Page 120 of Blush
Leonard stood, and for a panicked second she thought he was leaving. But then he unbuttoned his pajama top and stripped down to his boxers before jumping into the pool with a splash. He surfaced, shaking his wet hair from his eyes.
“You’re right—the water’s perfect,” he said, swimming over to her.
“So much for you not being spontaneous,” she said, delighted. He touched her shoulder, his face turning serious.
The water rippled between them. She sensed her heart beating in her chest, her every breath feeling amplified like it always did in the pool.
“Vivian, I wish you’d told me sooner about the baron—not for my sake, but for yours. You didn’t need to carry this alone all these years. I’d have ended the partnership back then myself if you’d told me the truth—not to punish him, but to keep you safe. And I certainly never would have allowed him back. My biggest regret is that you felt youcouldn’t confide in me, so I couldn’t do my most important job: taking care of you.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m just thankful we didn’t lose the winery to him.”
Leonard leaned forward and kissed her. “You were right, what you said at the beginning of the summer: the vineyard is something we need to pass on to our family. To our children, and grandchildren, and their children, god willing.”
“And you think you can make that happen?”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I thinkwecan make that happen.”
Vivian exhaled. Suddenly, it all made sense, every moment of struggle and doubt. It had all been leading to this moment, one of the happiest of her life, standing there above the fake stars. And looking up at the real ones she’d wished upon as a girl.
Sixty
Leah set her alarm for five in the morning, as she had been doing every day since harvest began. She dressed and made coffee in the dark kitchen, then made her way out to the vineyard, where she would inspect the fruit, on high alert for peak ripeness.
The morning was bright and crisp. Leah felt like she could crack the sky just by looking at it. It was the type of day that shamed her for missing fall on the North Fork for the past few decades.
She imagined what the day would be like in Manhattan, how the sidewalk along First Avenue would be filled with shoppers, the cheese shop bustling, maybe even a line at the counter. But the week before, as the first leaves fell from the trees, she and Steven began boxing up the store in preparation for their lease expiration. She was ready for it—had been ready, in a way, since the landlord gave her the news all those months earlier that he was selling the building. There had been two choices: find a new space, or move on. In her heart, she had known there was something else out there waiting for her.
They had already harvested the Malbec and the Syrah. That morning, she was tending to the Cabernet Sauvignon. The fruit color was peaking at vivid purple-blue. She pulled a berry and popped it into her mouth. She crunched into it and rolled the sweetness around on her tongue. She could pick the grapes today, or she could leave them onthe vine and see if the sugar levels could get a little higher. Last year, after a rainy August, the grapes had only reached brix levels of 19. This year, she was picking at 23.
In the distance, her father approached. She waved. When he reached her, he pulled a grape from the vine and tasted it.
“I knew that this would be a banner crop,” he said wistfully.
“I’m sure you did,” Leah said. “Dad, I know you’re not happy about the rosé. But we’re doing what we have to do.”
He sighed, looking out into the distance. “I worked very hard to uphold that estates designation,” he said.
“I know. And I didn’t make the decision lightly.”
Part of leadership, of business, was making difficult decisions. Leonard recognized Leah was up to the task, because he’d appointed her CEO. He would cede the day-to-day business to her and focus on his true passion: winemaking. She hoped she could learn from watching him so that someday she would have his wide range of knowledge.
“So what will you be calling the vineyard?” he asked.
Leah swallowed hard. She’d considered this carefully, thinking not just about what the vineyard should be called for next year’s vintage, but about a name that would take it into the future. And who would carry them into that future.
“I’m calling it Hollander Bailey Cellars,” she said.
Steven was her partner. He was working by her side, helping her realize her dream. He deserved to have his name on the wine. And who knew—maybe someday Sadie might take the helm. A third-generation female winemaker.
Her father didn’t answer. He turned, instead, to the grapes. “So what are you hitting with this fruit? Twenty-three?”
She nodded.
“You could make an outstanding Cab Sauv,” he said.
“I know. It pains me, too.” And it did. She truly respected the grapes. The winemaker in her would love to see what they could achieve leaving the red in the barrel for a few years. But the businesswoman inher wanted it on the shelves in five months. The juice would go into steel tanks for a few months of élevage—the time wine spent in the cellar after fermentation but before bottling.
“Have you considered, since you’re bringing in fruit from the other vineyard, making a small batch of the Cab from these grapes? You have to do something with those oak barrels. Just to see what you get?”
