Page 2 of Love Among Vines

CHAPTER TWO

RETT

Buzz.

Everett Rhodes drew his phone out of his pocket and sighed. Wasn’t it too early in California for his parents to be checking in?

“Hi, Mom.” He fought to keep an exasperated note out of his voice.

The last thing he needed was more interruptions this morning. He had two displays to update, a batch of Chardonnay to quality test, an infernal social media post to make, and a check-in with the viticulturist.

“Good morning, darling. How are you?” Teresa Rhodes’s voice rang through the phone like a middle C on a perfectly tuned flute.

“I’m fine. Just have a busy day ahead. Lots to do even without accounting for the party planning.”

The cash register chimed as he closed the drawer. Correct down to the last cent, as it always was.

“Oh, yes. Your father and I are so excited. Are you sure there isn’t anything we can do to help?” she asked.

“It’s all handled,” he said.

“I have no doubt. Your grandmother would be really proud, you know.”

An ember of anxiety stirred deep in his core.

“Would she?” he asked curtly.

The hardwood floors creaked under his dress shoes as he approached the last rack in the gift shop. Another thing he couldn’t fix unless business picked up.

He pulled a wine bottle out of the crate at his feet and slid it onto the shelf in front of him.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Business has always ebbed and flowed. This is just a temporary slowdown. And you know your father and I?—”

“I appreciate it, but that won’t be necessary, Mom. I have a plan.”

“If you’re sure, sweetheart.”

“I am. How is your day? Are you on set already?”

He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even six a.m. in Los Angeles.

“Calling from hair and makeup,” she said brightly.

“Good luck today. Not that you need it,” he added.

His mom was a brilliant, award-winning actress. From the silver screen to Broadway, she dominated every production. It had meant that she wasn’t always around when he was growing up, but she had always been there when it counted.

“You’re too sweet. One more thing about the party,” she started.

Rett glowered. He already knew what was coming.

“Your father and I met the loveliest girl last week. You remember my director?”

“I do,” he said.

“It’s his daughter. She’s funny and smart and in school for film. I think you’d really hit it off.”

He bit back a deep sigh. Was this the sixth or seventh time that his parents had tried to fix him up after the breakup? There was no time for romance. If he took his hands off the wheel at the winery for even a minute, everything would come crashing down.

“She sounds great, but I think her presence would make the woman I’m seeing feel awkward.”

The lie was out before he even had time to process it. Shit . Now he was going to have to make up a lie for why this imaginary person wasn’t at the party. Unless he could hire someone?

“You’re seeing someone?” The delight in Teresa’s voice was so visceral it was like he had announced he was running for President of the United States. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure she’ll be there, though. She’s pretty busy.”

“I see.” She didn’t sound convinced.

He racked his brain. Who around town would have a friend or niece that his parents hadn’t met? Surely there was someone he could ask to the party. Anything was better than making some poor woman fly five thousand miles only to be disappointed.

Gravel crunched in the driveway. He glanced out the window. Elaine and Todd, married wine enthusiasts who had been at Rhodes even longer than he had, turned into the lot.

“Oh, look at that,” Rett said. “Speak of the devil. She showed up with coffee. I’d better go. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”

“Enjoy your coffee date,” she teased.

“Thanks. Love you.”

He hung up the phone before he could dig his hole any deeper. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He didn’t have time to hunt down a fake girlfriend.

“Morning,” he said when Elaine and Todd opened the door.

“Morning. Let me get that, boss,” she said with a smile.

“I’m almost done.” Rett shelved another bottle.

Todd shook his head. “Did you even leave last night? Or did you sleep in the back room?”

“Very funny.” Rett smirked. “Not only did I leave, but I had time to grab dinner from the Tavern before they closed.”

“They close at ten,” Todd said flatly. His collared shirt was a little wrinkled, but Rett wasn’t going to say anything.

“I’m telling you, if you don’t slow down, you’re going to have a heart attack by thirty-five,” Elaine said. She took a bottle from Rett’s hand and shooed him away.

“You say that like I have a choice,” he said.

“You’re the boss. No one is making you work twelve-hour days, seven days a week. Why don’t you take a day off? A week, even?” She slid the case away from him before he could protest. “You know we could handle things.”

He turned his attention to another row. One by one he rotated the labels. Now he was being heckled by his employees. Why was it that no one seemed to grasp the enormity of the situation?

Probably because he hadn’t told them exactly how troublesome things had become. If sales didn’t improve by the end of the year, he was going to have some difficult decisions to make.

But that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t.

“I’m headed to the barn,” he said without answering her question. “Give me a call if anything comes up.”

“What’s going to come up? We’re not even open for another hour,” Elaine called as the door closed behind him.

Rett tugged at his collar and cast a glance over the sprawling vineyard in front of him.

Sunlight streamed down from a cloudless sky.

Leaves that were just beginning to shift yellow rustled in the wind.

This weather was going to wreak havoc with the harvest if it didn’t cool down soon.

He marched down a row, inspecting the Riesling grapes as he went.

No sign of blight or pests, but he couldn’t be sure until the viticulturist arrived.

He unlocked the side door of the large outbuilding and stepped lightly down the stairs to the cellar. The smell of oak greeted him like an old friend. He strode past rows upon rows of barrels and vats. No leaks, no disasters, perfect temperature. It was just as he left it the night before.

Metal gyropalettes loomed large in front of him. Hundreds of black bottles were inside, tipped at an angle. He ignored the twisting of his stomach and marched past them to another rack of bottles clamped tight with halters.

Sure, the wine had looked okay after the riddling process. But he wouldn’t really know until the first bottle was cracked open.

He brushed a speck of dust off one of the bottles. His mother’s words came back to him.

Your grandmother would be proud.

Valentina Rhodes would never be in this situation. As business-savvy as she was gifted in winemaking, the winery had flourished under her hand for forty-eight years. But then she had passed, and it had been rather suddenly handed down to him.

It had been a year and half, and the quality of the product had never wavered—in fact, some critics said it was the best in the entire region. But competition had increased. They were losing out to flashy pop-ups with axe throwing lanes, live music, and mediocre wines.

Valentina would have fainted if she found out people were throwing axes in her winery. But he was quickly losing the ability to keep things at her preferred status quo.

The sparkling wine in front of him was a huge, expensive risk. It was her last dream, one she never got to carry out before her death. A rarity in the Finger Lakes, it had the potential to change the trajectory of the business. But only if it was good.

Would the wine honor the feisty woman who sang in the kitchen and let him lick the beaters when she made brownies? Or would it be the final domino in the winery’s downfall?