Page 25 of The Vines Between Us

"We're not finished," Hugo interrupted firmly. "With all of our pooled resources, the alliance could create a shared processing facility—not as massive as VitaVine's proposal, but more efficient than what we have now. A cooperative tasting room in the village center. Joint distribution channels. "

I nodded, impressed by how quickly Hugo was elaborating on my improvised concept. "And most importantly, control stays with the families who've worked this land for generations. The people who see these vineyards not just as assets but as living heritage."

"The soil of Saint-émilion isn't just dirt," Hugo's voice softened. "It's the accumulation of centuries of knowledge, passion, and care. VitaVine sees land to exploit. We see a legacy to preserve."

The room had gone completely silent. I could feel the weight of every gaze—some skeptical, some hopeful, all intensely focused.

"This sounds admirable," Rousseau interjected smoothly, "but ultimately impractical. Where will the initial investment come from? How will you structure governance? What about vineyards already struggling with succession planning?"

Valid questions. Questions we didn't have answers for because we'd invented this entire concept minutes ago. I felt our momentum faltering.

"There's nothing vague about it," I countered, channeling the authoritative tone I'd used in countless boardroom presentations. "Hugo and I have already drafted preliminary bylaws. We can circulate them tomorrow and hold working sessions to refine them."

Hugo's momentarily widened eyes told me he was surprised by my bold lie, but he recovered instantly, nodding as if we'd spent weeks on these nonexistent documents.

"And regarding capital," Hugo added smoothly, "we're exploring several options, including applying for EU agricultural preservation grants as a collective."

I fought to keep my expression neutral. Hugo was as good at this impromptu deception as I was—perhaps better, since he actually understood the agricultural grant landscape.

Then Madame Fontaine stood. "My late husband's family has made wine here since 1763. I'd rather see our vineyard join this alliance than sell to outsiders. I'm in."

Jean-Marc rose next. "My cooperage could offer preferential rates to alliance members. Count me in."

One by one, others stood—the Pelletier sisters, three other small vineyard owners, the local equipment mechanic. Not everyone, but enough to make it real. Enough to turn our hastily invented fiction into something we'd now have to actually create.

"This is all very emotional," Rousseau's voice had hardened slightly, "but emotion doesn't solve structural problems. VitaVine offers concrete solutions, not vague promises of cooperation."

"Sometimes emotion is exactly what's needed," I replied. "The determination to find another way. The courage to work together instead of selling out."

Mayor Beaumont cleared his throat. "It seems we have two competing visions for Saint-émilion's future. I suggest everyone take time to consider both proposals carefully. We'll reconvene in two weeks for further discussion."

Rousseau's face remained composed, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes. He'd expected to leave with commitments, not competition.

As the meeting disbanded, villagers clustered around us, asking questions, offering suggestions, expressing concerns. For the first time since returning, I felt not like an outsider but like a member of this community—not just Henri's grandson, but Alexandre Moreau, vigneron of Saint-émilion.

"Well played," Madame Fontaine murmured, patting my arm. "Henri would be proud." She glanced between Hugo and me. "Both of them would be."

The simple statement hit me harder than I expected. Would Henri be proud? I hoped so. I was trying to protect what he'd built, what he'd loved—both the vineyard and, in his own careful way, the man who'd owned the neighbouring property.

Eventually, the crowd thinned. Rousseau departed with a curt nod and a promise to "continue the conversation." Only Hugo and I remained in the meeting hall, gathering our notes.

"That went better than expected," Hugo said quietly.

"Thanks to you. I wasn't planning to speak at all, let alone propose a regional cooperative."

"Me either," Hugo admitted with a small laugh. "I just couldn't stand watching him win them over. I thought I'd object and then... you jumped in with this whole alliance concept."

"Pure corporate bullshit," I confessed. "Years of business school and executive meetings taught me how to sound like I know what I'm talking about."

"Well, your corporate bullshit just gave this village hope," Hugo said. "And your improvised cooperative actually makes sense."

"So do your agricultural grants that don't exist."

"Yet," Hugo corrected with a smile. "They do exist. We just need to find them."

We lingered in the empty meeting hall, the gravity of what we'd just committed to settling over us. Hugo's expression grew more serious as he gathered our hastily scribbled notes.

"I need you to understand something," he said, his voice quieter now.

"I can grow grapes and make wine better than anyone in this valley.

I can fix equipment, manage harvests, read weather patterns like a book.

But this—" He gestured at our notes about alliance structures and financial projections. "This is beyond me."

"Hugo—"

"No, listen. I'm not ashamed of what I don't know.

Claude taught me that knowing your limitations is as important as knowing your strengths.

" He met my eyes directly. "My limitation is that I think like a farmer, not a businessman.

VitaVine thinks like a corporation. If we're going to beat them, we need someone who understands both worlds. "

"I'm not sure I'm that person."

"You analyzed their business model in mere days. You see connections I miss, possibilities I can't imagine." Hugo leaned forward. "I'm not asking you to become a farmer. I'm asking you to help me think strategically about farming."

We walked out together into the evening air. The village square was peaceful, golden in the late summer light. A few locals lingered at Café de la Place, glancing our way with newfound respect.

"We have a lot of work ahead," Hugo said, pausing at the point where our paths would diverge.

"Yes. But it's work worth doing."

He nodded, a small smile touching his lips. "Tomorrow, then? Nine o'clock at my place? We should start drafting those bylaws we supposedly already have."

"I'll bring coffee and croissants."

"Make it pain au chocolat and you have a deal."

This easy banter, so reminiscent of our past, caught us both by surprise. Hugo's smile faltered slightly, as if he'd allowed himself to forget too much, too quickly.

"Tomorrow," he said more formally, stepping back.

As I watched him walk away, I felt something I hadn't experienced in weeks—genuine hope. Not just for the vineyards, not just for the alliance, but for us. The path forward wouldn't be easy, but for the first time, I could see it clearly.

And I wasn't walking it alone.