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“It was just sex. No overnights.” I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. If I were blind, I’d never have to see Wilson again after this mortifying conversation.
“Because you two had no future, right?”
God help me. “Basically, yes.”
He practically bounced on his toes with glee. “What if there was a future?”
“No. She is leaving for California. Everything she wants is there.”
“What if it isn’t?” The memory of Wilson’s smug smile lingered long after he left me sitting in his office thinking about what he’d said.
Chapter 28
Rae
“This is my firstwine harvest. Pretty cool it’s at my own ranch. Cameron, how about you?” My brother smiled his million-dollar smile at the camera, and I imagined Generation X hearts fluttering across the internet. He was surprisingly natural in front of the camera. I still thought of him as the nerd I grew up with.
“Actually, I worked here helping harvest grapes for a few summers when I was a teenager. No big machines back then, and a lot fewer vines. I think I’ll enjoy sitting here with my fiancé better than busting my ass out there.” Cameron flashed her ring for the camera and tipped her head back to give Wilson an adoring look. The internet superfans were probably peeing themselves.
Kate totally delivered. She’d sent a small camera crew to film footage of the harvest for the Vacation Dream Homes end-of-season recap show. And a full crew would film at The Stomp on Saturday. Tonight, we also added a livestream of the harvest on both Blue Star Wines’s website and Vacation Dream Homes’s web channel.
The interview Wilson and Cameron were giving for the livestream was internet gold. They sat together in the front seat of the UTV parked in the middle of the vineyard, the sun setting in the distance. It was postcard picture perfect.
They were freaking adorable, and I had fifty dollars that said it would go viral. I stepped away from the camera crew and hid my chuckle. If the video went viral, we’d make a lot more than fifty bucks. My inner capitalist danced a happy jig at the thought of the ticket sales a viral video would spawn. Sellout here we come!
Gabe jogged up to me and draped a friendly arm over my shoulders. He vibrated with ill-concealed excitement. “This is your first harvest, too?”
“I’ve watched a few videos online. Does that count?” The crew of people and line of machines were on hold, waiting for Wilson and Cameron to finish the interview and officially kick off the harvest. But before the cameras rolled, the vineyard had been a hive of activity. Blue Star employees and the picking crew specially hired to help facilitate the harvest had been rushing around, getting everything set so that when the sun went down, they could start.
“The real thing is different, better. It’s a ton of work, but there is a buzz in the air on harvest nights. It’s the potential. Will this be a good vintage or maybe a great one? Only time will tell.”
He was right about the atmosphere. It was electric. “I’m excited to watch the entire process from here to the crush. All of it.”
“It’s going to be a great night!” Gabe rubbed a silver coin between his fingers before kissing it and slipping it in his pocket.
“What was that?” I pointed to his pocket.
“My lucky euro. Never go to a harvest without it. By next year, you’ll have a superstition or talisman.”
“I’m sure,” I said, but I wasn’t. The call from E. Rossi and Gabe’s harsh reality check about the California wine business had given me a lot to think about, none of it good. Marketing on the massive national or international scale made wine no different from TP or glass cleaner. I shoved away the depressing thought. Tonight, we celebrated potential. No time to dwell on a middle-aged woman’s disillusion with the way the world worked.
“That’s a wrap!” one of the camera guys called. “Drone is live in five, four, three, two…”
The hum overhead caught my attention. The unbelievably small machine zoomed into the evening sky. Besides the drone, the crew had put cameras on the tractor and picking machine for the web feed. It would be very cool.
Wilson jogged from the UTV out to the center of the vines, twenty feet in front of the harvesting machines. He tugged a red bandana from his back pocket, and the crew ready to get to work cheered. And like the hot girl in a 1960s teen movie about to start a drag race, my brother lifted his arms above his head. The red scrap of cloth waved in the breeze, the last of the summer sunlight fading fast.
“Let’s make wine!” he shouted, waving his arms and jumping up and down like a lunatic.
The rumble of the tractor and huge picking machine firing up rolled through me, shaking my bones. The setting sun glinted off a haze of red dust in the air, giving the scene a unique glow that I would forever associate with Texas summer sunsets.
The crew of temporary vineyard workers and the huge picking machine sat at the head of the first row of grapes. On the other side of the row, Atley, his hat in place, sat behind the wheel of the ranch’s largest tractor, a trolley of empty bins hitched behind, waiting to receive the bounty of the vineyard.
I watched the way Atley looked left and right, nodding to himself like he was checking off a mental list. It was such a him thing to do. Even though the itinerant crew were experts, he was still supervising every detail, making sure things went smoothly.
Not so different from him buying the lights for my path to the guest house. His consideration for the people and things he cared about was paramount. He was an amazing man. The dull ache lodged in my chest swelled, and I rubbed my sternum, willing it away.
“Will we finish tonight?” I asked Gabe, tearing my eyes from Atley.
