Page 3 of Love Among Vines
CHAPTER THREE
JADE
The party bus crawled up the long, stony driveway to winery stop number three: Rhodes Vineyard.
The first two stops had been fine. Ashley, Blake, and Camila had raved over their fleet of sweet wine tastings while Jade had enjoyed a glass of whatever dry reserve each winery had.
They had all been at least medium-palatable.
But over the course of two years of producing exactly nothing, she had sampled a lot of vino. And none of today’s wines had knocked her romper off. Rhodes Vineyard had mixed reviews on Yelp, but at least their listings leaned to the dryer side.
“Selfie! Selfie!” Ashley beckoned with both hands for the girls to gather around her. It was approximately the fifteenth time the bride-to-be had gathered them for a group photo. But whatever the bride wanted, she got.
Jade crammed in next to Kenya and smiled.
They all wore matching blush-colored shirts with wine-related puns on them, while Ashley had donned a crisp white T-shirt with the phrase Bride on Cloud Wine.
Thanks to the tequila the night before and the resulting hangovers, Ashley had cancelled the morning hike.
Jade had taken Penny on a run instead while the other girls slept in.
They broke apart and gathered their purses as the bus lurched to a stop. Bachelorette parties had to be a winery’s bread and butter. But how annoyed did the owners get every time a group of lightly toasted twenty-somethings passed through?
Blake, a New York-based fashion model with deep family roots in the industry, had unceremoniously cut off the bottom of her Hakuna Moscato shirt and turned it into a crop top. Camila had paired hers with her signature set of pearls, and Kenya had tied it to expose her ultra-toned midriff.
Jade had left hers exactly the way it was and slapped on a pair of sunflower-embroidered jean shorts she had found in a thrift shop in the East Village. Blake had again looked at her like she was a swamp thing that had crawled up from the depths of the lake. Jade’s patience was wearing thin.
They exited the bus and followed the walkway up to the charming stone-front winery. Blake tripped and would have careened into a bush if Jade hadn’t grabbed her by the arm.
“Thank you, Blade.” Blake patted Jade on the head.
“It’s Jade, and you’re welcome.” What were the odds she could train Penny to poop in one of Blake’s shoes before the weekend was over?
“That’s what I said,” Blake insisted.
Sure.
The winery looked like an old country home from the 1800s. Expansive, yet homey.
She turned on the doorstep and cast another glance over the vines. The sun sparkled on the lake below them. Rows of vines stretched from the road to a tree line. A roof stuck out of the trees toward the lake. Must be a gorgeous place to live.
A tingling feeling crawled up her spine. She froze on the spot.
The tingle used to happen time and again when something around her wanted to be painted. But she hadn’t felt it once since the day Nate walked out.
She groped blindly in her purse. Could it be?
“Coming?” Blake held the door.
Jade’s fingers froze on the spiral of her sketchbook. This was probably a false alarm. She had never been a landscape painter, anyway.
“Yes, sorry. It’s so beautiful here.”
“It’s no Napa Valley,” Blake slurred with a note of condescension. Despite her attempts at snobbery, she had been more than happy to finish off Kenya’s fruit-forward flight at the last winery. It was a good thing they were going to lunch after this.
Her comment seemed to have drawn the attention of a stupidly attractive man in a three-piece charcoal suit. He was on one knee, restocking bottles in a display. Piercing green eyes set under a furrowed brow lifted to meet Jade’s.
Her breath caught in her chest. Had she stepped into some weird winery MRI machine? Because she swore he had just looked right into her core.
With her face growing hot, she shuffled off to the tasting room.
They crowded around a table, and Jade sat facing the gift shop area where the man was still restocking.
Her gaze was drawn to the bulge of biceps beneath his suit.
She hunkered down to hide behind Kenya’s springy corkscrews as their server chatted with them.
She was in her fifties, with kind brown eyes and a midnight blue blazer. Did all their employees dress so formally? “This is our Blaufr?nkisch, a dry red with notes of black cherry and blackberry. You might also notice a distinct peppery taste that’s unique to this varietal.”
Jade was barely paying attention as she lifted the glass to her lips.
The velvety liquid washed over her tongue. There was the sting of tannins, but so much more. Hints of plum and rich spice. An earthy full body that warmed her from the inside out.
A memory hit her out of nowhere—crowded around a table with her parents in their favorite Italian restaurant in Queens, lifting glasses and toasting to her twenty-first birthday.
Her mom’s laugh lines stood out in the flickering candlelight.
The scent of marinara was sharp in the air as her dad reminisced about the trials of sleeping in a chair at the hospital.
Her heart ached.
“This is amazing,” she whispered. Her eyes were watering, and she sniffed. Memories or no memories, she would not be crying on Ashley’s day.
The others turned to look at her. Ashley’s nose had wrinkled. Camila pushed her glass to Jade. Kenya shrugged and downed the rest of her sample.
“That’s great,” their server said. “If you take some home with you, it pairs really well with hard cheeses and smoked sausage.”
Jade, who regularly had a charcuterie board for dinner, nodded enthusiastically.
She accepted the rest of Camila’s wine and savored the hint of cedar on her tongue.
She made a mental note to tell her CrossFit friend Lindon about this place.
He was a food and wine critic for the New York Times and they had shared many bottles over the course of the last two years.
But none of them had ever elicited a memory like this.
“Next we have a dry Riesling. This batch was produced by some of the oldest vines on our vineyard. They were planted in 1975 by Valentina Rhodes, an Austrian immigrant who came here with her husband to start a new life. Her family was in the wine industry, and they’re credited with bringing some unique varietals to the Finger Lakes. ”
The Riesling hit Jade’s palate like Pop Rocks.
Stone fruits mixed with fresh citrus. The tingling feeling was back, racing up and down her spine like she’d sat on a live wire.
Holy shit. She reached for her purse and quietly drew out her sketchbook.
Could it be? All she had to do to throw off her artist’s block was come to the Finger Lakes and sample some wine?
Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around a pencil. The tip was dull, but it would have to do.
With notes of grapefruit and lime zest on her tongue, she cast a glance around the crowded tasting room. What would she draw? The view of the lake through the floor-to-ceiling windows? Sunshine filtering through the exposed beams on the ceiling?
Her gaze moved back to the mysterious man who was now standing and chatting with another employee.
A laugh broke the grumpy mask of his face.
His eyes crinkled in the corners, full lips embracing a row of white teeth.
His dark hair was molded back into place, but she could picture it hanging over one eye, disheveled in the unseasonal October heat.
The pencil moved across the paper almost without a thought from her.
It was happening. Finally, something. Nobody was going to want to buy a sloppy sketch of some random guy in a winery. But even if it was absolute garbage, it was something. And something was so much better than nothing.
The server refilled her glass. Jade raised it to her lips and sampled greedily. It had the crispness of chardonnay, but less oak. Apricots teased her palate while her pencil glided over the paper, filling in a crease here, a line there. Shading above the brow—not too much.
“This wine is trash,” Blake whispered loudly.
Their server faltered as she was pouring the next wine.
Jade broke out of her trance and squared her shoulders. For the past twenty-four hours, she had given Blake the benefit of the doubt. She had put up with the constant side-eyeing of her wardrobe, the self-important shouting on the phone, and the never-ending negativity.
But this was not her fucking bachelorette party.
As if some unseen force had taken over her body, Jade ripped the wineglass out of Blake’s hand and slammed it down.
“This is not your day,” she said. “If you don’t like the wine, sit there and shut up.”
“No,” Blake said defiantly. She picked the glass back up and nearly tipped her chair over. “If you tried serving this in a Napa winery, you’d be laughed out of the state. My palate has been irrevocably compromised. I expect a refund. Can I speak to the vintner?” she asked their server.
Oh hell.
“She doesn’t mean that.” Kenya stared daggers at Blake.
Ashley’s smile was frozen on her face. Even Camila had the good grace to look shocked.
“It’s no trouble. I’ll see if he’s available.” She turned to the man in the three-piece suit. “Rett?” she called.
Those piercing green eyes lifted in their direction. He said something to the employee next to him and started their way.
Shit. Jade had a partially drawn likeness of his face in hand and Blake was about to insult what seemed to be decades of winemaking legacy.
She tossed her sketchbook in her purse. Her feet hit the floor, and she half-jogged to intercept the man before Blake could open her mouth.
“Hi,” she said. Why was she breathless? She ran three miles every morning. “Uh, I’m Jade.”
“Rett.” He stuck his hand out stiffly and eyed the group behind her. His hand enveloped her, and shockwaves coursed up and down her body. What the hell was in this wine? Ecstasy?