Page 28 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

Love Undercover

Irene Lawless

Chapter 1

Sophie

"Come on, you bitch," I snarl as I crank the wrench one more time, sweat beading on my forehead. Finally there is movement. Minimal to be sure, but movement, nonetheless. I glare at the bolt as if it had insulted my entire family and line the wrench back up, determined that it won’t resist any further.

I give it another yank, wincing as the bolt freezes again and a jarring pain shoots up my arm.

"Fuck!"

Stomping my feet, pain radiating from my shoulder, I fight the urge to toss the wrench across the room. The adult and professional in me wins out, knowing how dangerous that could be in a fermentation room full of delicate equipment. Instead, I slowly inhale and release a calming breath, count to ten, and step back to view my domain.

The room is a mess of hoses and various pieces of half-assembled equipment, but it has potential. A mix of new and old equipment is scattered through the temperature-controlled warehouse. The scent of fermenting grape juice mixes with the abrasive smell of industrial cleaners and the lubricant I’ve used in an effort to loosen up this godforsaken bolt.

Replacing the safety valves on these old fermentation tanks wasn't an immediate priority, but it’s a task I have put off long enough. And for damn good reason. It is a massive pain in the ass to maintain equipment this old. Exhibit A, fighting with this fucking frozen bolt.

However, at the rate I’m producing, and with all the operational tanks full of aging wine, I’ll need one of these old behemoths soon enough.

If the winery had the funds for a repairman, I'd have a guy here in a heartbeat. But that isn’t the case at the Celtic Knot Winery where the budget is stretched so thin, its holes have holes.

When the call had come from Brennen Murphy nine months ago asking if I'd be interested in joining his family's winery as the head winemaker, it had felt like a dream come true. Finally, I'd have a chance to get out from under my family's massive shadow, as well as my father's oppressive thumb. I could make my own name in the wine world and prove to everyone that I had winemaking chops of my own.

For weeks after agreeing to Brennen’s proposal, I’d walked around in a sparkly rainbow haze, believing my luck had finally changed… until I'd arrived.

The first clue that it wasn't exactly the dream job I'd been hoping for was the location. The east coast of Florida isn’t exactly known for growing wine grapes. Quality juice from the top producing vineyards had to be shipped in from other regions or even overseas. Although I know once customers taste my wine, they won’t give a shit where the grapes are grown.

Still, it chafed that my first opportunity as head winemaker was at a winery that wasn't even a blip in the wine world. It had once been somewhat of a player, but that was no longer the case. However, this was something that could be overlooked, and I was willing to do that.

The second challenge was the winery's reputation, which was somewhere below rock bottom after it had been embroiled in a nasty cheating scandal several years earlier. By switching wine samples during an elite competition and getting caught red-handed, Celtic Knot lost the respect and reputation it'd once held. That incident reverberated through the wine world, and the seismic waves were still being felt. The shame is a scarlet letter the winery has yet to remove.

But that was why the Murphy family chose me: to build back their reputation of twenty years ago, when they were consistently winning regional and national competitions. With my surname and expertise attached to their wine, we might have a shot at regaining our rightful place within the winemaking world.

Iwillsucceed here. I’ll show everyone at home who doubted me or thought I was insane—basically everyone I know—that I am just as capable of producing incredible, award-winning wines as my grandfather, my father, and my brothers.

Sure, it isn’t the perfect place to work. And holy lord, is Florida hot and humid! But this winery has the necessary bones to be successful: solid equipment and the necessary ingredients to turn grape juice into the best damn wine anyone has ever tasted. I have everything I need to work my magic.

Iwillput Celtic Knot Winery on the map again, and I'm determined to do it starting with this season’s wines.

With a huff, I toss the wrench on the counter. Screw this damn tank. It is time for lunch, anyway.

I perch on a nearby steel table, my legs swinging as I open my lunch box. Nestled inside are my perfectly arranged and cut ham and cheddar cheese sandwich with mustard, an apple, and my absolute favorite: a huge peanut butter cookie. Starving, my mouth salivating at the smell of the ham and mustard, I take a healthy bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly as I glare at the oldfermentation tanks. It'll be a miracle if I get the damn things up and running before I need to tank the next batch.

Like most small wineries, especially in areas where wine grapes don't thrive, the Celtic Knot Winery relies on grapes from vineyards across the country. Once I arrived, I made sure our supply came exclusively from West Texas, Washington, Oregon, and California.

Interestingly enough and in a brilliant move, Brennen partnered with the University of Florida several years ago on a wine varietal that could withstand the state’s excessive heat, humidity, and various molds and fungi. Strategically placed throughout the winery's acreage, the experimental grape had finally produced a decent harvest and, after dabbling for a month or two, I’m thrilled at how well it performed. Using it for blending, I’ve managed to produce an excellent white wine that I cannot wait to introduce.

The door to the office creaks open, and Isabella, the winery's assistant, pokes her head in. A mischievous grin splits her face when she spots me across the room.

"Aren't you the lucky girl!" she whisper yells.

I frown at her, and my brain whirls as I try to think of justhowI might be the “lucky girl” right now. But I have nothing. "What are you talking about?" Isabella loves to tease, and there’s no telling what she is joking about right now.

Isabella’s brows arch to her hairline as she stands poker straight, a perplexed look on her face. "Wait. You don't know?"

Alarm skitters down my spine. I hate surprises and this doesn't feel like a good one.

---