Page 18 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

R eese stared dumbfounded at the giant, sticky red lake on the floor.

It wasn’t blood, but that would have been preferable.

She gripped the edge of a wine barrel to keep herself steady. “What the hell happened?” she asked, bracing herself as a wave of nausea rolled through her.

Her ex-husband’s face revealed the same shell-shocked expression he’d worn the day Clay had stolen a milk truck in college and backed over his car.

“I have no idea,” Eric said. “I went out for a late lunch and then met with the wine distributor for Whole Foods, and when I came back?—”

“Holy hell,” Reese breathed.

“No kidding.”

“The Wine Club Pinot.” She thought saying it out loud might take some of the sting out, but it didn’t. She stared at the pool on the floor, blinking hard with the faint hope that when she opened her eyes again, the wine would be back in the barrel where it belonged.

Nope. Still there.

Beside her, Axl seemed uncharacteristically subdued. Even he understood what this meant. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Clay cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what is Wine Club Pinot?”

Reese shook her head slowly, not trusting her voice yet.

“For the last five years, we’ve had this wine club.

It didn’t start out very big, but we’re up to over five hundred members this year.

On top of their dues, they can pay to get a Reserve Pinot Noir bottled in limited quantities and only available to them. ”

“It’s a special blend,” Eric said. “We only make one barrel of it, just to create hype and demand. I’ve had it in the barrel for three years. We did a small tasting last month to build up orders. Only wine club members get it.”

“There’s a waiting list,” Reese continued. “All the bottles have been presold.”

Clay frowned. “Do you mind if I ask how much?”

“Two hundred and eighty macaroons per bottle,” Axl grunted.

“Smackaroos,” Reese muttered, her eyes still fixed on the floor.

Eric shook his head. “And at three hundred bottles per barrel?—”

“We’re fucked,” Axl finished.

Reese shook her head. “It’s not just the money—it’s the hype we’ve had over this particular wine, this special, limited-edition wine available to a select group, and now?—”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. This couldn’t be real. Not when they’d been doing such a good job building their reputation as a premier winery. Not when people were really starting to take an interest in their wines.

“What happened?” she asked Eric.

Eric grunted and knelt on the floor beside the barrel. He pointed to a spot on the underside. “Take a look at this.”

Reese crouched down beside him. “It’s cracked.”

“Yup. A big crack, too.”

She bit her lip, afraid to say it. “Termites?”

“I doubt it. Doesn’t look like that kind of damage, and I don’t think termites would go after a wine barrel anyway.”

“But you were so worried?—”

“About the building,” Eric muttered. “I don’t want termites eating the building where we make wine, but I don’t think that’s what caused this.”

She nodded, still uneasy. “I don’t understand—you check these barrels every day. So do I. How could we not notice something like this? A little leakage or something?”

Eric stood up and held out his hand, and Reese let him pull her to her feet.

“It can happen suddenly sometimes,” he said. “I saw it once when I was interning in France. This is one of our older barrels—I don’t know, maybe it just gave.”

Reese shook her head. “What are we going to do?”

“Where’s Larissa?” Axl asked. “She’s gotta be able to put a good PR spin on this.”

“On three hundred bottles of spilled wine?” Reese shook her head. “I doubt that.”

Axl grunted. “Unless you’re planning to get a turkey baster and suck it up off the floor, I can’t think of another option.”

She gritted her teeth and looked up at Eric. “Okay, you’ve got that other barrel of Reserve, right? The one we were planning to roll out for the Memorial Day event next week? That’s the same vintage.”

“Right, but it’s not the exact same wine. The members will know the difference.”

“We’ll have to tell them, obviously.”

“So what do we serve the VIP guests at the event?” Eric asked. “It’s going to cut into our profits for that.”

“What choice do we have?” Reese asked. “We’ll write a letter to the club members explaining what happened, and offering to substitute the other Pinot. We can use one of the younger wines for the event. The 2023 has been aging nicely, right?”

“Sure, but that’s gonna leave us with that much less next year.”

Reese sighed. “I don’t know what else to do, Eric. That’s the best I’ve got.”

He grunted and shook his head but didn’t say anything else for a while. “Dick over at Larchwood is going to love this,” he muttered at last. “A hundred bucks says he hears about it and makes it a point to tell everyone who comes through his tasting room for the next month.”

Reese grimaced. It really wasn’t the money—though in light of the added cost for materials in the new building project, the money hurt.

No, the worst of it was the loss of the reputation she’d worked so hard to build. “We’ll look like hacks,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Get out of here, Peanut Butter Cup,” Axl finally said. “You’ve already had a rough day with Leon. Eric and I can stay here and clean this up.”

“No, it’s my responsibility,” Reese argued. “I should have been here.”

“What for?” Axl snapped. “You think you should sit here twenty-four hours a day with your ass parked on a wine barrel waiting to stick your thumb in a crack?”

“I don’t?—”

“Go!” Axl insisted. “Go take care of the damn camel.”

Reese hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, Axl. I’ll talk with Larissa when she comes in tomorrow. She can work her PR magic, figure out the best way to explain this to the members.”

She started to turn around, then realized Clay was still standing there looking lost. Or looking forlorn over the wasted wine, she really couldn’t tell.

“Clay—I offered you dinner earlier, didn’t I?”

He tore his eyes away from the wine and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough on your mind. If someone could show me where the mop is, I’d be happy to help clean this up.”

“No, really,” Reese insisted. “I feel like I owe you for your help with Leon. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t gotten Dr. Wally out here.”

Clay shook his head. “Really, Reese, you don’t have to feed me.”

“I insist. My place, one hour. Be there. I’ll throw something simple together.”

Eric looked up sharply. “You’re cooking? Count me in. Sheila’s working late tonight. What do you have?”

Reese blinked, then regrouped. “Sure. I can do that. I think I’ve got frozen shrimp and some angel hair pasta. Scampi okay with everyone?”

“Perfect,” Eric said. “I just picked up a great little Pinot Gris from Sokol Blosser that’ll go great with that.”

Reese felt Clay go still beside her. She looked at him, trying to read his expression. “I have water,” she offered. “Or soda. Or juice. Or?—”

“I’m fine,” he said, his eyes fixed on Eric. “Really, I don’t want to impose.”

“I insist,” Reese said. “So dinner at my place in an hour. Axl? Want to join us?”

“Nah, I’ve got a hot date. Don’t tell Francie, okay? I’ve got a little somethin’ on the side with this other lady, if you know what I mean.”

Axl tried to wink, and Clay reached out to steady him before he started to tip.

“Okay,” Reese said with an eye roll. “Well, then. I’ll see the rest of you at my place in just a little bit.”

Reese marched out of the room, feeling eyes on her back. She wasn’t sure whose they were, but she didn’t dare turn around to look.

As she got outside, she breathed in the smell of wet grass and spring onion. Leon spotted her and came trotting up, his shaggy ears pricked. She surveyed him for any wobbly movements or odd behavior, but he looked pretty much the same.

“Quite a day, Leon,” she told him. “First you get stoned, then I lose a whole barrel of one-of-a-kind Pinot Noir. Not sure which is worse.”

Leon hummed and fell into step beside her as she marched across the lawn toward her house. Her phone rang right as she walked in, and Reese scrambled to answer, leaving the front door ajar so she could keep an eye on Leon.

“Hello?”

“Hey, cuz,” Larissa chirped. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Making dinner for Clay and Eric, apparently. Why?”

“I just got stood up by this guy I’ve been seeing. Wanna get together and play with makeup and have pillow fights in our underwear?”

“Did you miss the part where I said Clay and Eric are coming over for dinner?”

“No, I got that part,” Larissa said. “I thought they’d like to watch.”

Reese snorted. “No. No pillow fights, no makeup. But if you want to come over, I’m making shrimp scampi. Bring salad.”

“I’ll be there in a few. Love you!”

Reese hung up the phone and went to her refrigerator to make sure she had everything she needed.

She hadn’t planned on an impromptu dinner party, but felt pleased to discover she had plenty of shrimp and a big bunch of asparagus.

Maybe an easy hollandaise sauce? Plenty of butter for the scampi, plus a couple loaves of French bread in the freezer.

She pulled out the ingredients and was about to check on Leon when the phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Hi, honey, it’s Mom—listen, Grandpa’s got other plans for dinner tonight, and I thought maybe you’d like to come over and join us? I made huckleberry cobbler for dessert.”

“Actually, I’m having Eric and Clay and Larissa over here.” She hesitated, not sure if having her parents there would make the dynamic more or less awkward.

Could it really get more awkward?

“Why don’t you two join us for dinner?” Reese suggested.

“We wouldn’t want to impose?—”

“Don’t worry about it. Just bring chairs. And bring the cobbler, too.”

“You’re sure?”

“No problem. Come whenever you’re ready.”

She hung up the phone and carried two asparagus spears outside to where Leon stood beside her house sniffing a patch of grass.

“How are you feeling, buddy?” she asked, offering him a piece of asparagus.