“Did you go into the wine business to fail?” she’d shot back. She knew exactly how to manage her high profile, type-A clients. Threaten them with failure.
Evan trailed the bubbly wedding planner around his own property as she insisted that eighty-degree weather wouldn’t melt an ice sculpture and wind coming off the lake wouldn’t hurl a canopy into the air. Clearly the woman had never heard of physics. But, as Mandy would tell him, that wasn’t his problem.
Maura or Mavis asked if she could float flowers and candles in the pool.
“No!” Evan said crankily just as Mandy said, “Sure.”
Maura or Mavis frowned, looking like a toddler who’d just lost her cookie.
“Excuse us,” said Mandy, dragging Evan into a shaded corner of the pool patio. “You’re going to scare her off and if you do, the other wedding planners will follow suit. Buck up, tell her can you do things and stop acting like I dragged you into this.”
“You did drag me into this.”
Mandy continued scolding, but Evan stopped paying attention. He was watching the two women on the Orchard House patio in the distance, working hard with brooms and shovels, cleaning off the debris and broken flagstones. Carmen was staying. Despite her annoying attitude, she was attractive in that plucky way Evan found irresistible. Now all he had to do was convince her to sell off the vines that he needed. All this stupid wedding stuff wasn’t going to make a bit of difference if he didn’t have a medal. His bottles needed those little gold stickers if they were going to fly off the shelves. The First Crush medal, awarded by fellow vintners, would, if things went as planned, belong to Hollister Estate Winery. Losing wasn’t something Evan Hollister did.
He was so close. If he could just harvest the vines on the next hill, he’d be there. He could hire any master vintner in the country and get rid of smarmy Paolo. He’d be right on track, producing award-winning wines. Carmen Alvarez was the only one standing in his way.
“Evan!” Mandy was yelling at him. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes.” No.
Mandy stepped closer to the edge of the embankment, bordered by arctic willows blowing in the breeze. The sharp scent of oregano drifted up the hill. She peered down below, catching sight of the two attractive women working on the bordering estate. “Liar. Who’s that?”
“Carmen Alvarez.” He watched the way Carmen wiped the sweat off her face, not minding the dirt. She’d take a break to gaze down the length of the lake, stretching her back before lifting another heavy piece of slate. Carmen would remember the woman’s name. She’d easily answer all the silly questions. He wouldn’t ignore Carmen if she was talking. Even if the subject was weddings.
Mandy looked more closely at her employer. “There are two women down there. How did you know which one I was talking about?”
Evan woke up. “I didn’t. Listen, I’m sorry.” He turned around, dutifully trotting over to the wedding planner, who was pouting near the rose garden.
Evan turned on the charm, smiling broadly, waving at the expanse of fragrant budding roses. If there was one thing that powered Evan to the top, it was his ability to close the deal. It was a switch he flipped that lit up a room. This ability had decimated the competition within and without Microsoft. It had allowed him to retire at thirty-five and buy up fifty-eight acres of lake view property complete with a budding vineyard, as well as a thirty-five-room mansion with a flagstone patio on the Lake Cuomo of the Pacific Northwest. “This will be completely ablaze with roses during the wedding. We can put the ice sculpture there”—he pointed towards the house—“under the canopy to protect it. I promise you, it’ll be an amazing wedding. You have my word.”
Maura or Mavis lifted off her kitten heels, clapping her chubby hands, completely under his spell. “Oh, goody. My bride will be so excited. I’m bringing her here next week. For champagne, correct?”
“Correct,” said Evan, trying to keep his enthusiasm from flagging. He had no idea how he was going to survive one wedding, let alone five.
What on earth had he gotten himself into?
Entering the overly air-conditioned Safeway from the baking heat of Chelan was always a challenge. Carmen remembered Mami, who used to work here, bringing a sweater every time she grocery shopped. Carmen always forgot. She was shivering and rubbing her arms when she spotted Evan, perusing the aisles like a lost toddler. He had that deer in the headlights look worn by men who had never been forced to grocery shop. Someone else was always there to feed them. She backed her cart out of the aisle, hoping he hadn’t seen her.
Was he stalking her? This was the third time Carmen had seen Evan in town. Sure, Chelan was tiny, but three times in one week? This was more than a coincidence.
The first time, he’d been sitting at the Three Horses Wine Café. Carmen had nodded as she passed him on her way to meet Stella. He’d looked up eagerly, but she hadn’t stopped. Perhaps it came off as rude, but she didn’t care. She was tired of his seeing his lean profile every time she looked up from the patio, sweaty and tired. Inevitably, he had a glass of wine in his hand and a pretty woman nearby. She was always sweaty, dead tired and running behind.
The second time, she was able to cross the street and avoid him. She’d been on her way to the bank to talk about her plans for Blue Hills Vineyard. She looked up and there he was, walking down the sidewalk on his phone. A quick detour had prevented the encounter.
But this time, at the Safeway, her dodge didn’t work. He came around the corner pushing his cart, practically bumping into her, eager as a puppy. His chipper mood made her feel sour. Of course he was happy. He was gloating. He hadn’t spent the week doing backbreaking work, dealing with painters who demanded to be paid up front—in cash—and then showed up with the wrong color paint insisting it was what she’d ordered. He wasn’t worried about money or facing a deadline that seemed impossible to meet. The man was a walking advertisement for prosperity. Even his white teeth bugged her. Would it kill him to have a tiny little imperfection?
She hated him.
“Oh, hi neighbor!” Evan was walking on sunshine. Blech! Carmen forced a smile. “Are you having guests over?”
Carmen looked down at the steaks in her shopping cart. “Yes.” When he waited for her to share more information, she reluctantly added, “My sisters.”
“That’s great. I only have one brother. He’s a lot older. We hardly see each other.”
Carmen wasn’t looking forward to having her sisters spend two nights. They’d both complain about Carmen’s plan to mess with Hollister Estate wines. And argue over the direction of the vineyard. The one thing the Alvarez sisters had in abundance, besides great hair, was opinions. They’d all talk at once, agree on nothing and end up arguing until their father took his cigar to the fields for some peace and quiet, telling them they were all crazy, but he loved them anyway. Carmen was dreading it. She had five good ideas her sisters would pick apart like vultures.
“I heard that you’re planning to host weddings this summer?” Evan asked.
Carmen nodded, annoyed that he had a bead on her. “Yep. We’re gearing up.”
“Yeah, so that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Me?” This took Carmen by surprise.
“Yes. I need help.”
She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. Surely this man could hire any help he wanted. Evan wore fitted khakis, a spotless white Lacoste shirt. His Ray-Bans were propped up on his wavy, damp hair. Carmen was glad she’d taken a shower, applied lotion and a flick of mascara, then felt agitated with herself for caring. “With what?”
Evan tilted his head, wincing. “Everything.” He looked around the grocery store aisle as a mother with three children hanging from her overloaded cart approached. “Look, would you mind coming over to discuss things? I could make you dinner.”
Here was the enemy asking for help. Carmen’s first instinct was to laugh in his face, tell him she was busy and keep walking. However, her father had always told
her to keep her friends close and her enemies closer. Besides, if she knew more about what Evan had planned, it would be easier to thwart him.
Maybe this was a prime opportunity. This could be a way to meet the Italian vintner. So far, she hadn’t engineered a conversation with Paolo. Evan seemed to be everywhere, but she had yet to lay eyes on the elusive foreigner. Carmen was waking up at six just to deal with the mountain of paperwork and taxes her father had stuffed in a drawer, and staying up until three trying to figure out how they were going to make wine without a wine master. Her father knew the rudiments of wine making, but he’d relied on his wine master. It took so much attention to detail. The growing of the grapes, which he’d learned as boy, was imprinted in his memory forever, but the intricate steps of fermentation, decanting, and the tasting of the new wine was something he’d always hired an expert to handle. Even if they had the money for a master wine maker, they’d all been snapped up.
Carmen and Evan moved their carts to the side of the aisle to let the beleaguered mother pass them like a tropical storm.
The aisle smelled like Cocoa Puffs and canned coffee. Evan was still looking at her hopefully. “Dinner? I’ll grill something?”
Carmen took a deep breath. Perhaps he did know how to cook. Maybe his look of confusion was just shopping in an unfamiliar store. She caught a whiff of expensive aftershave. Something green and masculine. She didn’t want anything wearing down her distaste for this man. He was everything that was wrong with Chelan. The price of real estate. The obnoxious boats on the lake, polluting the serenity. The entitlement.
Suddenly she felt tired. She wanted this harvest to be over. To get the vineyard back on its feet, find someone to live with her father and move back to Seattle. She couldn’t see herself in Chelan, running a vineyard.
“It’s only dinner,” Evan said, as if he could read her mind. “This woman I hired to help me manage the weddings is driving me crazy. Half the time I don’t know what she’s talking about. I need a system and she’s talking about naked cakes. I didn’t know cakes were supposed to wear clothes. I need someone to look at the space and tell me how it should be set up, so all these wedding planners don’t drive me off the deep end.”
He was speaking her language. A system. Maybe that’s what she needed for her wine. Besides, Evan had a master winemaker. A plan hatched in her mind. She smiled broadly. “Yes, I’d love to come to dinner. I’ll bring the wine.”
“Great. It’s a date.”
They both blushed scarlet.
“I didn’t mean that.” His face flushed darker under his tan. “I mean, I did. It’s a time to come over and eat food. But not like a date-date. Just a…” He gripped the shopping cart until his knuckles were white. “Okay, I’m going to leave now before I say more stupid things.”
She couldn’t help but smile and immediately regretted it. “You do that.”
He pushed his sunglasses over his eyes, wheeling down the aisle, whistling. She watched him for a second, thinking it wasn’t fair for a man to look that good. He reversed himself until he was parallel with her. She hadn’t moved. “I didn’t tell you a date. I mean, a day.”
“You didn’t.” Was that pine in his aftershave? Still, she hated him. She did.
He covered his eyes with his hand, taking a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to stop humiliating myself and put it out there. Saturday. Does Saturday work?”
They were both thinking the same thing. Saturday night. For a guy who claimed this wasn’t a date, he sure chose an odd night.
“It’s a cake with the frosting scraped off,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Naked cake.”
He frowned. “No frosting? Why have a cake?”
“Exactly.” She couldn’t help but grin, quickly reminding herself that this man was out to ruin her father. There was something enormously appealing about someone so obviously in charge in every other area of his life completely losing it over something as silly as having a neighbor over for dinner. “Saturday works.”
“Okay, it’s not a date. It’s a time to eat.”
“And drink.”
He grinned, delighted. “Yes! Six o’clock?”
“See you at six.”
He waved. “Bye, neighbor.”
“Bye, neighbor.” She forced herself to stop watching him, pushing her cart down the aisle. Tension crept into her shoulders. Breaking bread with Evan Hollister?
It’s not a date, she said to herself. It’s a mission.
Five
It’s a Date
“You have a date with the millionaire next door!” Stella chortled. They were in Stella’s salon, Twig, an airy space Carmen loved. Stella had decorated with squat white pots overflowing with lovingly tended plants. The woman in Stella’s chair, Esther, eyes blinking like a baby bird under a crown of tin foil, was her last customer of the day.
Esther, who worked in the pharmacy and had known the girls since they were teens, was peering over her People Magazine, eager for hot gossip. The whole town adored rumors about one of the entitled newcomers. There were two Chelans. The people who served the drinks, bagged the groceries, cleaned the hotels, taught the children, served the burgers; and the ones who swooped in from Seattle and bagged the brand-new mansions growing like weeds along the shores of the increasingly crowded lake. Ten years ago, the summer people decamped back to their Seattle mansions immediately after Labor Day. Now they stayed to run their wineries and overpriced restaurants, catering to each other in a tightly knit closed circle. Sure, they might say hello to the people who cleaned their houses and serviced their hot tubs, but they weren’t inviting them over for dinner.
“It’s not a date,” Carmen insisted, again.
Stella checked the color on Esther’s foil, unwrapping a strand, glancing quickly at it in the daylight streaming from the storefront window. Stella’s bright modern salon had three chairs, but the other stylists had left early. Although Carmen had to get home and prepare for the dinner with her sisters, she’d found herself driving past. When a parking spot had opened in front of the salon she’d seen it as a clear sign for her to pop in and share the latest news.
“He invited you over for dinner on a Saturday night. He’s cooking. At his place. What do you call that, Esther?”
Esther looked up from under her headful of tin foil. Her eyes watered from the bleach. “A date.”
Carmen shook her head. “He wants to get advice on his wedding planning business.”
“He’s planning weddings?”
“Not planning them, hosting them all summer. At his winery.”
Esther nodded. “I heard he’s been booked for months. His place is gorgeous. I heard that Bill and Melinda Gates will be at one of them. Their friend’s daughter is getting married. They’ll have security.”
Stella was studying Carmen with intensity.
“What?”
“We need to add some caramel highlights to your hair.”
Carmen backed up towards the door. “Oh no. You’re not fixing me up for a business meeting.”
“It’s a date,” Stella said.
Carmen pushed open the door. “Stop it.”
“I’ll stop it if you admit that he’s the hottest thing to set foot in this valley.”
“He’s the most egotistical thing to set foot in this valley. I’ll give you that.”
“I’ll squeeze you in tomorrow,” Stella shouted as the door closed.
Carmen waved as the door shut, rushing back to her car. She’d better get those steaks in the fridge and steel herself for her sisters. The Alvarez sisterhood was strong, fierce and always something of a battle zone.
Juan Alvarez knew something was up the moment he walked onto the patio. His normally chatty daughters, always arguing and laughing, were strangely subdued. Bats swooped over the vineyard, dining on mosquitos. Adella asked about his visit to the cemetery.
Juan filled his wineglass, helping himself to steak and salad, sayin
g a quiet prayer for the family before answering. He took a moment, savoring a small sip of wine. “The usual. Quiet. Nice. I talked to your mother. She listened.” He took a bite of the meat.
Lola nudged Carmen under the table, but he saw it. He’d forgotten what the girls had told him about their gathering, but there was a reason. It was palpable.
“Papi,” Carmen began. “Do you want to sell your vineyard to that gringo next door?”
Juan had to smile. It was funny hearing his American daughter call anyone a gringo. His daughters spoke Spanish with American accents. Thought nothing of spending what used to be a day’s wages for him as a teenager on a cup of frothy coffee. They knew little of the life he’d had in Mexico and his youth in the United States. Which is exactly the way he wanted it.
Juan shook his head. “No. Of course not mi corazón. I want to walk those fields until my boots turn up. But we can’t always have what we want, can we? You girls don’t want to grow the wine. I can’t hire anyone no more. That gringo, as you call him, wants to expand his fields. Maybe it’s time.”
Adella and Lola glanced at Carmen. Her eyes glittered in the growing dusk. They hadn’t yet turned on the patio lights. The night sky faded from pale magenta to deep purple. His girls looked so beautiful, all of them. Grown women. Maybe this was good time to give them their inheritance. What he could squeeze from the fields. The man next door had offered him a good price.
“Papi, do you trust me?” Carmen asked.
Juan smiled, placing his hand over his heart. “Con todo mi corazón.”
If it weren’t for these girls, each so like their mother, he didn’t know what he would have done. They’d saved him.
“Do you trust me to run the winery?” Carmen asked.
Adella scratched her throat: a sign, Juan knew, that his eldest wasn’t quite comfortable. He studied his middle daughter. Carmen had been gone so long, had shown little interest as a child, a girl. But she was his best bet. Unencumbered by family. A head for business. All the work she and her friend had done to the house, the patio. They were planning on hosting parties of some sort. He couldn’t remember what kind. They needed Orchard House back to its original splendor, like when Mercedes ran things. Casa Huerta. Orchard House. Mercedes had chosen the name the day they’d signed the mortgage. He’d let it get so run down. Days slipped away before he remembered what he’d planned. He’d go to bed with big ideas only to have the next day fly away, a kite with a snipped string.
Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1) Page 5
