A Taste of Sauvignon

by Heather Heyford

  Who cared what she thought? “Great news! I just did my first real estate deal!”

  Esteban was loading the market gear into the back of his truck to prepare for the coming weekend, when Savvy’s Mercedes pulled up the lane.

  He was in high spirits. Sunday’s passing shower hadn’t affected the lavender at all. And now here came his two-legged mermaid. He hadn’t been expecting her today on her way home from work, but he’d take it.

  Her mile-wide grin matched his, as she got out of her car and wobbled rapidly toward him on those heels that made her calf muscles clench so sexily.

  “Esteban!” she called breathlessly. Then he saw the long paper in her hand. It looked like the contract Padre had signed yesterday. A little ice chip formed in his belly.

  “They took it! They took your offer!” she called when she was still yards away.

  No puede ser! The ice chip expanded into an iceberg, filling his whole being, freezing his feet to the earth.

  “Can you believe it?” By the time she reached him, she was practically panting.

  He still couldn’t move.

  “Look.” She thrust the contract toward him.

  He didn’t need to read it again. Against his will, he took it from her hand. One glance at the scrawled signature of NTI’s general partner was all he needed. He shoved it back at Savvy like a hot potato.

  “That’s your copy,” she said. Gently she pushed his hand back.

  He didn’t want a copy. He took her hand with one of his and pressed the papers into it with the other. Then he picked up the crate containing Madre’s market scales and produce bags and deposited it into the truck bed.

  Savvy’s smile faded. She looked down at the papers, then up at him. “You’re upset.”

  He stopped and stared at her. “Upset? Upset? Qué demonios! ¿Qué quieres que diga? Toda mi punto de cambiar la vida!”

  With a grunt, he hefted the big white market canopy into the truck bed—a job that usually required two men—while she stood and watched. The hand holding the contract drifted down to her side.

  “I know. You’re in shock. The Plan Familiar, and all that.”

  “You say it like it’s nothing! My grandfather’s dream, my uncle’s and father’s work is just . . . pfffft—gone!” He threw his arms up. “What am I going to tell Padre?”

  Savvy licked her lips and forced calm into her voice. “It was his offer. He set the price. He had to have known there was a chance NTI would take it.”

  “What about Madre?” He gestured wildly toward their humble house, where a ruffled curtain fluttered out the window in the spring breeze. So what if it wasn’t a mansion? It was theirs. “She’s worked her whole life to make this . . . this cinder-block box a home! What’s going to happen to it now?”

  Savvy studied her shoes. When she looked up again, a tear rolled beneath the rim of her glasses. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really sorry. I feel like I’m caught in the middle, here. I’m the one who started this whole thing. I never meant to hurt anybody. You’ve got to believe that, Esteban. I was only doing my job.”

  She laid the papers on the edge of the truck bed, turned, and walked away.

  He didn’t even notice Padre behind him until he spoke.

  “You don’t have to translate to me what that was about.”

  Esteban hung his head.

  He felt his father’s hand squeeze his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. She’s right. I was the one who made the offer.”

  Esteban looked up sharply.

  “That’s right. I understood her,” his father said. “Your old padre’s smarter than you think. Come. Let’s figure this out together before we go in and break the news to your mother.”

  Chapter 26

  Wednesday, Esteban went to Mass.

  Thursday, he got a haircut.

  Friday, the utility company told Esteban he could start anytime. He picked the day after the closing on his family’s property. That way, he could spend the next thirty days helping his parents prepare to auction off the farm equipment and pack up the house.

  Friday night, Madre invited Savvy to dinner.

  “Come in, come in,” said Mrs. Morales, pulling Savvy into her warm embrace.

  “Is that a new dress?” asked Savvy, handing her a bottle of wine.

  “Yes.” She spun around. “You like?”

  “It’s lovely.”

  The dress wasn’t the only change Savvy noticed. Esteban leaned against a doorframe with arms folded, watching her. He was rocking a hot new haircut. If he’d reminded her of the David before, now he was the spitting image of him, with those waves molding to his head. It was all she could do not to fly to him and run her fingers through the layers, but the two of them stood on shaky ground, despite a couple of brief phone calls over the past few days. In the first one, he’d apologized for overreacting—his term—to the sale of the property.

  She’d been apprehensive about coming to dinner—she, the rich-girl troublemaker who lived in the mansion next door. So far, nobody had jumped down her throat. In fact, his mother actually seemed to be in a festive mood.

  “So many changes since you were at our table last, eh?” Mrs. Morales smiled, motioning proudly toward the dining table. Pretty lace placemats dressed up the colorful stoneware. And tonight, instead of Coke, a bottle of Dos Equis sat above each plate. “Come. Sit.”

  “Yes, so many,” Savvy said. She held out her plate while Mrs. Morales scooped enough enchiladas for three people onto it. “Whoa,” she said, too late. Oh well. You had to pick your battles.

  “What do you think of Esteban’s haircut?”

  She chanced a shy grin his way. “Very . . . hip.” She’d opted for a ponytail again tonight, herself, after Esteban had complimented her on it during their picnic.

  “Tomorrow is the market’s opening day. And next week, Mr. Morales and I have an appointment with a Realtor to see some houses in Verdant Acres.”

  Really. Verdant Acres was a new over-fifty-five development on the other side of 29. Mrs. Morales sure hadn’t wasted any time since the sales agreement had been signed. She sighed and fidgeted with the napkin in her lap. “They don’t allow chickens there. I’ll miss my girls, but . . .”

  Oh, God. Was that a tear in her eye?

  “. . . I have to look at the bright side of things, right?”

  Guilt stabbed at Savvy.

  “You’re still doing the farmers’ market, then?”

  “Only tomorrow. Why not? It’s all ready to go. The equipment is packed. The stall rent is paid for the whole summer. It’s a good way to see my friends, tell them the news, and sell what produce we can before. . .” Her mouth forced a tight smile.

  Mr. Morales seemed as hard to read as ever. Did he hold the sale against Savvy? Blame her for derailing the Plan Familiar? Suddenly, her heart squeezed with empathy for the gruff immigrant. It must be hard to be left out of every conversation in which English was the primary language.

  “Mr. Morales?” she said. “Como estas?”

  He stopped chewing and raised suspicious eyes from his plate. After a pause, he replied, “Estoy bien.”

  “Espero que disfrutes esta próxima etapa de tu vida,” said Savvy.

  Mrs. Morales’s smile grew and grew. She patted her husband’s forearm, resting on the table. “Do you hear that? Savvy wishes you happiness in your new life. Isn’t that nice.”

  He grunted.

  Savvy shrugged. “Don’t be too impressed. It’s the only thing I know how to say in Spanish.”

  “You learned it just for him,” his wife replied. A look of pure appreciation shone from her eyes.

  Esteban went to the fridge and pulled out another Dos Equis. Savvy slid her untouched bottle toward Esteban’s father’s plate when she saw that his was low, and poured herself a scant glass of the cabernet she’d brought to show she still wanted to be part of the family’s little celebration.

  Later, when Madre had stepped out of the kitchen and Savvy was
drying the last dish, she asked Esteban, “Want to go to Bodega for a nightcap? I’ll drive.”

  At the bar, Esteban pounded yet another beer, while Savvy stuck with lemon water.

  Next to them, a fortyish couple debated the details of their upcoming vacation as if it were a federal case. The woman sported inch-long, squared-off fingernails with white-painted tips. Her husband wore one of those color-blocked, silk bowling shirts.

  “I say Florence. The art is better in Florence,” declared French Nails.

  “Your mother is so gracious. It felt wonderful to be invited to your house tonight,” said Savvy. “I really think a lot of your family, you know.”

  “It’s no secret Madre likes you.”

  “I can’t help being a little worried, though.”

  “You’re worried now? Now that it’s a done deal?”

  “Yes, I am.” Before, the Moraleses had been just the faceless farmers next door. Jeanne raved about them now and then, and Papa ranted. Now they were real people. “How do you think this is going to shake out for your family? It’s going to be a big change for them.”

  Esteban took another pull on his beer.

  “I vote Rome,” argued Bowling Shirt. “We can fly into Rome, get a car and maybe rent a villa in Tuscany, then circle back through Umbria. Maybe take a day trip to Sardinia.”

  “Seems like Madre’s almost looking forward to moving,” said Esteban sheepishly.

  “Are you sure? Because to me it looked like maybe she was only pretending to be excited.”

  “Well, she did make that appointment to see that new housing development.”

  Savvy twirled her glass thoughtfully. “I hope she’ll be happy.”

  “Don’t worry about Madre. She’s the backbone of the family. She’ll be fine.”

  “What about your dad? I’m trying as hard as I can with him.”

  Esteban shook his head. “It’s not you.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s your father. He’s tried to buy our land before. At first, when you brought us this latest offer, Padre thought it was just another of his ploys. That he was using you to go through me.”

  Savvy’s hand flew to her heart. “Papa tried to buy your land? When? What happened?”

  “Couple years ago. The same way as this time, a Realtor brought Padre an offer from a partnership. You know how our fathers feel about each other. They’d cross the street to avoid shaking hands. It didn’t get too far before Padre said nada, no way.”

  French Nails argued, “You got to decide last time. It’s my turn. I vote Florence. Suzie went there last year and she loved it. That’s where she got her Fendi coat.”

  “I swear to you, Esteban, Papa has nothing to do with this.”

  “That’s what I told Padre, but he doesn’t trust any of the big vintners. He’s afraid pretty soon all the land is going to be owned by anonymous corporations.”

  “I know land is being bought up by foreign companies. My father doesn’t like that any more than yours does. They both believe the people making the decisions that affect local policy should be people who actually live here.”

  Esteban raised a brow. “You asked.”

  Time to change the subject.

  “I called Anne Rathmell today. She said I could come back up and look at the still again Saturday morning, before I stop by the farmers’ market to see your family’s stall. I think I’m going to make her an offer on it. She’s never even used it, so I can’t imagine she’ll say no.”

  “Where are you going to put it, now that I won’t have a greenhouse anymore?”

  “I guess I’ll find a place in one of our outbuildings. It won’t take up that much space.”

  “You ought to consider setting up a real distillery if you’re planning to start processing oil this summer.”

  “Did I tell you? That guy in New York is putting together a kit to see if I have the potential to be a real nose.”

  He peeled the label on his beer. “That’s great, Savvy.”

  Her dream was growing while his was dying. Her heart ached for him. But letting on would only make things worse. Better to be encouraging.

  “Are you going to look for land somewhere else? Since you’re not interested in grape growing, you won’t have to limit yourself to the Valley. Judging by Rathmell Ranch, the poorer the soil, the better lavender likes it. You might be able to get something at a good price.”

  “With what?”

  “The proceeds from the sale, of course.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not taking any of the proceeds.”

  “What? Surely your parents will want you to share in it.”

  “They offered. I turned them down.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Why? It’s not my money. I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

  “Are you kidding? You told me yourself, you’ve been working that farm since you were a little boy!”

  “Yeah, helping Padre. He mapped out every bed. It was his farm. Everything was his idea.”

  She frowned.

  “Granted, now my parents will have a decent nest egg. But they could live another thirty years. You know how expensive everything is. Mortgages, medicine. After they buy a house, they’re going to need to invest the rest of the money. That’s all they have to live on.”

  “That Spanish expression that you used right after I told you that NTI had accepted the counteroffer. What was that again?”

  He lifted a hand and let it drop onto the bar. “Give me a hint. I was pretty whipsawed at the time.”

  “It sounded something like cambiar la vida.”

  “Oh, that. ‘My whole life’s about to change.’ ”

  “So if you’re not going to look for another place to grow lavender, then what are you planning to do?”

  “I don’t know,” said French manicure. “Maybe we should just cruise the Rhine, instead.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Esteban said, downing the rest of his beer.

  Chapter 27

  “Where are we going?” Savvy asked.

  “Head south.”

  Down the road a bit, Esteban said, “One good thing that’s coming out of this, I’m finally going to have my own place.”

  They both knew what that meant: privacy. But Savvy was still subdued.

  “See that school up here on the right? Pull in behind it. Park in the back where there aren’t any security lights, facing outward.”

  She did as he asked.

  “Shut her off.” In the dark, he saw her head turn toward him, wondering what they were doing there.

  “This way we’ll be sure to see any paparazzi that may have followed us.”

  There was nothing else to do then but come out with it. “Got a job with the utility company.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Going to be a lineman.”

  “The guy who climbs up the telephone poles and handles the high-voltage lines?”

  In answer to his nod, she sat there speechless.

  “What about your lavender?” she said after she recovered. “You had your heart set on that!”

  “I told you, that dream’s dead.”

  Through the gloom, he felt her glaring at him.

  His hands went palms up in his lap. “I have nothing anymore, Savvy. I’m not like those people at the bar. The one percent, whose biggest decision is where to take their next vacation. I’ve got real world problems. Paying rent. Making sure my aging parents are set up.”

  “Your parents are going to be fine,” she soothed. “Two million dollars is more money than they could ever have hoped to earn on that little farm. I can’t understand why you don’t want to keep pursuing your goal.”

  “That goal went hand in hand with carrying on the family tradition. I’m not sure one exists separate from the other.” He scrubbed a hand through his cropped hair, still not used to what the barber had said was the latest style.

  “Besides, I’d have to start all over. How lo
ng ’til I would turn a profit? I need to start making money right now.

  “When do you start your new job?”

  “Right after closing. ’Til then, it’s going to be insane, what with looking for new places to live for my parents and myself, figuring out what goes and what gets tossed or auctioned off, and so on.”

  “Whatever happened to putting your hands in the dirt? Watching the seasons change? Being your own boss?”

  “Maybe I’m not meant to be a farmer after all. It is kind of ironic, though. Just when those plants were starting to take hold . . .”

  He looked down at his arm, where Savvy had laid her hand. “Don’t pity me, Savvy. Don’t ever pity me.”

  “Esteban! I’d never—”

  He held up a halting hand. “Just listen.” His beer buzz was coming in handy to say what he needed to say next.

  “You see this parking lot? This used to be the place to go. For me and everyone else at Vintage High. I won’t tell you how many times I’ve parked here, with how many girls. They mean nothing to me. After you, there’s nobody. And I’m not talking about your money, this fancy car”—his eyes flitted around the dim interior, the rich upholstery, the expanse of fine wood trim—“or that big white house you grew up in.”

  She looked away, embarrassed. Because that was Savvy. She was more interested in meeting people, pursuing goals, discovering new things, than she was in money.

  “And it’s not because you look like a mermaid with glasses, either.”

  He heard a sniff, and he couldn’t tell if it was a muffled laugh or she was crying.

  “It’s because I love your heart, and your energy, and your curious mind. You have this craving to learn about everything . . . nature, people, business . . . nothing’s not interesting to you. You were even interested in my lame attempts to grow lavender. Do you know who else cared about that, over my whole lifetime? No one. Well, maybe Madre. Mothers are supposed to care about their sons.

  “You know what else I love about you? That can-do attitude. I’ll admit, it doesn’t hurt that a, you have money—shut up, let me finish—and b, brains. There’s nothing you can do about that. Those are things you were born with. Money opens doors, and so do smarts. But lots of rich, smart people aren’t as positive, as engaged with the world as you. When you want something, you just go for it and assume you’ll get it, and I have a feeling that usually, you do. You’re so confident and self-assured. Want an example? Soon as I showed you a few varieties of lavender, you were off and running, calling up people to pick their brains, visiting that ranch. Now you’re studying how to make perfume. You’re amazing. Rich or poor, that’s the kind of woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”