Page 79 of Sweet Escape

Memphis’s head turns, his eyes connecting with mine. He doesn’t smile, but I can tell he’s glad to see me all the same.

“Thanks. And thanks for taking the time to give Vivian the tour,” he says.

“Enjoyed our chat,” Micah tells me. “Hope the rest of your day is great.”

Then he gives me a wave and strides out of the room.

Memphis clicks around on his computer a few times. Then I see his screen go dark, and he shifts slightly in his chair so he’s facing me, his elbows on the desk.

“How was the tour?”

I beam, coming up behind one of the high-backed armchairs and folding my arms against the top. “Amazing. This place is so cool. Micah drove me all over the place on the ATV so I finally got, like, a really good picture of everything.”

“Good. I’m glad you had fun.”

Looking around the room, I take in the wall of shelves opposite where Memphis sits, filled with dozens of three-ring binders in a variety of colors, stacks of paperwork, equipment manuals, and plenty of books on vineyard management and wine chemistry.

“So this is where you spend your days, huh?” I ask. “I thought there was an office building by the warehouse. How come you don’t work over there?”

“This is where my grandfather worked, and my father as well,” he says, shrugging. “I personally like that I get a little distance from everyone here.”

I giggle. “Sounds like a you thing,” I say, taking a closer look at a few photos on the wall.

There is one of Memphis, his dad, and an older gentleman—his grandfather, maybe?—with rows of vines stretched out behind them, smiles on their faces. There’s another of an older couple standing in front of a warehouse that looks a lot smaller than the one on the property today. And then there’s a picture that looks like it’s from forever ago of a couple and a baby standing in the middle of a dirt field.

“That’s my great-great-grandfather and grandmother, holding my great-grandfather, on the day they bought the property,” Memphis offers when he catches me staring at the last photo. “I always used to ask my dad why they looked so unhappy on a day that was supposed to be so wonderful.”

I laugh. “They do look kind of irritated.”

“Apparently it was the thing back then. Photos took a long time to take, so people didn’t smile.”

“It’s wild to think about how long this land has been in your family. It doesn’t feel like we live in a world where people work in the family business anymore. Are you glad it’s being passed to you? Does it make you happy?”

He leans back in his chair, and it makes me think he’s really trying to decide how to answer that question honestly.

“Apart from all the stress, I am,” he finally says, his eyes focused on the corner as he continues to think it over. “It’s not always a happy job, but really, that’s any job, right? You’re not going to be happy one hundred percent of the time. But I am definitely glad it has been passed to me, and I’m hopeful for what’s to come.”

I grin. “You sound like you’re giving an inspirational speech to your staff.”

Memphis laughs. “I’m serious.”

“I don’t doubt that you’re serious,” I reply. “But does it make you happy? What you do, working here, every day. Do you love it?”

I’m prodding too much. I know it.

But Micah was pretty clear that he’s not sure if Memphis is happy. And for whatever reason, it’s important to me that he is. Really and truly, and not just for show.

“I hope I am again one day,” he replies, his expression filled with chagrin.

It’s stunningly honest, and I don’t press further.

Chapter Seventeen

Memphis

Vivian hangs out in my office for a little bit, looking through my things. She settles into one of my armchairs with a book about vineyards for a while, flipping through it slowly and occasionally asking questions.

I’m shocked by how much I like it.

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