Page 63 of Sweet Escape

It would be a huge change from the way we’ve always done things, mostly because it separates all the vineyard operations into three departments—hospitality, vineyard management, and business operations. Literally ... a complete restructure.

“What do you think?” he asks, once he’s finished explaining it all to me.

“I think ... that you are really fucking smart, Micah,” I tell him, spinning the organizational chart around to look at it again. “How long did this take you to come up with?”

He shrugs, though he looks pleased at my assessment. “I’ve been playing around with it for a couple of years.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I did.”

I furrow my brow.

“But this wasn’t the kind of thing Dad wanted to talk about. You know how he is. He wanted to do things the way he’d been taught, even if those methods don’t work anymore.”

I grunt my acknowledgment.

“And I haven’t taken any business classes like you, but it felt like something I could see so clearly and could make a big difference from an internal perspective.”

“Youdosee it clearly. Now I’m wondering why I couldn’t.”

But Micah shakes his head. “You’re busting your ass trying to keep our doors open, right?” he says, surprising me. “Sometimes when you’re looking at something too closely, you aren’t able to take a step back and see the bigger picture. If you only ever see things in black and white, you can miss the gray.” He shrugs again. “I don’t doubt you would have seen something like this if there weren’t so many other things on your plate.”

I’m not sure what to say, exactly, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I return my attention to the documents in front of me.

“Let me sleep on this for a few days,” I ultimately tell him. “But I like this, Micah. I really like it.”

He stands, that unassuming smile on his face. “Hey, no pressure. And if you decide against it, you know, I support you. I know you’re doing what you think is best.”

Then he gives me a wave and takes off, the sound of his boots echoing on the tile down the hall until they fade away.

I have to admit, I’m shocked by that conversation. Not because I didn’t think my brother was capable of bringing that kind of business savvy to the table, but because I’ve never seen him do it.

Though I guess that’s not surprising, either.

If you’re working in an environment that doesn’t reward innovation, doesn’t value change and improvement, and is only focused on “how it’s always been done,” there isn’t really room for conversations like the one we just had.

It further highlights to me a fact I’ve known for a while now.

We are overworking our staff but underutilizing their skills.

And if we don’t figure out a way to get better about both of those things, this vineyard won’t stand a chance.

The frustration from my argument with Dad earlier simmers in the back of my mind all day. Eventually, I seek out my aunt, approaching her after dinner to see if she has a few minutes to chat.

“I’ll handle cleanup tonight,” Micah offers. “You two take off.”

“I’m not going to turn that down,” my aunt replies with a laugh, and then the two of us step off the patio and begin a stroll into the vineyard.

We used to do this when I was a kid, wander around and race up and down the pathways. Murphy and I always had a ton of energy, and when we first moved here after my mom died, Sarah would take us on nightly walks to help us get out our zoomies.

Sometimes my grandmother joined us, but mostly it was just Sarah, pushing a stroller with Micah tucked inside.

So any time my aunt and I have a long conversation, it feels natural to walk out along the paths that weave through the vines.

“Did you ever think you’d be the one to take over the vineyard?” I ask, once we’ve gotten a few minutes away from the house. “That grandpa would have given it to you, instead of Dad?”

She tucks her hands into her pockets. “There was a time when I hoped he would,” she answers. “But I knew he was old world, and passing down a business to your son is what he’d always planned to do.”

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