Page 67 of Love Among Vines

Ten minutes later, they had a supply list, theme, and a date. He had done it once before and it had been lucrative. It should be a boon for both of them.

“Anything else?” Jade asked. “I don’t suppose you prepared some literature about selling a spare kidney on the black market?”

“You’re going to have to make immediate cuts. No more CrossFit and you definitely need to cancel HBO.”

She pouted.

“I did have one other question,” he said. “You use a gallery to sell your paintings?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I imagine they take a large chunk of your earnings?”

She leaned back in her chair. “They do, but it’s a necessary evil. They get the art into the right hands.”

“But theoretically if your muse came back, you could direct sell your own art? Online or to previous customers?”

“Sure, if I wanted to burn a bridge.”

“Okay. Well, maybe we can revisit that idea if your muse comes back. I’ll help you with your resume later. Down the road once you get a job we can start talking about your investments and retirement savings.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

There was silence for a beat.

“You think I’m a project,” she accused.

Rett frowned. What was she, a mind-reader? Project was too harsh, though. “No, I think you’re a work in progress. As are all of us. Me especially.”

She sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “You are. You live in your grandma’s house, and you’ve made next to no effort to personalize it or make it feel like home to you. Why?”

This wasn’t supposed to turn into an interrogation. He sloshed the ice in the bottom of his drink. “It doesn’t really feel like mine. It doesn’t feel like I’ve earned it.”

“Ah. Impostor syndrome. It gets us all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe you were handed some opportunities that other people weren’t. But your wine is incredible. You put in the work. You went to school, became a sommelier, learned everything you could about the craft. You’re so worried about honoring her legacy and her memory that you’ve forgotten that she left the business to you for a reason. She trusts you.”

“And if I mess it all up?”

They were already approaching a tipping point. If he didn’t figure out a way to cut costs or bring in a fresh influx of cash by the end of the year, big changes were coming. And Grandmother Rhodes would never forgive him.

Jade reached across the table and took his hand. “You’re not going to mess this up. In the incredibly unlikely event that your batch failed, you don’t need to release it at the party. We’ll hide it in the basement, pretend it never existed, and you can try again.”

“It was her dream,” he said.

“And what’syourdream?”

Her question stopped him mid-sip. He had been so fixated on the success of the winery ever since his grandmother’s death that he had never stopped to ask himself if it was enough.

The winery brought him purpose. Joy, even. There was nothing like the satisfaction of a perfectly fermented batch enjoyed on the porch at sunset. But was that all he wanted from this life? Fitting himself into someone else’s dream?

“I’m…not really sure.”

“Well,” Jade said as a waitress set a plate in front of her. “Lucky for you, I’m the queen of dreaming. That’syourhomework for next week. I’ll get my stupid driver’s license, pick a new career, and find somewhere to move, butyouhave to figure out what you want out of this life.”

“Deal.”

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