“For when?” My voice cracks, the feelings rising like floodwaters within me.
“Saturday.”
“That’s two days from now!” I stand up so fast, the stool crashes behind me, and Dad jumps a little. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just …” I run my hands down my face. “This is all so fast. When were you going to tell me?”
He sighs and rubs the ridge of forehead above his eyebrows. “I wanted to wait until I had the replacement lined up so you wouldn’t worry, Zoe Nicoletta. It’s taken me longer than I thought, but I found someone who can handle the growingandthe winemaking while I’m away. Someone extremely qualified.” He smiles wistfully. “More than I am.”
I blink at him, my thoughts and feelings clashing into each other like tectonic plates. How am I going to train some novice wannabe winemaker on top of everything else I already do? Isellwine, I can’t make it. And no matter what Dad says, this replacement can’t be anyone other than a total reject. I know this because we can’t afford to pay anyone with real skill to take over Dad’s responsibilities. Dad and I don’t even pull down salaries—we just take what we need to live, and the rest goes back into the vineyard.
How the hell am I going to get the showcase now?
“Zoe, I’m so sorry, but Nonna needs this. I do, too.” He stands and reaches for me. I let him pull me into his arms and press my hot cheek into his warm, soft chest, like he did when I was small. His forever smell—freshly baked bread and the sharp, sweet tang of crushed grapes—fills my nose, but instead of bringing me comfort, guilt roils inside. Here I am, panicking about business and timing and when Dad will return, as if that’s not counting down the remaining days of Nonna’s life. But this vineyard has always been more than a business to me. It’s Mom. It’s our family.
It’s all I have.
“Okay, Dad.” A single tear rolls down my cheek, and I pull away. “I’ve got a lot of work to do before my shift starts in the tasting room. We’ll talk more later, okay?”
“Okay.” Dad regards me with that soft, sad look, and I shuffle back to my office.
No three-ring binder can rescue this day now.
Cool winds whip around my ankles as I trudge up the hill to my little cottage at the back of the vineyard. It was a torturously slow day in the tasting room. I tried halfheartedly to brainstorm pitches for the showcase, but it’s hard to be creative when your only grandparent is deathly ill, and the core of your business is leaving the country indefinitely. Dad promised to bring his replacement by to meet with me tomorrow, but I was too numb to ask any of the questions beating at the back door of my brain. Like who is this person? And even more importantly—how are we going to pay them? I heard Angry Bear Vineyards just fired a senior farmhand for stealing from the till—Robbie? Bobby? I guess I’ll find out tomorrow when Dad brings him round because who else could it be? The Blue Ridge wine scene istiny. If someone qualified was looking for work, I’d know. This is an absolute disaster.
I shoulder open my door and drop my bags of fresh, forgotten office supplies on the small table. I brought them home in the hopes that inspiration for the festival would hit but looking at the colorful page tabs still encased in their packaging is only making me feel worse. There are no ideas to organize. No brilliance to divide.Fuck.I know I’m wasting the precious head start Teddy gave me, but how can I plan when I don’t know how I’m going to keep our doors open? If Dad is gone more than a few weeks, Bobby McThief will be responsible for bottling next year’s whites in addition to nurturing our vines from leaf to bud to grape. If Dad’s gone for a few months, this schmuck will have to blend our reds, too. And if Dad’s gone until harvest …
I can’t eventhinkabout that. It’s practically a death sentence for this season’s output, and whatever happens this year affects next year, which affects the following year, and the year after that. One bad year can wipe an unprepared vineyard out.
And a vineyard without a vintner? It doesn’t get more unprepared than that.
I collapse onto my loveseat, letting the backs of my knees hang over the armrest, feet dangling lifelessly over the edge. When life’s thrown me curveballs, I’ve always had our vineyard to pour myself into. That’s the family way, after all. Dad turned his grief into work, and now I do, too. But when the vineyard’s in trouble, where do I put this grief?
My phone buzzes from my pocket, making me flinch. I half expect it to be Rachel crowing she’s found out about the festival, but it’s …
Oh, shit.
FOR THE LOVE OF WINE, ZOE, HAVE SOME GODDAMN SELF-RESPECT
Guess who’s in town …
Teddy got into my phone and changed my contact names again. I sigh out a small laugh that sounds anything but happy. After a second, I unlock my phone.
Zoe
Hey, Harlow.
And then, after a pause:
Zoe
CHAPTER TWO
The tips of my short black hair are still wet from my shower when I arrive, chilled by the night air and curled against my neck. That’s why I’m shivering at the door of Harlow’s Airbnb. Definitely not from pre-bad-decision nerves. Her texts swim over me again, sending heat prickling up the backs of my thighs.
FOR THE LOVE OF WINE, ZOE, HAVE SOME GODDAMN SELF-RESPECT
I have a proposition for you, darling.
FOR THE LOVE OF WINE, ZOE, HAVE SOME GODDAMN SELF-RESPECT
