Page 3 of Married to the Frenemy

I take the tube from him and return it to the table. I’m about to yank on my gloves and join the rest of my crew in the tank when he places a hand on my forearm.

“Can you spare a few minutes? I need to talk to you.”

Something in his expression tells me whatever he needs to discuss is serious. Grady isn’t a man of many words or long, heartfelt conversations. He’s been a father figure to me nearly all my adult life, especially after my own dad passed away from ALS, but we’ve never had the type of relationship where we sit down and talk about our feelings.

Then again, I don’t have that type of relationship with many people.

I prefer a more…solitary life.

It’s one of the reasons I love my job as head winemaker so much. I oversee dozens of employees, but most of my days are spent checking on the vines or in my lab experimenting with different combinations of flavors to enhance this year’s product.

“Sure thing.”

I set the gloves back on the surface and signal the rest of my crew to carry on without me. Then I follow Grady into my lab, his cane echoing against the cement floor.

“What’s up?”

I pull out a stool from underneath the gleaming steel table that stretches along one side of the room. Test tubes line the wall, each one identified with various percentages for my reference. Sheets of paper are littered over the surface, filled with tasting notes and my own thoughts in the hopes of improving the next round of experimentation.

Being a winemaker is so much more than just growing and picking grapes. It requires a great deal of chemistry, as well as luck.

Despite the long hours and sometimes back-breaking work, there’s nothing else I could imagine doing. Nothing brings me more joy than seeing someone’s face light up after tasting one of my creations for the first time.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately,” Grady begins, leaning against the desk opposite me.

At seventy-six, he still has a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, probably because he never married or had kids. Instead, his vineyard is his life, and each wine release is like a child to him.

What more could anyone want?

“I didn’t come to this decision lightly.” His weathered features betray a hint of hesitation.

“What decision is that?” I ask guardedly.

“I’m selling the vineyard.”

My heart plummets in time with my stomach as air whooshes out of my lungs.

“What? To who?”

I knew there would soon come a day that Grady wasn’t my boss, but I didn’t expect it so soon. I thought he would die here, on this land he’s poured his heart and soul into. Without him, there is no Vivanza Estates.

“I’ve had quite a few offers from various Napa and Sonoma wineries that want to expand their reach into this area. As well as a few development firms, hoping to turn this place into a combination vineyard and boutique hotel. When they first started approaching me several years ago, I had no desire to sell. But these days…” He pushes out a sigh as he nods at his cane.

“I’m not getting any younger, Beckham. It’s time for me to slow down and enjoy life. I’ll be reaching out to everyone who’s expressed an interest in buying over the years to see if they still are. I just wanted you to be the first to know.”

I stare at him, unsure how to respond. All I can think is that I hate the idea of some commercialized vineyard destroying everything Grady worked so hard to build here.

That I worked so hard to build here, too.

“I don’t want you to worry about a job. I?—”

“How much?” I interject.

Grady blinks, confusion knitting his wrinkled brow. “Excuse me?”

“How much do you want?”

“Beckham, I?—”

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