Page 5 of Love Among Vines

Rett tugged at his collar and cast a glance over the sprawling vineyard in front of him. Sunlight streamed down from a cloudless sky. Leaves that were just beginning to shift yellow rustled in the wind. This weather was going to wreak havoc with the harvest if it didn’t cool down soon. He marched down a row, inspecting the Riesling grapes as he went.

No sign of blight or pests, but he couldn’t be sure until the viticulturist arrived.

He unlocked the side door of the large outbuilding and stepped lightly down the stairs to the cellar. The smell of oak greeted him like an old friend. He strode past rows upon rows of barrels and vats. No leaks, no disasters, perfect temperature. It was just as he left it the night before.

Metal gyropalettes loomed large in front of him. Hundreds of black bottles were inside, tipped at an angle. He ignored the twisting of his stomach and marched past them to another rack of bottles clamped tight with halters.

Sure, the wine had looked okay after the riddling process. But he wouldn’t really know until the first bottle was cracked open.

He brushed a speck of dust off one of the bottles. His mother’s words came back to him.

Your grandmother would be proud.

Valentina Rhodes would never be in this situation. As business-savvy as she was gifted in winemaking, the winery had flourished under her hand for forty-eight years. But then she had passed, and it had been rather suddenly handed down to him.

It had been a year and half, and the quality of the product had never wavered—in fact, some critics said it was the best in the entire region. But competition had increased. They were losing out to flashy pop-ups with axe throwing lanes, live music, and mediocre wines.

Valentina would have fainted if she found out people were throwing axes in her winery. But he was quickly losing the ability to keep things at her preferred status quo.

The sparkling wine in front of him was a huge, expensive risk. It was her last dream, one she never got to carry out before her death. A rarity in the Finger Lakes, it had the potential to change the trajectory of the business. But only if it was good.

Would the wine honor the feisty woman who sang in the kitchen and let him lick the beaters when she made brownies? Or would it be the final domino in the winery’s downfall?

CHAPTER THREE

JADE

The party buscrawled up the long, stony driveway to winery stop number three: Rhodes Vineyard. The first two stops had been fine. Ashley, Blake, and Camila had raved over their fleet of sweet wine tastings while Jade had enjoyed a glass of whatever dry reserve each winery had. They had all been at least medium-palatable.

But over the course of two years of producing exactly nothing, she had sampled a lot of vino. And none of today’s wines had knocked her romper off. Rhodes Vineyard had mixed reviews on Yelp, but at least their listings leaned to the dryer side.

“Selfie! Selfie!” Ashley beckoned with both hands for the girls to gather around her. It was approximately the fifteenth time the bride-to-be had gathered them for a group photo. But whatever the bride wanted, she got.

Jade crammed in next to Kenya and smiled. They all wore matching blush-colored shirts with wine-related puns on them, while Ashley had donned a crisp white T-shirt with the phrase Bride on Cloud Wine. Thanks to the tequila the night before and the resulting hangovers, Ashley had cancelled the morning hike.Jade had taken Penny on a run instead while the other girls slept in.

They broke apart and gathered their purses as the bus lurched to a stop. Bachelorette parties had to be a winery’s bread and butter. But how annoyed did the owners get every time a group of lightly toasted twenty-somethings passed through?

Blake, a New York-based fashion model with deep family roots in the industry, had unceremoniously cut off the bottom of her Hakuna Moscato shirt and turned it into a crop top. Camila had paired hers with her signature set of pearls, and Kenya had tied it to expose her ultra-toned midriff.

Jade had left hers exactly the way it was and slapped on a pair of sunflower-embroidered jean shorts she had found in a thrift shop in the East Village. Blake had again looked at her like she was a swamp thing that had crawled up from the depths of the lake. Jade’s patience was wearing thin.

They exited the bus and followed the walkway up to the charming stone-front winery. Blake tripped and would have careened into a bush if Jade hadn’t grabbed her by the arm.

“Thank you, Blade.” Blake patted Jade on the head.

“It’s Jade, and you’re welcome.” What were the odds she could train Penny to poop in one of Blake’s shoes before the weekend was over?

“That’s what I said,” Blake insisted.

Sure.

The winery looked like an old country home from the 1800s. Expansive, yet homey.

She turned on the doorstep and cast another glance over the vines. The sun sparkled on the lake below them. Rows of vines stretched from the road to a tree line. A roof stuck out of the trees toward the lake. Must be a gorgeous place to live.

A tingling feeling crawled up her spine. She froze on the spot.

The tingle used to happen time and again when something around her wanted to be painted. But she hadn’t felt it once since the day Nate walked out.

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