“I like that you are, and that you think you aren’t.”
“I think I should go.” She was smart enough and strong enough to walk away before she’d get emotionally attached and have her heart broken.
“I’ll follow you home.”
“When was the last time you drove in the snow?” Ben didn’t reply, his gaze still on her lips. “I didn’t think so. I don’t want to have to haul your ass out of a ditch so stay here. Play on your laptop. Style your hair. Go be sexy. Whatever it is you do at night.”
Alexis frowned when she pulled away from him so easily, and let herself out, driving home in silence and confusion.
Leaving her hot and horny and alone on a cold night, Ben was right about one thing. He was a total selfish bastard.
Another sleepless night thanks to Ben Martelli…and to her first attempt at ice wine. All night she tossed and turned, thoughts vacillating between grapes and wine and Ben. It brought a whole new meaning to The Grapes of Wrath. It had been two days since Ben’s rejection and insults and she’d barely seen him. Rumors around town were that he’d been visiting local business owners, making small talk. Swooning them with his good looks.
Knowing sleep would not come, she rolled out of bed before the sun, tugged on a pair of flannel lined jeans, wool socks, and a heavy sweatshirt, and did her bathroom routine. The handful of naps she’d snuck in over the past two days would have to suffice.
Minimal at its best. The grapes didn’t care how she looked, and neither did Hemsworth. Her giant dog had been up all night helping clean up broken branches, and had been waiting at the top of her steps for her to come home last night. The poor thing wasn’t used to Alexis being out at night.
After spending a few extra minutes rubbing Hemmy’s belly, Alexis scarfed down an egg and slathered an English Muffin with peanut butter, biting down on it as she flew down the stairs. It was too soon to taste the fermented wine, the yeast and sugars not having enough time to marry, so she busied herself by cleaning out the barn, tossing the scattered leaves and twigs to Hemmy so he could carry them to the burn pile. Her Bernese Mountain Dog was more useful than Ben and his annoying way of distracting her.
Two hours later she retreated to the warmth of the tasting room and fired up her laptop, checking on the status of the bottles she’d ordered yesterday afternoon. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours but she wanted to be sure they’d arrive in time to bottle her first batch of Crystal Ice.
A quick phone call confirmed the shipment would go out today and Alexis sat down, taking a breather for the first time in days. Between the turmoil of lust infecting her belly, the I-want-you-I-don’t-want-you messages from Ben, the thrill of her new wine, and the dread of Ben’s business plan, Alexis was destined to have a nervous breakdown.
She needed to have a heart to heart with her parents about the future of Coastal Vines before they turned into a conveyor belt assembly line production with no character.
Zipping up her parka, she trudged through the newly fallen snow to her parents’ home.
“Knock, knock. You guys up?” Of course they were. The Le Blancs had been waking at the crack of dawn since birth. Her parents didn’t sleep in, and were workhorses as well. Although they didn’t need to wake quite as early in the dead of winter with the only jobs testing the barreled wine and doing the bottling when ready.
“Hi, sweetie.” Her mother flipped a pancake at the stove and leaned over for a kiss. “You’re just in time for blueberry pancakes and apple fritters.”
“Both? And I smell bacon.” Alexis took out three plates from the hutch and set them on the rustic oak table.
“It’s the last of it. Shane, make sure to call the Petersons later today. We’re running low on pork chops as well,” Claudia called out over her shoulder. They’d been buying their pork and beef from the Peterson’s farm for years. There was simply no substitute for fresh, farm raised meat.
“Will do. Could use a few more chicks, too,” Shane replied from the living room.
“You have chickens?”
Two figures entered the kitchen from the living room, her father and Ben. “What are you doing here?” Hemmy scurried over, clearly ignoring the unspoken loyal-to-your-owner rule.
“Alexis!” her mother snapped.
“I thought he’d be halfway across the country by now.” She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to face Ben again, especially after the embarrassing episode last night.
“Mind your manners,” her mother scolded. “Take down another plate and ask Ben what he’d like to drink with his breakfast.”
“He’s eating with us?”
Ben and her father remained quiet, Ben with a mischievous look on his face, while her father’s brows furrowed in confusion.
Knowing better than to disobey her mother, she took down another plate and grabbed four forks and knives out of the drawer.
“I fly out this afternoon.”
“Good,” she mumbled loud enough for only Ben to hear. Instead of being offended, his grin deepened.
Keeping busy, Alexis set the butter and real maple syrup on the table, along with salt, pepper and ketchup. She poured coffee for everyone, not caring if Ben wanted any or not. She wasn’t going to look at him, much less talk to him. Not when he thought her to be some weak, damsel in distress.
“I take my coffee black, thank you.”
Tempted as she was to dump a pound of sugar in his coffee, she held back and set the mug in front of his plate.
Her father took the bacon out of the oven and drained it on paper towels while her mother flipped the last pancake, turned off the griddle, and took the fritters out of the fryer.
“Perfect timing. I have eggs staying warm as well.”
When the food was set on the table, the men stood behind their chairs until the women sat and then helped themselves to the feast.
“This is delicious, Claudia. The blueberries are from your field, and the apples, they’re from across the road?”
“Yes. The Marshalls are a lovely family. Douglas died of colon cancer over a decade ago. Poor Dorothy and the boys. They were both in high school at the time and helped their mother work the fields.” Alexis remembered the day of the funeral. First time she’d seen either of the Marshall boys cry. They’d been on the football team with her, Brady her mentor when she was a freshman. They’d always been close friends, but never had the desire for anything more. Even though he looked mighty fine without his shirt on, he’d always be more like a brother to her.
“Brady runs the operation, and now that Carter is home from overseas he’s working full time as well. You met them the other night but probably didn’t have much time to talk with either of them,” Shane added while drowning his pancakes in syrup. “Alexis could tell you more. She and Brady are very close.”
Alexis could feel Ben’s gaze on her, his jaw clenched as if thinking not nice things. She quirked an eyebrow and shoveled a forkful of eggs in her mouth. Sure, she was close with Brady. They swapped fertilizer recipes and discussed bugs, vermin, and the weather forecast.
Ben rested his fork on his plate. “I didn’t know you had chickens. Any other animals? Other than Hemsworth?”
At the sound of his name, he let out a bark and her father tossed Hemmy a piece of bacon. “Just the henhouse behind the barn. Claudia and I thought about getting a couple goats some day. People around here are into goat’s milk and cheese.”
Ben, deep in thought, rubbed his top lip with the pad of his index finger. Alexis paused momentarily and couldn’t help but stare. The man was beautiful, there was no denying it, and she so desperately wanted to know what was running through that mind of his.
“I’ll clear the table so you can share your new idea with us, Ben.” Shane stood awhile later when they were done, picking up the serving dishes.
“You went to a lot of trouble to make me those fritters, and to let me taste the last of that incredible bacon, Claudia. Let me do the dishes.” Ben stacked the three plates on his and b
rought them to the sink.
“I can’t say I have any problem sitting here with my daughter watching two handsome men clean up the kitchen.” Claudia winked at Alexis and sipped her coffee.
California boys weren’t supposed to exude southern charm, but Ben dripped in it, trying to woo both Claudia and Alexis.
No, she wasn’t fooled. It was the way those west coast people operated. Show you the bright and shiny until you’re suckered in then leave you hanging. Not that she had any experience with people from the west coast. Just from people who left her hanging.
When the dishes were cleared and her father had wiped down the table, Ben retrieved his laptop and a manila folder from the living room.
“I listened to your concerns, Alexis, and spent a lot of time these past few days researching your town, talking to business owners.”
“Trying to convince them Coastal Vines should turn into a corporation?”
Ben grinned. “I’ve never suggested you go corporate.”
She knew that, but that’s how it felt. Taking away the hometown feel of their crop, their work, their wine, would diminish their reputation. Would defeat the purpose in their mission to be a family-run, rural vineyard and winery.
“I took a completely different approach. This time about community.”
“So now you want Crystal Cove to turn into the tourist capital of Maine?”
“Your town is hardly set up for that. There’s not a real center of town. Just a short Main Street—”
“Seaview Drive,” she interrupted, wanting to point out his generalization with the town.
“…a pier for fishing boats with not enough room to launch recreational boats.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly,” he repeated, “why Coastal Vines needs to become the new center of town.”
“We’re a mile in from the coast, which is where the businesses are.”
“Which is where the larger businesses are. Come inland and you have Marshall Farm, Courtway’s vegetable stand and homemade jams, the Peterson’s pig farm, Jenna Snyder’s Coastal Art. The list goes on.”
“We’re all nickel and diming it here.”
“I know.” Ben smiled and opened up the manila folder. He scattered sketches, drawings, lists, and a timeline across the table. “You’re what draws everyone in.”
“I think I see where you’re going with this.” Her father, falling for the trap, leaned across the table and picked up one of the sketches.
“Your function hall will be the hub, the center of Crystal Cove. In the fall you can host a bake-off. Pies, desserts, jams and other specialties made by the people of Crystal Cove. A holiday fair in December. In the spring Jenna Snyder can do an art show; I’m sure there are other artists in town as well. I heard about one who does pottery. Another who does stained glass. During apple season the Marshalls can hook up their horses and wagon, and even offer rides to and from the Seaglass Inn.”
“Our road isn’t equipped for that much traffic.”
“The western edge of your property is crap soil,” Ben interjected.
“Thanks.”
“It’s true, honey. It’s why we never farmed over there. Thought about selling off a piece on the northern edge and building a home or two.” Her father set the sketch down and picked up the timeline. “What’s your plan for it?”
“Get a bushhog and knock down the shrubs. I drove by yesterday; there aren’t many big trees. We can keep them. They’ll provide some shady parking. The rest we tear down, or ask the fire department to do a controlled burn. No need to pave the parking area. Keeping it looking like a field adds to the atmosphere.”
“We could hire local musicians to play on weekends.”
“Great idea, Claudia.”
“People will come to Crystal Cove, not only to capture the gorgeous views of the ocean and eat Willie’s fresh-off-the-boat lobster, but to be part of a community. And you, Coastal Vines, will be the center of it all. The grand hosts, offering your space to promote and support your neighbors. In turn, you’ll be selling out of your wine before the Fourth of July.”
“That’s not very good for business. What if we can’t keep up?” Alexis didn’t want to be drawn in by the sketches, but she loved his concept of the expanded parking between the barn and the tasting room. The wine barrel water features looked pretty damn cool, too.
“Go with me on this one.” He looked her in the eye before handing her a spreadsheet of numbers. “You can stay true to your traditional roots, keep producing your Maine grown reds and whites and ice wine, but branch out a little. Support Marshall Farm and the Courtway’s raspberries by blending them into something worthy of their crops.”
“That’s good business,” her father agreed.
“Since you have no talent in naming wines.” He smirked before continuing, “Ask neighbors for help.”
“Or we could hold a contest.”
“Claudia. I’m going to have to hire you as my assistant if you keep coming up with these ideas.”
Her mother blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. Even Hemmy curled around Ben’s feet. No one was unaffected by the man’s charm.
“And you think people are going to go for the Le Blancs taking over the town? Why isn’t The Happy Clam or the Seaglass Inn the center of everything? They’ve been around just as long as us.”
“If they had the space, they’d be ideal as well. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough parking off Seaview Drive to support these events.” Ben kept one hand on Hemmy’s head, scratching behind his ears, and opened his laptop with the other.
“Recent surveys from other small towns in New England that host annual, and some tri-annual events, show no increase in crime or property damage but a huge influx in revenue. Crystal Cove will be a peaceful, sleepy town most weeks. It will be up to you, your town hall, and maybe a committee of some sort to plan out weekends that the business owners agree on.”
“Our town meetings could use a boost in attendance. Brady Marshall and I are regulars, and a few grumpy old men,” her father said as he poured more coffee and plucked a piece of bacon from the counter.
“The business owners come together to help organize the big events. You can still plan your own happenings here. Like Claudia suggested, having local musicians play from noon to four on a Saturday afternoon, encouraging couples, and even families to come out with a picnic and buy a bottle of wine.”
“Families? Wine isn’t exactly kid friendly.”
“Ah. But why not?” Ben rose to his feet, Hemmy staying at his heels as he stood at the head of the kitchen table. “Your chickens and goats, maybe a sheep or two could entertain the kids while their parents sip on Maine-grown wine and listen to folk music.”
“Who’s tending to these animals? You’re adding a lot more work to our load,” she argued.
Alexis didn’t like how Ben’s plan was coming together. It was all too…perfect. He’d listened to her, taken the commercialism out, and centered the plans around family and community. It’s what she’d always wanted but never had the ideas or confidence to organize.
“Do you have 4H clubs in the area? They’re always looking for volunteer hours. You have so much unused land. Take advantage of it. Give back to the community.”
Ben rested his palms on the sink and stared out the oversized bay window. Her mother’s herb garden filling the sill, soaking in the winter sun.
“Did you and your sister ever have a swing set out back?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I put up a tire swing when the girls were little. Gracie would swing all day. Once Alexis took up football in the seventh grade she used it as a tackle dummy. Knocked the tire and the branch flat to the ground.
Alexis shrugged. Yeah, totally the sex goddess Ben was after. She bet there weren’t too many women he’d slept with who could do that.
“I see quite a few strong branches out there. Tire swings. Maybe a tree house. Not too high off the ground. Kids would play in that for hours.”
Claudia tsked again. “Alexis, you’re being rude. I’m sorry, Ben. As we told you before, our daughter is more attached to this land than we are. It’s no secret that we’ll pass it on to her when we grow too old to keep up with the work. And if Gracie wants a piece of it, it’s hers as well.”
“Grace doesn’t want to get her hands dirty.”
“The princess and the tomboy. If two girls could ever be more opposite.” Shane chuckled and joined Ben at the sink. “I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands. There’s a vocational program at the high school. Kids take on projects around the town. Maybe it’s something they would be interested in.”
“And someday our grandchildren could play in it.” Claudia joined Shane at the sink and leaned her head on his shoulder.
Alexis kept the table in between the threesome at the window. Weren’t they a picture with their ideas and plans and smiles? Even Hemmy snuggled up to them, ignoring her.
And what really irked her most was not the pretty picture they appeared to be, but how everything Ben came up with in his new plan was so amazingly right. He’d listened to her complaints, her suggestions, even reading her unspoken thoughts.
Never did she express her desire for the community to come together, to be like one of those towns you read about in cozy mysteries. Yet Ben knew. He’d taken the time to talk with the townsfolk, not bulldozing them with sales pitches either.
When Hope had called her two days ago with questions about the gorgeous Italian visitor she’d had at The Happy Clam, Alexis did all she could not to completely berate him. She wasn’t a gossiper, didn’t say mean things about people, and Hope would know something was up if she expressed anything beyond professionalism regarding the marketing strategist her parents had hired.
No, not hired. The reputable man came to their little town pro bono, at his parents’ request. Granted, he could have come kicking and screaming, not wanting anything to do with Crystal Cove. Only, if that were the case, he wouldn’t have put so much attention to detail into reworking his entire strategy. He wouldn’t have met with the locals, shaken the gnarled and fishy hands of the fishermen, treated the elusive new girl in town, Lily, with adoring respect.
At First Blush (A Well Paired Novel Book 1) Page 12
