side for a while. The repetitive task and the chatter of Tess’s family helped a little. “What if they’re right?” Natalie mused aloud. “My work peeps, I mean. What if they’re right and I’m toxic, and no one can stand me?”

Tess didn’t say anything right away, but Natalie felt her hard, studying gaze. “What?” she asked finally.

“You need a drink.” Tess caught Dominic’s eye. “We’re taking a break,” she said, gesturing Natalie over to a stationary tub with a hose.

“Slacker,” said her husband with a grin.

Tess stuck out her tongue at him and turned away. “I’m a toxic boss, too, sometimes. They just don’t dare say anything.”

After they washed up, Tess poured a glass of zinfandel from a cask labeled Old Vine—Creek Slope . For herself, she opened a frosty bottle of Topo Chico, and they sat down on the terrace adjacent to the house. Shaded by a pergola, the stone-paved area was littered with kids’ toys and offered a commanding view of the vineyard. Beyond that lay the neighboring apple orchard, where Tess’s sister lived and ran a wine-country cooking school.

“Listen,” said Tess. “I used to be like you. I used to be you. I was a life-support system for a job, mad at the world without really knowing why.”

“What?” Natalie frowned, then looked around at the house—which literally had a white picket fence—and the kids and dogs. “No way.”

“Way. Do you know, I once ended up in the ER with a panic attack?”