by Jen Talty
Eliza Jane was the sexiest woman he’d ever met, and she didn’t even have to try. She had this natural ease about her that screamed confidence.
However, she had a lot to learn about longevity in winemaking.
She narrowed her eyes, and the crinkles etched in her forehead grew longer and wider. “What the hell are you babbling about? You don’t know shit about being creative and trying to master a new blend. Nor do you care.”
“Oh. And you know this about me?”
“Of course, I do.” She brushed the hair that had blown in front of her face away. “I’ve worked for three very large, corporate vineyards, and I’ve met a few winemakers just like you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s simple,” she said. “You’re comfortable making quality. But you’re not willing to take a risk.”
“That’s bullshit.” Who the hell was this woman to give him this psychobabble crap? “And while that might be true for all those other winemakers, it’s not for me.” He turned on his heels and took three steps before stopping and marching right back to her until his nose was only inches from hers. “Growing up as Weezer’s son in Candlewood Falls was hard enough. Going out into the wine business was even harder. Do you know that some wineries wouldn’t even give me an interview because of whose kid I was?”
“Why wouldn’t they want to have a conversation?”
“Because they thought my mom sent me to steal their secrets, or that I wasn’t serious about being in their employ for any length of time. When I finally landed a job, I was underpaid and given all the shit work. I literally started in a position we’d get summer help for.”
“I’m sorry you struggled,” she said. “But you’ve paid your dues and are in that nice, cushy job without any risk now. I just don’t understand why you don’t want to create your own blend and put your name on it. Especially when you have the resources to do it.”
“Are you serious right now?” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed to rein in his anger and frustration. Getting in a fight with a woman that his parents both believed could help put their winery back on top, who was also his so-called perfect match, wasn’t a good idea. He had to agree with his father about his mom’s wicked intuition about certain things like people’s love lives, but if she was listening to Faith’s nana, well, that was a different story.
“Yes.” Eliza Jane squared her shoulders. “Not that I want you here—”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“I’m not going to even go there with you, and you know why.” She planted her hands on her hips. “You have the world at your fingertips right here, and yet you chose to turn your back on all of it. And I don’t understand why.”
“Because my parents screwed me,” he said, wishing he could take the words back the second they flew from his lips.
“What?”
He glanced at the sky. A big, white, puffy cloud danced across the sun’s bright rays. He’d always loved the way the sun shone on the grapevines. It reminded him of a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
“From where I’m standing, your parents have given you everything,” she said.
“Except the ability to put my name on a bottle of wine.” He lowered his chin. “Not that I need that, because I don’t. But you keep bringing it up. And for a long time, it was an issue for me. I mean, my name is Malbec. That is a bottle of wine. And my last name is on seven different blends.” He pressed his finger to her plump lips when she tried to speak. “I never felt the need to create my own because the second I went out into the world, the industry looked at me as if I were some spoiled kid who’d just go running back to Mommy.”
“Is that the real reason you haven’t come back?”
“Anyone ever tell you that sometimes talking with you can cause whiplash?”
She let out a little chuckle. “I’ve been accused of that.”
“Look. I know you think that I’m sticking my nose up at what I was born into—”
She poked his forearm. “You don’t know me or what I’m thinking.”
“Then tell me that’s not true.”
She blinked. Slowly. “Fine. That’s exactly what I believe.”
“And that’s what a lot of people have thought about me over the years. But it’s not true. Sure, when I first left, I was rebelling against my mom and even my grandfather for things you have no clue about—and I’m not going to tell you. It’s family business. However, as I honed my skills, I realized something that my mom had been trying to beat into my head for years. And that’s: You can’t rush a good wine. It’s ready whenever it tells you it is, and no matter where I work, or whose wine I make, my role is to make sure the wine has the proper tools to mature.” He pounded his chest. “As arrogant as this sounds, without me, that wine has no chance. That’s why I’ve been offered three jobs in the last eighteen months, and why my company gets nervous every time I come home.”
“You’re pretty full of yourself.”
“I’m good at what I do.”
“So am I,” she said. “But I don’t have the last name River.” She held up her hand. “My turn to talk.”
“All right.”
“I get you might have had some hard knocks because of who your mother and grandfather and even great-grandfather are. Trust me. I understand that better than most. But the difference between you and me is that I use it as an excuse to take life by the horns and take chances with my talents.” She waved her hand. “Your family grows some fine grapes. It’s a shame you don’t want to create a Reserve Malbec River blend that would put that fancy, expensive one your current employer makes to shame.”
His heart raced, and his palms grew sweaty. It wasn’t that he was worried he couldn’t do it. He knew damn well that he could.
It all came back to that stupid secret. But he was as stubborn as his mother, and he wasn’t about to cave.
“That’s your opinion.”
A slight breeze kicked up and brushed a few strands of hair in front of her face.
He reached out and gently tucked them behind her ear.
“Hey, Malbec? Is that you?” a male voice rang out.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Caleb?” It had been years since the man had been in town for anything more than a hot minute. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Trying to buy a bottle or two of wine.”
“I’ll go take care of him.” Eliza Jane took a step forward.
He curled his fingers around her forearm. “He’s an old friend. I’ve got this.”
“You don’t work here.” She pursed her lips.
“Whenever I’m home, I help out. And for as long as my parents own this place, that’s not going to change. So, for the next week, I suggest you get used to seeing my face around here.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’m also not going to stop having conversations with my family about selling, and I know I have my siblings on my side. It doesn’t mean you won’t be able to—”
“Your friend is waiting.” She wiggled free. “I appreciate your help with him, but after that, make yourself scarce. Since I’ll be slowly taking over some of the operational and management roles, I think it would be better if you didn’t hang around. It will only confuse the employees.”
This was going downhill again, and he didn’t want to make it worse. But every time he opened his mouth, he put his foot in it. However, he wouldn’t become invisible. He had every intention of being at the winery, every chance he got. “I’ll be right there, Caleb,” Malbec said. “We’re not done talking.” He spun a hundred and eighty degrees and made a beeline for the main building. He didn’t dare glance over his shoulder for fear she might be hot on his heels. “So sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Who’s the hottie?” Caleb stretched out his arm.
“My mom’s new manager,” Malbec admitted, staring at Caleb’s bruised face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I had a make-out session with the pave
ment.”
“It doesn’t look like it was very good for you.” Malbec held open the door.
“It wasn’t good for my motorcycle, either. Which is why I’m still in this godforsaken town. I’m waiting for parts. Otherwise, I’d be long gone by now.”
“I have to admit, I’m shocked to see you.” Malbec found a nice bottle of merlot from a few years back. “This is a good year, and a fine blend, unless you’re having fish. Then I’d go for a white.”
“Nope. This will work.” Caleb held the bottle in his scratched-up hand. “What brings you back?”
“My mom and her games.”
“Oh. That sounds like fun. How is the Weezer? I have to admit, some of my fondest childhood memories are from some of our camping trips and her crazy antics.”
“She’s always entertaining, that’s for sure.” Malbec rang up the wine and put it in a bag. “Where are you staying?”
“That, you might not believe.” Caleb stuffed his wallet into his back pocket.
Malbec arched a brow. “Are you staying with Brooklyn?”
“And that’s why you got better grades than I did in school.” Caleb held up the bag. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you anytime soon. Because once my bike is fixed, I’m getting the fuck out of this town.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Caleb laughed. “Not if that gorgeous lady continues turning your head. Though I suspect she’s way out of your league.”
“Brooklyn’s out of yours.”
“Ain’t that the truth?”
Malbec leaned against counter and watched his old buddy limp out of the store. Caleb had gotten a raw deal. Merlot had decided to become a parole officer in part because of what had happened to Caleb years ago. It pained Malbec that this town hadn’t been able to see the truth, especially when his mom had done her best to make sure everyone knew that Caleb hadn’t done what he was accused of.
But this town had a long memory, and a few nasty people that didn’t let the past go.
He groaned. Somehow, he needed to get his parents on the same page. It had to start with his father. If he could get his dad to see the value in selling, then they could all gang up on his mom.
With Eliza Jane in the mix, that seemed impossible, but he still had to try.
No, he had to succeed, and that was something that Malbec was very good at.
Eliza Jane
Eliza Jane spent the next two hours pacing in the vineyard as she waited for Malbec to leave the building. She didn’t want to deal with him, mostly because she knew she’d say something she’d regret.
Again.
She just couldn’t help herself when it came to Malbec. He had her all tied up in knots between the sexual tension and the frustration over the fact that he had no idea what he’d left behind. She had no right to judge him.
But she did.
She continued fiddling with displays, but she couldn’t focus. Therefore, her creativity was out the window. She had a list of things to do a mile long. However, not a single one was getting done. Not today. Ugh. Malbec was proving to be a problem in more ways than one.
The bell on the door caught her attention.
A woman wearing an oversized hat, extra-large, round sunglasses, and a London Fog raincoat stepped into the shop. She didn’t bother taking off her shades, but she did adjust them slightly.
“May I help you?” Eliza Jane asked as she peered out the window. A slight drizzle tickled the windowpanes while the sun tried to peek through a single dark cloud that loomed in the blue sky.
“Are you in here all alone?” the woman asked.
That was an odd question, but Eliza Jane had decided that everyone in Candlewood Falls had idiosyncrasies. It was just a small-town thing, and she’d have to get used to it. And as long as she didn’t develop any quirks, she’d be just fine. “I’m the only one in the gift shop, but we have other people at the winery. What is it you’re looking for?”
The woman glanced around as she slowly waltzed between the displays, gliding her fingers across the tabletops. “Just a couple of bottles of the merlot, and maybe some cheese and snacks that are a good pairing.”
“I can certainly help you with that.”
“Are any of the Rivers here?”
“I’m sorry, not right now,” Eliza Jane said. “Are you friends with the family?”
“We have a history.” The woman removed her glasses.
“Oh. We met last week at the coffee shot.”
The woman nodded. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. I have a family obligation.”
“No worries. About how many people will this be for?”
“Twenty.”
“And you only want two bottles?” Eliza Jane pulled down six. “I can give you twenty percent off on the total purchase.” She turned and opened the fridge, pulling out a medium-sized tray of cheeses and various fruits before finding crackers and some nuts to go with it. “This should be more than enough.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Should I give a message to Weezer or any of the River family?”
“No. I’m sure I’ll run into them soon enough.” The woman handed Eliza Jane three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.
Thankfully, she had the cash to make the change. “Can I help you carry this to your car?”
“I’ll be fine.” The woman shoved her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. “You have a nice day.”
Eliza Jane rested her hands on the counter and let out a long breath. Weird didn’t do that woman justice.
But she did offer a nice reprieve from all the thoughts swirling around in Eliza Jane’s mind about Malbec. He both infuriated and intoxicated her at the same time, and that could prove to be her downfall if she wasn’t careful.
6
Malbec
Malbec chose to stay at his father’s house, only to wake and find that his father had spent the night with his mother.
Their relationship continued to be a mystery and would probably remain that way forever. He’d asked numerous times why they’d gotten divorced at all, and his father always told them that they fought less when they had a little space between them, and his mother had said the same thing.
Something about them being too headstrong to cohabitate but that they couldn’t live without each other.
It made no fucking sense.
And yet, Malbec’s childhood made perfect sense, and that gave him a goddamned headache.
He stepped forward and stared at the special board at the local coffee shop in town and smiled. There was nothing like small-town coffee, especially in Candlewood Falls. Every time he entered the building, it smelled as if he’d walked into his childhood. It was a combination of coffee mixed with cinnamon, sugar, apples, and a dash of maple. It made his tastebuds come alive. No other coffee shop in the world had ever made his entire body jolt with just a single whiff. “I’ll have whatever the person in front of me just ordered. It sounded awesome. Oh. And how about two of those pumpkin muffins?” His stomach growled.
“Coming right up,” the young girl behind the cash register said. “You can wait over there.” Malbec put his credit card in the reader and waited for his receipt.
“Malbec River? Is that you?” a male voice asked.
Malbec spun on his heels and stared at a familiar face. “Sam Wilde. Look at you, all grown up.” Sam was about eight years younger than Malbec. Actually, he’d graduated a year after Merlot. While Sam and Merlot traveled in much different circles—Merlot being a hockey player, and Sam being, well, a nerd—Sam was a nice enough kid. And they had known each other for their entire lives, considering that Sam’s family owned the local apple orchard, and the two businesses did many local festivals together.
Sam stretched out his arm.
Malbec took his hand in a firm handshake.
“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Sam said. “Are you here long?”
�
�Just a few days.” Malbec didn’t see the need to elaborate, especially since his order had just been called. “I have to run. Say hello to the family for me.”
“Will do. Have a great day,” Sam said.
Malbec took his coffee and muffins and headed outside, finding a table where the three youngest siblings were already situated with their coffees, breakfast pastries, and long faces.
The youngest of the group, Zinfandel, was only twenty-two. She’d just graduated college last year with a degree in marketing and sales. She joined the twins, Nebbiolo and Pinot Noir—or Noir—who were twenty-six, in sales for the family business. Specifically, selling the wine. However, the winery didn’t employ them. They worked for a local large corporation that carried many of the local liquors.
“I can’t believe what Mom did,” Zinfandel said before plopping part of her chocolate croissant into her mouth. Of all the girls, she was the most outspoken. Of course, she was the youngest. In order to get a word in with this group, she practically had to scream. But she held her own, and she was wicked smart.
“Are you kidding. You’re the one who called it,” Noir said. “Not to mention, she’s been trying to find ways to get this guy home for ten years. And I, for one, can’t blame her.”
“Me, neither,” Nebbiolo added. “We need you. Like, bad. Sales suck, and they are only going to get worse. Our reputation is shit, and the wine isn’t getting any better.”
“It’s not that bad.” Zinfandel took a sip of her fruity, blended tea drink, topped with extra whipped cream. The girl had a major sweet tooth, and she’d never developed a taste for coffee. She said it made her want to vomit. Of course, she’d said that about wine the first time she tried it and now she was an expert. “And this chick that Mom hired is good. As in about as good as you.”
“Mom would never say that.” Malbec cleared his throat.
“It’s true.” Nebbiolo waved his chocolate chip muffin in the air. “And she’s got a head for business with a creative flare. She’s like a little angel sent from the grape gods.”
