Chapter Twelve
With his feet propped up on his desk, Adam set Joy’s story down, rubbing his chin. It was good—great, even. He hadn’t really known what to expect of Joy’s writing abilities, but she’d impressed him. She had a stylish tone that permeated her writing, and he could almost hear her voice in his ear as he’d read the article.
She’d made River’s Bend sound like an up-and-coming attraction, as opposed to a declining vineyard in the middle of nowhere. She’d even described the owner as a “dedicated individual with an immense knowledge of wines,” which he had to admit he’d smiled at. Thinking about the last time he’d read about himself in a story, he scowled, forcing those memories away. This was Joy, and hadn’t she already shown him that she wasn’t like the journalists that had almo
