Noah, something’s gone missing, but please don’t panic.
Noah, you know how you asked me to make sure everything went smoothly?
None of them sounded remotely good.
I straightened my shoulders. Professional. Poised.
Time to tell him before the entire vineyard learned about it through the grapevine.
Literally.
I spotted Noah near the open cellar doors, deep in conversation with Izzy Rhodes, Langston Estate’s award-winning head vintner and, judging by her expression, his favourite sparring partner. His arms were crossed, and he already looked annoyed.
“I’m telling you, Izzy, the soil pH shift is barely noticeable. You’re overreacting.”
Izzy straightened, wiping her hands on her apron with the kind of patience that came right before a storm. “Overreacting? Noah, if I left you in charge of the soil, the vines would be staging a full protest by next season.”
He gave her a look. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Not as ridiculous as ignoring the land,” she said, tugging at the cuff of her flannel sleeve like she was preparing for battle. “Either you want good wine, or you don’t.”
Noah groaned. “Not this again.”
I hovered a few metres away, clutching my tablet like a shield. Izzy was exactly as people had described, blunt, brilliant, and utterly uninterested in charm.
She’d been at Langston Estate for just over a year but already had a reputation for pushing boundaries and terrifying suppliers.
“Am I interrupting a turf war or a business meeting?” I asked, forcing myself into their conversation politely.
They both turned. Izzy’s eyes flicked over me, tailored shirt, comfortable heels, stress barely contained, and she grinned. “You must be the wedding whisperer I’ve heard so much about.”
“All good things, I hope,” I said. “I’m sorry to intrude. I need a word with Noah.”
“Uh-oh.” Izzy crossed her arms. “You’ve got your ‘don’t-panic-but-panic’ face on. I’m staying for this.”
“You’re not staying,” Noah said flatly.
“Please. If it’s about the guest list or a missing canapé, I want to watch.”
Noah shot her a look. “Izzy.”
She grinned. “Fine. I’ll go check on the fermentation tanks.”
She slung a towel over her shoulder and strode off across the courtyard, muttering something like “Rich people are exhausting.”
When she was out of earshot, Noah glanced at me. “Please tell me this isn’t a crisis.”
My throat tightened. “Depends on your definition of crisis.”
“Kitchen? Power? Don’t say it’s the generator.”
“It’s not the generator,” I said quickly. “It’s just… something’s gone missing. Something valuable. From my room.”
His brow furrowed. “How valuable?”
I hesitated, and lowered my voice, “Priceless.”
“That’s not a number.”
