A pair of brown eyes flash in my mind’s eye. Rico was definitely not uncomplicated.
Steeling my jaw, I will the image away. Rico is out of my life now, for a reason, and it’s going to stay that way.
Suddenly, my motivation to run is stripped away. Dammit. Rico was a mistake. I made a few mistakes in Italy—and I can admit I’ve made a few since coming back, too—but I don’t have to keep making them.
I’m tired of men running my life. My father, Rico, Dante.I’ve been at a man’s whim in one shape or form my entire life. I’m fucking done.
Slowing to a jog, I try to recenter my thoughts and concentrate on the exercise, but the moment is lost. And I can’t stop stressing about the fact that Dad is still missing in action. I head into the house and shower, letting the hot water sluice over me and loosen my muscles.
I get out, dry off, and get ready for work, but the winery won’t be open to guests for a few hours and I’m all wound up now. I figure I might as well take advantage of the early morning quiet and see about maximizing the visual aesthetic of the tasting room.
When I get there, I revel in the quietness of the empty room for a moment before flicking on the lights, setting my purse behind the bar, and making a fresh pot of coffee. Sipping with my elbows on the counter, I survey the space. Something about this room bothered me the very first time I’d walked in here, but I hadn’t taken the time to figure out what it was. Now, it hits me almost immediately as I drink my coffee.
The flow is all wrong. Customers come in through the French doors to find huge display stands on either side of them, blocking their view of the rest of the room. Once past the displays, they have to maneuver around a small table with a massive floral arrangement, which is elegant, but also blocks the view. It’s not until they get around all of these obstacles that the presentation of wines along the bespoke shelving on the brick walls come into view.
Unfortunately, the harsh overhead track lighting is angled directly on the bottles. Which, I get it. The better to illuminate what we’re trying to sell. But it’s not at all subtle. In fact, it gives the room a cold, commercial vibe. Like this is a liquor store, and the only thing we’re interested in is maximizing wine sales.
This is atasting room. People should walk in and immediately feel relaxed, embraced by sophisticated but comfortable design, as if we’re welcoming them into our home for a repast. Because we are. We’re not just selling them wine, we’re selling them an experience. A story.
In fact, looking closer at the walls, I can see the brick itself telling a story. I reach out and run my palm over a large stained section. It’s mostly hidden behind a bistro table topped by an urn of pampas grass and spiky dried thistles. I grimace. That ugly arrangement has Jessica written all over it. Whoever put this here has done the winery a huge disservice—that stained brick is an important part of the Bellanti story.
I’d done my research when I found out I was marrying into the family, of course. A fire nearly a century ago had nearly ruined the winery before it could really get started. The fire had started in a storage room, damaging several barrels of aging wine. Luckily, after consuming most of the available oxygen in the space, it had died down, enabling workers to extinguish it. An entire wall of brick had been scarred, but some of it had been salvaged and repurposed when this area of the house was constructed.
Setting down my coffee, I wrangle the urn away from the wall and lug it behind the counter, then clear the bistro table and move it out of the way, too.
There are several bottles of Pinot Noir in the basement vault which had been aging at the time of the fire. A handful of the original barrels are still in use today, producing delicious Pinot which we could offer on display along with a catchy story about the fire. I put the table back for the time being, but the wheels are turning on how to revamp this entire section.
Continuing my perusal, I walk the room, noting several seating options are in the way of the flow of the room. Three chaise lounges near the picture window impede flow to the wine cases on either side. Free standing racks of upsell merchandise aren’t very visible to guests unless they are specifically looking.Nope, nope, and nope.
Before I realize it, the morning has passed. I have a list of notes by the time employees start to filter into the room. Greg is looking at his phone as he automatically heads to the bar.
“Morning, Greg.”
His head snaps up, cheeks going pink as he hurriedly puts his phone in his pocket.
“Mrs. Bellanti. I didn’t see you there.” His forehead wrinkles as he looks at the slight mess I’ve made in the room rearranging the displays. “What’s…going on?”
I point to the clipboard and the list I started. “Improvements. I’d like to change a few more things around before we open today. To promote better circulation of the visitors and draw the eye to the wines without relying on these harsh track lights.”
“I see.” He picks up the clipboard, lips pursed. “Well. We’d best get started, then.”
Greg trusts me. I’m grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s.”
Just then, two young women walk in wearing white button-downs with the Bellanti logo, black pants, and black aprons. They notice my mess immediately and turn to Greg.
“Good morning, ladies. We’re going to help Mrs. Bellanti move a few things around before we open the doors this morning.”
An older man walks in wearing the same uniform. He frowns as he ties on his apron, as if it’s a necessary evil that he really doesn’t enjoy. I’m not sure why our showroom staff need to look like everyday waiters. Sure, they serve cheese and fruit plates with the wine, but they aren’t standard food service workers; they’re experts on Bellanti wine. Specially trained connoisseurs. I make yet another mental note to see how Dante feels about changing the uniform.
“Good morning, everyone.” I make quick introductions. “We have roughly one hour before opening. Here’s what I’d like to do, quickly, so there’s still time for pre-opening tasks.”
Soon, the entire tasting room staff is involved. Once the larger pieces are in place, I can refine the smaller things later, like the upsell merchandise. Everyone gets to work rearranging. Greg stops me and hesitantly suggests swapping out the large chairs in front of the fireplace for smaller ones so more guests can see and enjoy the stone hearth and aged mahogany mantle.
“Love it. Let’s do it.”
He eyes me. “Really?”
“It’s exactly what I’m aiming for. An upscale experience on every level.”
