Tasting Notes Read Online Free PDF Page A

perfect. “Is the Pour House on this road?” he asked.
    “Yep. If you’re heading west, it’ll be on your left side as you’re nearing the end of downtown,” she said.
    West thanked her once more and then headed out to his car, filled the tank and climbed in, then pulled back out onto the main road.
    The downtown of Canyon Creek was as adorable as the east end of town was. A neat row of antique buildings lined each side of the road. West drove slowly, observing the drop in speed limit, and took in the sights. Quaint was the best word he could think of to describe it. He drove past the Golden Dragon, La Casa, and Miller’s Drive-In. He saw the post office, the library, the hardware store, and the courthouse.
    On his left there was a movie theater, the Cameo, which still boasted the old marquee-style façade. West felt a strange sort of pull toward the town, like he wanted to stop and settle in for a few days. The place seemed familiar somehow, even though he had never been there before.
     
     
    THE POUR House was easy to spot, the restaurant a warm and welcoming Irish pub. He pulled open the heavy wooden doors and entered, noticing right away how busy it was. A chalkboard propped up near the entrance instructed him to seat himself, so West ventured in, finding a small table off to the side near the window.
    He settled into the wooden chair, cushioned by the worn brown leather seat, and relaxed. It felt good to be sitting in a stationary spot. The thousands of miles he covered since his spontaneous departure from Chicago caught up with him. West closed his eyes and let the din of the other diners swirl around him. He was so close to his destination, but he felt wrung out. He didn’t know if he could go any farther that night.
    The waitress appeared a moment later, and West ordered a glass of Merlot and a bowl of clam chowder. While he waited for his meal, he looked around, subtly observing the other patrons. There was a group of guys who were sitting at the bar, perched high on their stools. They obviously knew one another, the way they were joking and laughing. Their jeans, comfortable T-shirts, and baseball hats, paired with their three-day’s growth of stubble reminded West of truckers he’d seen. It would make sense. Of all the roadside towns West had driven through, Canyon Creek was one of the nicest. It was warm and welcoming, and even after having only been there a few minutes, he already felt at home.
    And that was saying something.
    West hadn’t felt at home since before his grandfather passed away. He used to spend weekends at his grandfather’s place, especially when he was going to school. Sundays had consisted of studying in the morning and dinner, just the two of them, in the evening. His grandfather quizzed him from his notes before exams. It was the thing that drove him. West’s motivation came from the desire to see the look of pride on his grandfather’s face when he accomplished something. It was addictive, and it was the impetus behind his master’s degree. His grandfather was the inspiration for him forging out on his own after only a year under the wing of one of the most prominent venture capitalists in Chicago.
    The men at the bar finished their meals and stood, thanking the woman who appeared to be the only waitress in the place before they left. West looked around once more, noticing almost every table in the restaurant had been taken while he’d been sitting there. A group of people dressed like accountants that sat across from him chattered away. They were in suits and ties, and nothing about the way they were dressed made West miss his office. He’d spent surprisingly little time thinking about work since he left.
    For a man who didn’t go anywhere without his phone in his hand, being disconnected from the company for even a few hours should have been difficult for him, but maybe this impromptu vacation was longer overdue than he thought. When his mind wandered back to work, the