Page 50 of Sweet Escape

Perfect.

Chapter Eleven

Memphis

Every year, the weeks leading up to the harvest are exhausting.

We are constantly monitoring the grapes and the weather to make sure we don’t need to deviate from our schedule. We net most of the vines to eliminate possible pest issues. We service and clean all our equipment so there are no issues with contamination and no surprises when it’s time to get started.

Then there’s the staffing. Hiring all the temporary workers, making sure we have the right people with the right knowledge about pick bins and racking wands and destemmers and all the other equipment.

We are also one of the few vineyards that still houses and feeds our workers for the entire length of our harvest days—typically a two-month period, depending on how many people we hire. Three meals a day for fifteen people, plus the cost of renting the bunk trailer that we set up next to the cabins on the west part of the property—it’s not a cheap investment.

But it’s something we’ve always done, and while there are lots ofwe’ve always done thatitems that can be scrapped and replaced for something more effective, I truly do believe that we get some of the most kind, hardworking, exceptional people applying to work with us year after year because we treat them well.

There might be a day when we aren’t able to afford it anymore, but that time is not now, and I plan to keep that as part of our process for as long as I can.

We typically launch the harvest at the beginning of September, and this year, we’re right on schedule. The weather looks to be—at least for now—cooperating.

Which means tonight we’re celebrating our annual Harvest-Eve—a small, casual dinner for the entire crew that is a thank-you-in-advance for all the work they’re going to be putting in. They get fed, we play a silly game, and then everyone gets a good night of sleep before the first fourteen-hour day.

“Anything left that I can do to help you set up?” I ask Sarah, entering the kitchen for the first time today.

In years past, I’ve offered to help with the food and have caused more problems than I’ve solved. So it’s an unspoken agreement between myself and my aunt that I relegate my efforts to setup and takedown when it comes to meals.

“Yes, baby, can you run out to your father’s truck and grab the paper plates? I’m pretty sure he got them but might have left them in the cab or something.”

I nod, grabbing Dad’s keys off the hook and cutting through the house.

But when I jerk open the front door, Vivian is there, her hand poised to knock.

She smiles when she sees me, but it falls immediately when she sees my face.

“Everything okay?”

“What are you doing here?”

Vivian rolls her eyes. “Nice to see you, Vivian. Can I take your coat?” she says, deepening her voice, I’m assuming, to imitate me. “I don’t know who taught you manners, but ‘What are you doing here?’ is not a polite way to greet guests. Especially when you’ve put your penis inside them.”

My nostrils flare, but before I can say anything, Murphy barrels past me, wrapping Vivian in a big hug.

“I’m so glad you came! This is going to be so much fun.” Murphy releases Vivian and then turns to me. “I invited Vi for Harvest-Eve. I think she’s a shoo-in for biggest grape.”

I purse my lips, but then I remember I’m supposed to be running an errand.

“Welcome,” I say to Vivian, who winks at me as I walk past her out the door and toward my dad’s truck.

“What do you mean by biggest grape?” I hear Vivian ask my sister before the front door closes.

I let out a sigh as I unlock the truck and tug open the back door.

This is . . . inconvenient.

And exactly the thing I was worried about when I first agreed to Vivian’s ludicrous but enticing proposal that we enjoy having casual sex with each other.

It’s one thing to hook up with someone on occasion.

It’s quite another to hook up with someone on occasion who also happens to be regularly coming over to my house and place of business, where our interactions are on full display for family and colleagues.

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