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Looks nice. Have a good time!
You really need to visit
We’d have so much fun here
Luca’s pool is the BOMB
I feel like a queen
I sent a thumbs up. I couldn’t think of what else to say. As the wife of a mafia king, shewasa queen. Why would she ever give that up to come back to this shit hole town and work for a living? She hadn’t loved the restaurant; she took it over when her mom got sick. It was more of a duty for her, a responsibility. Not a calling. Not like me with the vineyard. I could never give this up. These vines were rooted deep in my heart, the dirt a very part of me.
Putting my phone away, I went back to my task. I didn’t need anyone else’s voice in my head today. I had enough to worry about. If Val never came back, so be it. We’d end up as textingbuddies and then slowly leave each other on read, taking days to respond until that turned into weeks. Then it would be the “oh my god, we haven’t talked in so long! Can we catch up one of these days?” type messages.
I went back to my text threads. My friend Sam and I liked to share videos, usually of the hot shirtless men variety. I typed:
Hey. I know you’re busy at the café but let’s hang out soon
Three dots appeared right away, telling me she was responding. Surprising that she was on her phone and not making iced coffees and lattes. Mornings were her busiest time.
YES PLEASE
Tonight?
I NEEEEEED a night out
I smiled. Sam lived with her grandmother and ran the Leaning Tower of Pastries in town.
Yes! I’m ready
OK I can be to you by 5:30
Perfect. Meet me in the tasting room. We’ll pick out wine
She sent an octopus heart-eyed emoji. God, Sam was weird, but I loved her.
I started to put my phone away, then realized I had an Italian mob boss expecting me over at six. Pulling up our chat, I texted,
Hanging out with my friend tonight
Can’t come over
When there was no immediate response, I slid my cell back in my jacket pocket. Carlo came over and dumped dirt in our bucket, then pointed to the vines. “When was the last time you tested the petioles?”
Tissue testing was expensive, more costly than soil sampling. “My dad did it five years ago.”
He nodded as if this was what he expected. “I’d like to see those reports.”
“Of course. Does something look off?”
“It is a feeling. I won’t know for sure until I can get some samples during the bloom.”
My ears started buzzing. That was months away. “But what do you suspect?”
“I don’t like to speculate, signorina. I’m a scientist and I work with facts.”
“But?”
He put his hands on his hips and stared at the Cabernet Franc vines. “I’m concerned you have Red Blotch.”