Page 46 of Blush
Sadie nodded, unsure what point he was making. Was she supposed to be working in the vineyard? Maybe there was no point. Maybe he was just a grumpy old man. She loved him, but she didn’t understand him. She was pretty sure her mother felt the same way.
“That’s impressive,” Sadie said.
“We’ve worked very hard,” he said. “I should hope that sets an example for you.”
“Absolutely,” Sadie replied. He looked at her expectantly, showing no sign of leaving.
“You’re right, Grandpa,” she said, standing up and putting her phone in her bag. “I’m going to go find the vineyard crew and see if I can help out.”
“Now, that’s what I like to hear! Onward. Be productive.”
She walked out to the field with purpose in her stride. It just wasn’t the purpose her grandfather thought she had.
ReadingChanceswas making her think about sex. And thinking about sex was making her think about Mateo.
The air was heavy with moisture, and she inhaled. In the distance, Mateo was busy tending to the vines. She walked faster, the humidity creating a sheen of moisture all along her body.
Mateo, dressed in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a black Hollander Estates baseball cap, crouched down low, his gloved hands tugging at the grapevines. Alongside him, all down the row, workers did the same. Everyone was so intent on the task at hand that not a single person noticed her.
“Hey,” Sadie said when she’d gotten close enough. “Need any help?”
Mateo pulled some leaves from a plant and looked up at her. At the eye contact, Sadie felt a little jolt.
“You want to help?” He looked skeptical.
“Um, yeah.”
He waved her over. “See this? These are baby Syrah berries. We need to clear away the leaves so they get exposure.”
Thunder sounded in the distance. Normally, this would send Sadie running. She hated lightning, especially out in the country. But her interest in hanging around with Mateo trumped her survival instinct.
“Don’t the leaves protect the fruit?” Sadie said.
“No, it’s the opposite. It’s going to rain the rest of the week. This is an extremely wet growing climate for grapes. We get fifty inches of rain a year, compared to California, where they might only get five inches. So we need the sunlight and breeze off the bay to reach the vines and dry out the clusters after the rain. That prevents mildew and mold from growing.”
The clouds rolled in faster, so dark and heavy that day became night. Drops began to fall. A streak of lightning split the sky.
“We gotta clear the field,” Mateo called out to the workers.
They made a mad dash for the small farmhouse adjacent to the field, a utilitarian building with a wide-open, garage-like space for storing field equipment and a few small offices that everyone called “the barn.” Once they were inside, the rain pelting the roof sounded like pennies on tin.
“You can wait out the storm in here if you want,” Mateo said, shaking water from his hands and unlocking his office door. “I think this will blow over soon enough.”
Mateo’s hair was soaked, his tan skin dewy with rain. A drop of water glistened on his upper lip, and Sadie wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe it away.
“There’s a foldup chair behind the door,” he said, eyeing her. She was suddenly very aware of her soaked T-shirt and shorts clinging to her body.
The office smelled damp and faintly of fresh-cut grass. A few pairs of work boots were lined up in the corner of the room. A large mountedwhiteboard took up most of one wall. On the other wall, two framed photographs. One was a closeup of what appeared to be fruit and flowers in a jug of white wine. The other was of a man drawing vertical lines in white chalk on the side of an orange building.
The room was so small that when Sadie unfolded the chair and sat, she could reach out and touch both the door and Mateo’s desk. The desktop was spare, with just a few pens stuck in a Hollander Estates mug and a laptop.
He sat behind his desk, facing her. Their eyes met, and for Sadie it was every bit as electric as the lightning flashing outside the window. She suddenly regretted breaking his confidence to tell her mother about his job search. She couldn’t take it back, but she could at least come clean.
“I have a confession to make,” Sadie said. Mateo leaned forward, folding his hands together. She hesitated for a moment. What if she didn’t tell him about her slight indiscretion? What if she confided, instead, that he’d been on her mind? They were closed up in that small space, the storm raging outside. It was so romantic, like the scene fromChanceswhere Lucky was trapped on an elevator with a hot guy during a blackout. But she wasn’t a ballsy gangster’s daughter; she was a neurotic Jewish girl from Manhattan who needed to assuage her guilt.
“I told my mother that you’re interviewing,” she blurted out.
Either she imagined it, or Mateo physically shrank away from her.
