Page 51 of Sweet Escape

I grab the plates, shut the truck door, and go back inside, bracing myself for whatever is to come. I don’t know how Vivian will act if I don’t give her the attention she wants. If she’ll be overly flirtatious or jealous or whatever.

When I was in my early twenties, I had a serious girlfriend. Lina lived in Napa, and at the time, I was commuting into town to take business courses at the community college, preparing myself for a future of running the vineyard.

It took a while to notice, but I started realizing that Lina was ... controlling. She had issues with me talking to other women ... likeanywomen. Servers or bank attendants or even Naomi and the other women who work on our property threatened her, which was preposterous because I clearly need to interact with them on a regular basis.

Lina would drive to Rosewood, show up at the house out of the blue, and expect that I’d be able to drop everything to accommodate her. I usually tried to, but sometimes there was something important going on and she’d rail me about how I didn’t give her enough attention or didn’t care when she came to visit.

Eventually, it became too much, and I ended things.

So when it comes to Vivian, I don’t know what to expect.

Though if I think back to that night in her hotel room, it’s easy to see that she didn’t really have any expectations. We had a wild ride, and then she thanked me and asked me to see myself out.

And gave me a five-star rating. Jesus, she’s too much.

I laugh to myself as I enter the packed kitchen. The line of temp hands stretches out the back door. Seeing my aunt and Micah are helping dole out food and drinks, I put Vivian out of my mind and step in to help. Once we’ve worked through the line, Sarah, Micah, and I grab our own plates and join everyone for dinner on the patio.

I set my food down in an open spot next to Edgar, a few tables away from where Vivian and Murphy are sitting. I’m thankful, not for the first time, that my aunt Sarah knows how to make massive meals that are both filling and delicious.

The conversation around the table is light and easy. I take the opportunity to learn more about the newbies seated at my table and answer a few questions about what the next couple of months will look like.

“All right, everybody,” I hear as we’re all finishing up our meals, and I turn to look at my father, who is standing at the end of one table. “I recognize many of you from past years, but there are several brand-new faces. My name is Jack Hawthorne, and I’m part of the family that owns this vineyard.”

Then he launches into his speech, the same one he gives every year. He talks about the legacy of this winery. The history of our Harvest-Eve dinner. And he thanks my aunt for cooking and the crew for the work they’re going to be doing.

“Usually, I pass it off to my sister at this point so she can share a little about the game we like to play on Harvest-Eve. But before I do, I’d first like to bring my son up here for a second. Memphis, can you join me?”

I blink a few times in surprise, eyeing my dad over the crowd. Reluctantly, I push out of my chair, then cross over to where he is standing, sensing a bunch of eyes on me.

My dad slaps a hand on my shoulder, then continues speaking.

“What many of you might not know is that for the past few years, my son Memphis has been handling most of the vineyard business operations. He’s been doing a great job, and I’d like to announce that I’ve decided it’s time to officially designate him as the CEO of Hawthorne Vines.”

Shock ripples through me.

“While I still plan to be around, helping out where I can, it’s time to step aside and let Memphis’s dedication and talent lead the way for the next generation of Hawthorne Vines.”

There’s a stretch of silence that follows my father’s speech. I don’t doubt it’s because there are many who are as surprised as I am. But then I hear a few claps, before the entire group breaks into applause.

“Memphis, do you want to say anything?” My dad looks at me expectantly.

I lick my lips and chuckle awkwardly. I hate giving speeches, especially when I’m woefully unprepared. And blindsided.

“Well, thanks, Dad, for the vote of confidence. I don’t have much to say tonight other than ... I look forward to seeing where this harvest will take us. Thank you, everyone.”

Then I give everyone a small smile and look to my aunt Sarah, who is standing off to the side.

“Sarah?”

As I return to my seat, she launches into her speech, surely sharing information about what meals will look like for the next two months and what her role is at the vineyard.

I assume that’s what she’s saying because I don’t really hear her.

What the fuck was that?

An announcement like that on the night before the harvest?

Especially when we hadn’t discussed it at all.

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