Page 23 of The Vineyard Crush

Ethan’s raised voice finally penetrated the fog of sensory recollection I’d become lost in. I blinked rapidly, feeling my cheeks flush slightly at being so thoroughly busted zoning out on his finely-tuned diatribe.

Rather than look even remotely abashed at my blatant disregard, I simply shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Of course not.”

The words had barely left my lips when something small and hard pinged off my shoulder with surprising force. I jerked fully back to awareness just in time to see Ethan palming another little projectile rock from the shed’s gravel-strewn floor, a look of feigned menace on his features.

“Hey, watch it!” I barked with a nervous laugh, holding up my hands in mock surrender even as the second pebble bounced harmlessly off my bicep. “I’ve got three kids to look after, you know. If I get hurt, I’ll just have to dump them all on your ass for a few weeks.”

Ethan snorted indelicately but didn’t release his next bit of makeshift ammunition, dropping it to join the others scattered at his feet. “Oh please, as if this little stone could actually cause any harm to big bad daddy Ridge,” he sniped, sarcasm oozing from every syllable.

The words and their clear insinuation landed with an unexpected jolt in my gut. I fought not to visibly squirm under the weight of the far too tempting mental images suddenly cavorting behind my eyes. Visions of Emma’s amazing mouth forming that very endearment with those plump, glistening lips…or her bare thighs wrapped around my waist as I—

“Yo, earth to Ridge!” Ethan’s mocking voice sliced through my wandering thoughts like a scalpel, dragging me back to the present with a mortified start.

Had my face betrayed me? Telegraphed even a fraction of the wildly inappropriate fantasies I’d somehow found myself spiraling into concerning his far too young, far too perfect sister?

I schooled my expression into what I hoped was a mask of bored indifference as I focused on reining in whatever rogue impulses were attempting a jailbreak. “Yeah, yeah…” I growled out at last. “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be trying to impress with your peacock routine?”

Rather than take the hint and fuck off, Ethan just let out a rich belly laugh and rocked back on his hay bale. “Wow, I’m wounded here. What happened to you being thrilled for the chance to soak up some quality best friend time?”

Before I could formulate a suitably scathing rejoinder, he was up and enveloping me in one of his customarily obnoxious bear hugs, all back-slapping and aggressive male camaraderie. I immediately went rigid but didn’t pull away - long inured to these dramatics from a lifetime of enforced role as Ethan’s perpetual punching bag and favorite target.

“Cut it out, man,” I grumbled, making a half-hearted attempt to shrug out of Ethan’s overbearing bro-hug. But he just cackled and squeezed tighter for a beat before finally releasing me.

“What’s got your panties in a twist today?” he asked, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of me as always. “You’re even more gruff and emotionally constipated than usual.”

I shot him a withering glare, but didn’t take the bait to admit anything about where my mind had wandered earlier. The last thing I needed was to give Ethan more ammunition to mock me over my apparent obsession with his younger sister.

“Sorry I zoned out on your big business pitch,” I said instead, keeping my tone even and disinterested. “Must have been the sheer boredom putting me into a semi-comatose state.”

Ethan rolled his eyes dramatically. “Ouch, low blow, kemosabe. Here I am trying to get your input as someone who actually understands what it’s like to run a successful operation out in the real world…”

I arched an eyebrow at that veiled dig, refusing to be baited so easily into stroking his ego. We both knew full well that I was the one who took the practical realities of sustaining our family businesses much more seriously on a day-to-day basis than Ethan and his artistic dreamer mentality.

Rather than rise to his transparent attempt at goading me, I simply settled back with my arms crossed and an expectant look. A silent challenge for him to dazzle me with whatever new poison he was peddling this time if he thought he was so damn insightful.

Ethan seemed to recognize that I wasn’t going to make this easy on him. A muscle ticked along his chiseled jawline as he processed my obvious reluctance to be a captive audience. But just as I was beginning to wonder if he’d abandon the whole charade and slink off, that familiar glint of dogged enthusiasm returned to his pale green eyes.

“Okay, hear me out,” he started again, hands gesturing emphatically as he warmed to the rhythm of his own rhetoric. “We’ve been sitting on prime real estate here, right? This place is practically oozing rustic country charm out of every knotted oak and rambling hillside vista.”

I gave a non-committal grunt of acknowledgment, unwilling to be lured in by the low-hanging flattery of his words. Let the man have his say for now - it would only put him off his precious game if I interrupted the deluge.

“Well, I’ve been thinking - why not fully capitalize on that inherent atmosphere instead of just coasting as a run-of-the-mill winery?” Ethan pressed, holding my gaze with well-practiced confidence. “Why not transform this whole estate into a luxury retreat experience like none other?”

For the next fifteen minutes, he outlined his latest grand vision in exhaustive detail: immersive guest packages including award-winning chefs and vintners, curated creative retreats hosted by luminaries in the arts, spa amenities and “spiritual replenishment” activities cooked up by the most acclaimed healers and gurus. All of it augmented by the world-class wines and natural splendor of the Wilkins family homestead, of course.

It was…admittedly an intriguing concept, despite the predictable whiff of Ethan’s trademark hyperbole seasoning every other paragraph. I found myself slowly becoming absorbed in his passionate delivery, momentarily seduced by the fantasy he was spinning right alongside the twinkling sunset filtering through the shed’s open windows.

Part of me rankled at the mere suggestion of disrupting our property’s heritage as a trusted, respected, and above all authentic viticultural institution. But the other part, the side that had tasted the glitz and alluring freedom of luxury excess during wilder younger days, definitely saw the appeal in Ethan’s proposed elevation of our brand.

Maybe a tasteful balance could be struck, fusing our robust winemaking legacy with fresh new avenues and amenities catering to the whims of the rich and self-actualized? If we maintained our integrity and commitment to excellence in our core offerings while diversifying our portfolio as a destination experience…

I realized I’d fallen into a contemplative trance again when Ethan let out a low, amused chuckle beside me. “You’re slipping, man. That’s twice now I’ve lost you to the big brain idling in neutral.” His voice was light and teasing rather than accusatory.

Before I could fire off a retort about the merits of actually thinking things over rather than just talking his ear off, Ethan shifted gears again. “But wait, you haven’t even heard Emma’s role in this whole deal yet…”

My ears perked almost involuntarily at the sound of her name. As much as I wanted to downplay my newly fixated interest, Ethan’s lingering smirk told me I hadn’t quite managed to conceal my reaction.

Rubbing his hands together gleefully like a cartoon villain, he launched back into pitch mode with renewed vigor. “So, Emma’s been thinking about unique ideas to generate more tourism revenue while leaning into the whole socially-conscious hospitality angle. She mentioned possibly opening the property up as a premium wedding destination venue.”

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