She nodded.
“Are you working tomorrow?”
She smiled. “Sleep is highly overrated.”
“I guess.” He headed for the door. “I’ll let you get to it.”
“Sure. Thanks for stopping by.”
Brenna watched him go, trying not to feel disappointed. This was her dream, not Nic’s. He had his own winery to run-and he got to do it during the day, like a normal person.
She glanced around the big, open room, at the wooden walls, the staircase, and the cement floor. There wasn’t a stick of extra furniture. She was going to have to dig up a desk and maybe even a radio, she thought. Otherwise the nights were going to get incredibly long.
Fifteen minutes later she checked the level in the presser. The crushed mixture filled the big container. As she watched the process, she imagined what it would be like eighteen months from now when she would see the finished wine filling bottles. Maybe she would invite her sisters to come by and they could have a party.
A clunking sound made her turn. Nic had returned with a couple of folding chairs and a box.
“You’re not going to make it all night without coffee,” he said, putting the box on the floor.
She saw a coffeemaker along with cups and a big bottle of water.
“I’ll supply the grounds for tonight, but after that, you’re on your own.”
“Fair enough.”
She tried not to read too much into his friendly gesture, or the fact that he’d brought two chairs. If Nic stayed, that would be nice. If he didn’t, she would survive.
Nice, she thought as she picked up the coffeepot and carried it over to a wall plug. Nice? Right. Who was she kidding? Being around Nic wasn’t nice, it was exciting and terrifying. It was like swimming with electric eels. She never knew where the shock was coming from. A sensible woman would stay out of the water. Funny, she’d been sensible once, when she’d married Jeff. And look where that had gotten her.
Nic cradled his coffee mug. It was sometime close to midnight and he knew he should head back to the house. Still, instead of standing, he stretched out his legs and watched as the first of the juice flowed from the presser into the waiting vat.
Brenna danced anxiously around the equipment as if she could make the process go smoothly by sheer force of will alone. Her brown eyes glowed with an intensity he envied. This mattered to her. She would be involved from the loading of the grapes into the crusher, through bottling the last drop of wine. If she had time, he would bet that she would be out hand cutting every single grape.
Wild Sea was important to him, but he no longer had the same intimate contact with his wine. The company was too big. While there were vineyards he controlled personally, the majority had managers who handled the day-to-day details. He checked on the process, but he didn’t have a hand in every bottle they produced.
That’s what comes from doubling the size of the company, he reminded himself. If all went according to plan, he would soon be adding Marcelli Wines to his holdings.
“Have you picked a name?” he asked.
Brenna looked up. “Four Sisters Winery.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was and wasn’t able to stop himself from stiffening.
“What?” Brenna asked.
“Nothing. Great name.” He shrugged. “Family was always important to you.”
Now it was her turn to look uncomfortable. He waited to see if she would say anything, but she didn’t.
“Did I ever tell you how Wild Sea got its name?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “No one has ever told me.”
“The original plan had been to name the wineries after the family name. Your great-grandfather did that with Marcelli Wines, but Salvatore had a change of heart. In the 1920s there was only one way to come to America and that was by boat. It seems the crossing was very rough and my great-grandfather thought they were all going to die.”
Brenna winced in sympathy. “I guess they didn’t have great stabilizers back then.”
“Probably not. According to my grandfather, Salvatore made a deal with the sea. He promised to name his winery after it if it didn’t swallow them up.”
Brenna smiled. “I never thought of your great-grandfather as the whimsical type.”
“I don’t think he was, but fear does strange things to people.”
She sat next to him and sighed. “Sometimes I think it would have been very exciting to be alive back when Salvatore and Antonio started the wineries. All the promise of the future was in front of them.”
He didn’t point out that the first couple of years would have been filled with backbreaking work as the soil was prepared for the vines. No doubt there had been plenty of trips to church to pray for blessings and maybe even a miracle or two.
“I have my great-grandmother’s diary,” he said. “Sophia started it about five years before she married Salvatore and came here.”
“You’re kidding!”
He shook his head. “I’ve been reading it in bits and pieces. She talks about a lot of things, including Salvatore’s particularly unromantic proposal. When he returned to Italy, he was considered successful. The match was arranged without anyone asking Sophia her thoughts on the matter. She didn’t complain about that in her diary, but she did mention she was eager to see America. At least I think that’s what she said. My Italian is lousy. She could have been talking about the laundry instead.”
Brenna laughed. “I doubt that. Women usually don’t discuss laundry in their diaries. Not that I could tell you for sure. My Italian is worse than awful. Why are you reading her diary?”
“I found it when I was going through my grandfather’s things a couple of years ago. I pick it up from time to time and translate a page or two.” He shrugged. “It’s slow going. Plus I’m a present and future kind of guy, so the past isn’t that interesting to me.”
Brenna’s humor faded. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. I wanted to come to the funeral, but I knew having a Marcelli there would cause a lot of talk and distract from the real purpose.”
“Thanks, but it wasn’t a big deal.”
Brenna raised her eyebrows. “Of course it mattered. He was your family.”
“Is that what it’s called?”
She winced. “I know he was mad before, when you left, but after you came back…” She swallowed. “Didn’t things turn out all right between you? He left you the winery.”
“I’m the only living Giovanni left. Who else would inherit?”
She looked away. Nic thought he read guilt in her body language. She was the reason he and his grandfather had become estranged in the first place. He considered pressing the point, but decided it had been too many years and too many miles. What did talking about all that now matter?
Silence filled the large room. Brenna shifted in her seat, then offered a shaky smile. “How’s Max?”
Nic sipped his coffee. “Good. He’s housebroken, as promised. I’m currently working on his need to chew everything he can find. I also want to get him into an obedience program.”
“Because at least one living creature in your life should come when called?”
He grinned. “Exactly.”
Brenna stood and checked the presser.
“When do you get more grapes?” he asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“You’re going to have to put your personal life on hold until harvest is over.”
She laughed. “That would only be a problem if I had one, which I don’t. I’m only interested in getting the winery up and running. Besides, I have my family around if I ever get lonely.”
“You always did, but I was talking about something else. Haven’t you bothered replacing your husband with a boy toy?”
“So not my style.” She tilted her head. “Actually, I don’t know that I have a style when it comes to men, but younger isn’t it. If there were a man in my life, I’d want him to be older. Experienced. What about you? Any potential Mrs. Nic’s around?”