Page 12 of Twin Babies For The Grump

I take the passenger seat. “How bad is the winery?”

It can’t be that bad. I had everything running like clockwork when I left and I only took a few days off. Technically, I don’t start work till Monday, so at least—

“It’s absolute chaos. Everyone is panicking. I tried to keep things running after he was found, but you know that they don’t listen to me,” says Adela. “Liz and Macy and Marco, they’re all trying to, you know, throw their weight around and be the big boss, now that the big boss is actually gone.”

“God,” I groan. Thomas had been an amazing guy. He wasn’t just my boss, he had been my mentor, too. He had taught me everything there was about the winery. Or at least, he was trying to. “This is awful.

Liz is a senior member of the company, but up until the last year, she spent all of her time in the marketing and design department, handling the commercials, label designs, and press stunts. She only recently transferred into the fieldwork, as we like to call it.

Macy has been alright so far, I can’t see her causing any problems, but Marco… Well, he’s been with the company for six months. And those have been the hardest six months ever. Not directly his fault, of course, but because he’s originally from Italy, he’s decided that he knows more about wine than we do.

Than Thomas did, to be exact.

But Thomas had endless patience, so he didn’t mind listening to all of Marco’s ideas, and then kindly vetoing them before finding a distraction for the guy to busy himself with for a few weeks.

And while I’m not impatient, the butterflies are already fluttering about in my chest at the thought of having to deal with this mess. I think that there’s something about it happening while I was away that makes it even worse.

Adela pulls out of the city, and onto the long, winding country road that takes us to the estate grounds. She reaches out, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

“This is awful. I don’t know what we’re going to do about Grapefest, and it sounds like Marco—”

She interrupts me, “I’m not asking about work right now. I mean you, Tess. I know that he was special to you.”

“I liked working with him,” I admit. “He respected me. You know, my dad never thought that I would get anywhere in this business. But Thomas knew that I was smart enough to handle everything that he threw my way.”

My throat goes tight.

I drop my voice down lower and admit, “I’m going to miss him.”

We don’t say anything else for the rest of the drive, but the moment that we pull up, I can tell exactly what she means. It’s pure chaos. Inventory hasn’t been done, the place clearly hasn’t been cleaned, and Marco is in the process of rearranging the finished product, and reorganizing the shelves, despite being told repeatedly not to do that.

I can feel the headache spring to life so fast, it actually manages to overpower the grief. The next three hours are spent in Work Mode so I completely forget that Robert wanted to see me—that is until the man catches me by the arm and pulls me into Thomas’s office.

“I know that you already have a lot on your plate, but I need to ask you something, Tess,” says Robert. “Out of everyone here, Thomas trusted you the most. I’ve been able to get a hold of his son, Owen, but only once, and only briefly. While I try to figure out what’s going on, I need someone to be here handling things.”

“Of course,” I tell him, no hesitation.

Robert gives me an apologetic smile. “But I don’t just mean the winery. Someone needs to watch Tipsy and Blanc.”

I pause and then nod. “I can do that, no problem.”

Tipsy and Blanc were Thomas’s pride and joy. The Great Pyrenees dogs have been his shadows for years now.

Tipsy is the oldest, almost seven, and Blanc is five. They’re good animals, though they tend to act up when they want attention. Many of Thomas’s slippers have been perpetually lost to the vineyard, at the dogs’ behest.

Robert covers a few more things and then excuses himself.

As I’m already in the estate house, and the workday is winding down outside, I opt for getting the dogs fed and settled for the night. That means getting their food from the kitchen and their bowls; water down first, then food.

Tipsy inhales his, but Blanc just sniffs at her bowl, whines, and then leaves the room.

“Blanc?” I ask, following her.

The big dog goes into the living room and sits down on the floor in front of Thomas’s favorite high-backed red chair. She rests her muzzle on the cushion.

The sight of it breaks my heart.

“Oh, honey.” I go and crouch down on the ground next to her, slipping my fingers into the thick white fur at her neck. “I know you miss him. I do too. But I promise you, everything’s going to be alright my sweet girl.”

---