Page 18 of Twin Babies For The Grump

“Damn, and I thought that might have been the perfect graduation in jobs for you,” I say, with a snap of the fingers.

“I’ll pass,” Edward tells me, dryly.

We take another turn, and the sign for Delia Winery comes into view. Then, the long, winding road that leads up to my father’s place.

Except that it isn’t my father’s place anymore. It’s my place now. That’s a thought that will be difficult to get used to.

“Lovely,” says Edward, and there’s a genuine note of awe in the word. This is the first time that he’s ever come out this way. And he’s right.

The estate grounds are gorgeous. The vineyard is first, visible through the rolling green hills. Miles and miles of grape orchards, the fruits swelling up full on the vine. The road leads onto a white paved route. Edward slows down to ten miles per hour, and then five, as we draw closer to the winery itself.

“I know. This place has always been something,” I tell him. “Tiff used to hate it. I don’t know why. I loved coming out here. You know, even when we were older, I would come back during the summer while I went through college.”

“It must have been something, looking at it through the eyes of a child. My mother owned a cornfield,” says Edward. “When I was little, it felt like the field took up the entire countryside. I realized later it was only about an acre and a half.” He chuckles. “But the way you view something as a child never really goes away, does it?’

“I suppose not,” I tell him, letting my gaze travel over the land. It’s strange to think that something so familiar can also feel so foreign. It’s been a long damn time since I came out here.

While I had gotten into the habit of only calling my father once a week, I only came out to visit the winery during Christmas and Thanksgiving. Twice a year, and we stayed almost exclusively up in the main estate house for it, as opposed to venturing out into the vineyard or the winery.

As such, even this land that I grew up in feels almost foreign to me. Like it’s some new place that I’m going to try and learn about.

The estate itself is visible behind it but I’m more focused on the woman out front that’s clearly waiting for me to arrive. I recognize her as a long-standing member of the winery’s staff, but I’ve totally forgotten her name.

Edward sees me staring. “Everything alright, sir?”

“Fine, fine. You can let me out here,” I say, waving off his concern. “I’ll call you this evening if I need you for something.”

Before I get out, Edward turns around in his seat. “You can call me for more than just a ride, Owen.”

“I know.” I give him a clap on the shoulder. The fact is, I’m closer to Edward than anyone else, especially now that my father has passed away. He’s more than just an employee to me. I consider him a part of my family.

And while there’s not a chance in Hell that I’m going to call him for anything more than a ride later tonight, it’s still touching that he cares enough to make that offer.

Getting out with just my briefcase in hand, I step over toward the woman. Offering her my hand, I apologize, “It’s been a while. I’m not sure that I remember how to pronounce your name correctly.”

Half lie. Always sounds better than just flat-out saying you’ve forgotten.

“Adela,” she says, an extra emphasis on the end. Adel-la. She takes my hand and shakes it. “I wish that we were meeting again under better circumstances, Owen. Er, uh, Mr. Bale.”

I don’t correct her. My father isn’t around to hold the title anymore, and I’m not just Thomas Bale’s son anymore.

I’m their boss.

“So do I. But we can’t change the circumstances. All we can do is change what happens after them. So, what are we looking at here?” I nod my chin toward the large building behind her. “How have things been running this week?”

“Production is slow,” admits Adela, “and morale isn’t the best right now. We’ve got the camera crews here all the time, they’re—"

“Wait, wait. What are camera crews doing here?” I demand, coming to a full stop.

Adela looks at me, wide-eyed. Her big gold hoop earrings jangle. “You don’t know?”

When I shake my head, she says, “Shortly before your father passed, he entered us into Grapefest. It’s a large contest for local wineries in Napa Valley.

We have interviews lined up, people coming out to film, and we have to finish making the wine. It’s supposed to be a designer blend, for the contest. Something new and exciting.”

I bite my tongue, keeping my frustration to myself. I had no idea that my dad had entered Delia Winery into something like this. Instantly, I know that losing this contest isn’t possible. It’s going to be the mark of my ability to run the winery correctly.

My father spent his entire life turning this business into a success. I won’t tarnish it just because I’ve got a short fuse and haven’t been around often enough over the last few years. My father’s legacy deserves better than that.

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