“Just like I thought.” Mia looked triumphant, then turned her attention back to Brenna. “You’re starting your own winery? For real?”
“I don’t have a choice,” Brenna said. “Grandpa Lorenzo and I are arguing about everything. Working with him is a nightmare. Between how much he hates all my ideas and the recent discovery that we have a long-lost brother-the male heir our grandfather has always wanted-I figure my chances of inheriting are somewhere between ‘unlikely’ and ‘it ain’t gonna happen.’”
“But your own label?” Mia sounded both impressed and terrified. “A million dollars?”
“Absolutely. I came up with a great business plan, but I couldn’t get any of the banks to listen. They wanted to know why Grandpa Lorenzo wasn’t backing me himself. I didn’t want to go to Mom and Dad for the money because they live here and it would have been awkward for everyone. So I went to Nic and he said yes.”
She still had trouble believing it was all coming together for her. “He’s loaning me crushing and pressing equipment. It’s old-he’s replaced his system with a state-of-the-art facility that is to die for. The crusher is-”
Mia held up her hands. “Spare us your ode to the grape crusher. The point is, that’s a lot of money.”
“I’m already spending it,” Brenna admitted, feeling a little terrified herself. Although it was a good kind of terror-sort of an “I can’t believe my dreams are coming true” tension. “I’m buying four acres of perfect Pinot growing land down by the coast. I have barrels on order, grapes coming in. Two years from now, I’ll have my first wine out in the world. In three I’ll be making it.”
Mia looked a little dazed. Still, she raised her soda can. “Wow. To Brenna and her new adventure. May you only ever sleep with men as sexy as Indiana Jones.”
“And Nic,” Katie added as she raised her glass. “After all, he’s real.”
“That’s right.” Mia picked up her fork. “So, Brenna. Ten years after the fact, does our dishy neighbor still get your motor humming?”
Brenna thought about her recent encounters with Nic and how after less than thirty seconds in his company she’d been ready to revisit the delights of the past in a very physical way.
“There seems to be some attraction,” she said cautiously.
Mia hooted. “Some? You’re lying. I can tell with my eyes closed.”
Katie leaned forward. “So it’s still there? The chemistry?”
Brenna nodded unhappily. “In a way I wish it weren’t. I’m having some self-control issues. It doesn’t matter, though. For one thing, I don’t know if the feelings are mutual.” Although she kind of thought they might be.
“For another,” she said, making her voice more firm, “Nic and I now have business together. That changes everything. I can’t sleep with the guy who loaned me a million dollars. It would be too weird.”
“Good point,” Katie said.
“What is wrong with you two?” Mia asked. “You don’t have to actually have sex with him to enjoy the experience. That’s what fantasies are for.”
Brenna grinned. “Sometimes, Mia, I like the way you think.”
Just after sunset Brenna turned into the driveway leading to Wild Sea. Ahead of her, a truck pulled to a stop in front of the old building that housed the equipment Nic had loaned her. Brenna parked off to the side and climbed out into the cool evening.
Her heart beat fast and she was having trouble catching her breath, but for once her reactions weren’t about being around Nic. She was really going to do this-she was about to take the first step on the road to making Four Sisters Winery a success.
She hurried toward the building and pulled open the wide double doors. The inside smelled musty, with the scent of previous harvests lingering along with the dust motes. The last rays of sun spilled in from high windows, bathing the ancient equipment in a patina of worn gold. Nic had told her he’d had all the machinery scrubbed out, and she’d already checked that everything functioned, so she could get right to work tonight.
Reverently she ran her hands over the crusher. Excitement flared inside of her. For the rest of her life she would remember this moment, she told herself. Years from now when someone asked where it had all begun, she would recall this night.
“Where do you want them?”
She looked up and saw two men carrying in baskets of grapes. She pointed to the open floor space and helped them arrange the baskets in rows. Twenty minutes later the truck was unloaded and the men left.
Brenna stood alone, surrounded by the best Chardonnay grapes she’d been able to purchase. The scent of the fruit offered a hint of what could be. Possibilities, she thought, picking a grape and biting into it. Making wine was always about possibilities.
The grape was firm, tart, with a hint of sweetness. She let the juice linger on her tongue, absorbing the layers of flavors, imagining the taste in a year and a half when fermentation and oak and time combined to work magic.
“But first there’s plenty of work,” she murmured aloud, before loading the crusher.
She worked quickly, then flipped the switch. The machinery began to clink and grind, slowly crushing the grapes before they were moved into the presser. As the mixture traveled, she checked the temperature. If the grapes heated too much, they would begin fermenting as early as the pressing stage, which would be a disaster. But the weather was on her side. The day had been unseasonably cool, with a fog that never lifted. Her grapes were slightly chilled and a little damp.
She hurried to the far end of the presser and made sure the first vat was in place. After pressing, the grapes would settle, allowing sediment to sink to the bottom of the vats. That was as far as she would get tonight.
Tomorrow there would be more grapes. The process would continue through late September and harvesting of the Cabernet.
As the crushed mixture moved through to the presser, the smell of grapes grew stronger. Even with the doors open and a slight breeze drifting into the building, the sweet aroma became almost intoxicating.
She had just loaded another basket of grapes into the crusher when she heard footsteps on the cement floor. Instantly her heartbeat quickened with anticipation. Brenna found herself smiling even before she turned to see who had joined her.
“How’s it going?” Nic asked as he walked over to stand next to her. “I saw the truck pull in.”
She motioned to the clanking equipment. “This is it. The beginning.”
He grinned. “I thought about bringing champagne to celebrate, but that seemed like overkill.”
“Probably, but I appreciate the thought.”
“Nervous?” he asked.
“A little. I’m using this batch for my blend. They’re premium grapes and I know I’m right to do this, but I can’t help feeling apprehensive.”
“Bucking convention is never easy.”
“Not to mention the fact that I can hear my grandfather’s voice in my head as he yells at me for wasting the best grapes.”
“Need earplugs?”
She shook her head. “Just a little more time doing my own thing. I’ll get over it.”
He was standing close enough that she could see the stubble darkening his jaw. Nothing unusual there, she told herself. Many Italian men had heavy beards. Nic was simply one of those guys who had to shave in the evening before going out on a date. But this wasn’t a date and he hadn’t shaved and she found herself remembering how that stubble had felt against her skin when they’d kissed. The combination of rough beard and soft lips had been unbelievably erotic. Damn. It was hell to have peaked sexually at the age of seventeen.
Nic walked around to the presser. “How much are you doing tonight?”
“All of it. I want it settling before I leave.”
He glanced at the baskets of grapes on the floor. “You’re going to be here until dawn.”
“Probably.”
“Did you work today?”