Page 63 of The Vines Between Us
The Small Producers Alliance had gone from desperate improvisation to reality faster than either of us had expected. After that first meeting, word had spread through the village. Vineyard owners who'd been approached by VitaVine began calling, asking if they could join. Within two weeks, we'd drafted real bylaws, established a rotating equipment schedule, and created a communal fund for repairs and emergency assistance.
"The tractor should be back this afternoon," Hugo said, making a note on his schedule. "Marcel's nephew finished the repairs yesterday."
That ancient Massey Ferguson had been the first test of our alliance. When it broke down three days after we'd officiallyformed, we'd pooled resources to repair it instead of each vineyard struggling alone.
"I never thought I'd see the day when Marcel would let someone else drive his tractor," I said, pouring coffee into two cups from the thermos I'd brought. "Much less lend it to Sophie."
"People surprise you when given the chance." Hugo accepted the cup, his fingers brushing mine. "Some people, anyway."
He turned back to the financial projections I'd prepared, brow furrowing as he studied the spreadsheets.
"Wait," Hugo said, studying my financial projections. "If we structure the alliance as a cooperative rather than a corporation, the tax implications are completely different?"
I looked up, surprised. "You've been researching business structures?"
"Jean-Marc lent me some books. And I've been talking to Marie at the credit union—she knows more about agricultural finance than I gave her credit for." Hugo pointed to a line on my spreadsheet. "But this depreciation schedule doesn't account for vine age and productivity curves."
He was right. I'd been thinking in terms of corporate assets, not agricultural realities.
"Teach me," I said.
We spent the next three hours combining his agricultural expertise with my business knowledge, creating something neither of us could have built alone. Hugo explained how vines produced differently as they aged—how a twenty-year-old vine yielded less but more concentrated fruit than a ten-year-old one, how to calculate the real value of a hectare beyond simple market rates.
I showed him how to structure financing to protect the members, how to leverage collective bargaining for better prices on supplies, how legal entities could shield individual vineyards from liability.
"This is brilliant," I said, looking at our revised model. "A cooperative structure means we qualify for agricultural subsidies that corporations can't access."
Hugo nodded, leaning back in his chair. "And the rotating equipment schedule you designed saves each vineyard nearly thirty percent on maintenance costs."
The warmth in his eyes made my chest tighten. With my father's funeral behind us, it felt as though the last barrier between us had finally crumbled. I felt truly free for the first time—free to work beside Hugo during the day, to share meals without looking over my shoulder, to retreat to his cottage or mine each night without fear. The alliance had given us purpose, but it was more than that. We were building something together, something that honored Henri and Claude while creating our own legacy.
"We make a good team," I said softly.
"We always did." Hugo reached across the table to take my hand. "We just needed time to remember."
That evening, we walked through the connected vineyards that now felt like one continuous property. The stone wall still stood, but we'd cleared a proper path between the gaps, making it easier to move between domaines.
"Your Merlot is looking stronger," Hugo observed as we passed through a section we'd aggressively pruned. "The new shoots are healthy."
"Our Merlot," I corrected. Though we maintained separate ownership on paper, in practice, we'd begun to think of both vineyards as shared.
As the sun set over the vines, painting the landscape in gold and amber, I found myself thinking of our grandfathers. Had they walked these same rows together, stealing moments of connection between their separate lives? Had they dreamed of a day when their grandsons might love openly where they had loved in secret?
"What are you thinking about?" Hugo asked, his shoulder brushing mine as we walked.
"About how much has changed," I answered. "And how much has stayed the same."
We reached the spot where the vineyards met, where the oldstone wall had partially crumbled decades ago. Hugo paused, looking out over both properties bathed in sunset light.
"I've been thinking about what you said earlier," he said. "About creating a new label for the Alliance."
"And?"
"What if we call it 'Heritage'? Not just for Henri and Claude, but for all the small vineyards fighting to preserve their traditions against corporate takeover."
I smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist. "I like it. Heritage."
We stood there as darkness fell, planning our future among the vines our grandfathers had tended. The Alliance would protect us all, but what we were building together was something more intimate, more precious.
