Tasting Notes

by Cate Ashwood

  Rush growled. No one called him by his real name, no one other than his mother. At least not since he left town all those years ago. He earned the nickname when he started college, and it stuck. Since then, Rush was all anyone called him. “Not jealous,” he insisted.

  “Didn’t think so.” Cherie winked and slid the check onto the corner of the table. “Whenever you gentlemen are ready.”

  “Where’s my buddy?” Rush gushed as he walked through the door to a happy dog. He loved coming home to Casper. He never felt better than when he saw himself through the eyes of his dog. Unconditional love at its best.

  He crouched down on the ground, ruffling Casper’s thick fur and roughhousing with him. The dog barked, jumping around, bucking his back legs out with excitement. Rush rolled onto his back, letting him jump back and forth over his belly. It was one of Casper’s favorite games and Rush’s too, if he was honest. He enjoyed the easy happiness that came from spending time with his dog.

  When Casper became tired of their game, he flopped over onto his back and let Rush scratch his belly.

  “All right, bud. Let’s get you a treat.” At the word treat, Casper’s ears perked up, his energy miraculously restored as he bounded toward the kitchen, where Rush kept the Milk-Bones. The dog nosed at the cupboard where they were kept. Rush knew he was able to get into it on his own, but he waited patiently on the mat near the sink for Rush to grab a couple and toss them toward him. He was a good dog.

  When Casper had made doubly sure he’d licked up all the crumbs—real and imaginary—that might have tumbled onto the floor, he and Rush retired to the living room, where Rush fell back onto the couch, one leg hanging off, and grabbed the remote. Casper jumped up next to him, curling against his thigh. Rush flicked through the channels, looking for something that would hold his attention. He settled on a true crime show, watching the shoddy reenactments and trying not to roll his eyes at the subpar acting.

  His mind wandered first to Sebastian, who seemed… off. He was usually happy—at least happier than he seemed that night. Rush made a mental note to meet up with him the next day and grill him for answers if he had to. It wasn’t like him to be sullen.

  From there his mind wandered back to the man he saw at the pub. It bothered Rush that he was still on his mind. He had been since he set eyes on him hours earlier. Every few minutes he mentally retraced the lines of the man’s muscles, visible as the soft fabric of his shirt moved against his body. It was quite the body. Rush could tell that much from looking at him. Clearly the man kept in shape, but he looked like the type to keep his physique at the hands of an overpaid personal trainer. Still, whoever that trainer was, he did good work.

  Rush exhaled sharply. The problem would take care of itself come morning. The guy was leaving, and Rush would never have to see him again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Which one is yours?” she asked.

  West pointed to his car, the sleek black paint job gleaming under the streetlights. The sun had set while he was inside, and the cool mountain air descended, settling in the valley. Suddenly curling up in a comfortable bed seemed worlds more desirable than driving three more hours to the ocean. It would still be there in the morning.

  “Swanky,” she sang as she sidled around the passenger’s side and waited for West to unlock it. They got in, and she directed him back out onto the main road and east, toward Churchill Street.

  “Where are you from?” she asked, unwrapping a mint and popping it into her mouth.

  “Chicago.”

  “Ooh, that’s a long drive from there to here. Are you going to be in Canyon Creek long?”

  “No, just passing through on my way to the coast. I need a place to crash for the night.”

  “That’s no problem. We have lots of space. And my place is not like the floral potpourri bed-and-breakfasts you’ve seen before. I think you’ll like it,” she assured him.

  The drive was short, only a few blocks—Canyon Creek consisted of little more than that—and they were pulling up in front of a blue house with white shutters. The driveway was lined with boxwoods, and a large evergreen took up most of the front yard.

  “Here we are,” Ambrose said, getting out of the car. West grabbed his things and followed her up the front steps and into the house. She was right. West hadn’t been in many bed-and-breakfasts before. None, in fact, but this wasn’t anything like he thought it would be. The exterior of the house was much like the other houses in town—old but well maintained and full of character—but the inside was so much more than that.

  “Did you do all the decorating yourself?” West asked, impressed. The interior held all the character of the exterior but with modern updates. The colors were bright and vibrant and created a warm, welcoming environment. West felt immediately at home, despite the fact that the décor was the polar opposite of what he’d chosen for his home and office.

  Ambrose nodded. “I did. Ever since I was a little girl, I loved this house. It sat empty for years, believe it or not, so when I finally was able to make the purchase, I was over the moon. I spent two years renovating and updating, but I think it was worth it.”

  “I agree. And real estate is always a sound investment, especially when you put so much into increasing the value of it. I don’t know what the market around here is like, but I would hazard a guess you’ve doubled your investment.”

  “Huh. I’ve never thought of it like that before. I loved the house, and now I live here and run my business. I’m pretty happy with how everything worked out. You must be tired, though. I’ll show you to your room,” she said.

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  She led him up the stairs to a bedroom on the left of the landing. She unlocked the door and then handed him the key. They stepped inside, and West was pleased with what he saw. The modern comfort from downstairs was translated perfectly into the sleeping spaces.

  It would do more than nicely for the night.

  “Yell if you need anything, but I think you should have everything in here. There are more linens in the closet, towels and travel toiletries in case you’ve forgotten anything….” She paused, looking like she was trying to remember what came next. “You’re actually our only guest at the moment, so breakfast is at whatever time you prefer.”

  “I don’t normally eat breakfast.”

  “Well, then tomorrow will be a real treat for you. You can’t have a B and B without the second B. Nine o’clock sound all right?”

  “Sounds perfect,” West replied.

  She bade him good night and closed the door behind her. West knelt, unzipped his suitcase, and grabbed his bag of toiletries from the side. He made quick work of teeth brushing and face washing before he stripped down and climbed into the oversized bed. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the house settling. Gentle pops and creaks were the only thing that split the silence of the night. It was something West wasn’t used to, all that quiet. Chicago was always moving, even in the middle of the night. It was a nice change. It was peaceful here.

  Before long, West fell into a deep sleep.

  After the sun rose the next morning he awoke to the smell of bacon frying somewhere in the house. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was a quarter to nine. How long had it been since he’d slept past six? He couldn’t remember. College? He climbed out of bed and got ready, throwing on his clothes before making his way downstairs. Ambrose was in the kitchen making breakfast.

  “Good morning, Ambrose,” he said.

  “Call me Rosie. Everyone around here does.”

  “Sure. Can I help with anything?”

  “Nope, you’re the guest. Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee or juice?”

  It was highly unlikely Rosie would be able to whip him up a no-foam, triple shot, vanilla latté with a caramel drizzle, and for once, West didn’t feel like he needed the caffeine to get through the day. “Juice would be great if you’ve got it.”

  “Of course. Orange or cranberry?”

/>   “Orange, please.” West could see through the doorway that there was a formal dining room directly adjacent to the kitchen. Instead he sat down at the small table in the kitchen. Rosie poured him a large glass of juice and set it down in front of him.

  “Breakfast should only be another couple of minutes.”

  “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

  “I hope so. I was getting complaints from some of the guests, so I took some culinary classes in Redding a few months back. Apparently people didn’t enjoy burned toast and weak coffee for breakfast.”

  “Isn’t that a long drive for a class?”

  “Says the man who drove here from Chicago.”

  West laughed. “Point taken. In any case it’s better than I could manage.”

  “Ah, so your offer to help this morning was only for show, then?”

  “No, but I would have eaten whatever I burned.”

  “Not a whiz in the kitchen?”

  “To be honest, I don’t really know. I haven’t had much of a chance to cook in recent years. These days it’s mostly takeout. The only home-cooked meals I get are from my secretary, who takes pity on me every once in a while and brings me something in Tupperware to reheat when I get home.”

  Rosie’s expression was somber. “That sounds a little sad, actually. You don’t have a wife? Family?”

  “No, it’s just me. My grandfather died a few years ago. He was the only family I had left.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” West lied. “It was a long time ago. It’s why I’m here, actually. I’m driving to Eureka today to scatter his ashes in the ocean. He was in the Navy. He would have wanted to be taken back to sea.” It was a good reminder of why he’d traveled all those miles. He had no idea why he chose to spill all the details of his life to this woman. But he liked Canyon Creek and he liked Rosie. He’d momentarily forgotten he was on a mission to lay his grandfather to rest.

  “That’s really nice of you.”

  Rosie served up breakfast, and the conversation drifted to lighter topics. The food was good, the company better, and West ate slowly, delaying his leaving. He couldn’t put a name on the reason for his sudden urge to dawdle, other than that this was the best breakfast meeting he ever had.

  Before long it was time for him to hit the road. He’d dragged his feet long enough. He packed up his things, thanked Rosie for breakfast and for her hospitality, made sure to leave her a large tip on top of what he owed her for the room, then said good-bye and was on his way.

  He made it nearly to the edge of town. The city limits were within his sightline, and for some reason West felt as though he had forgotten something. There was a strange sort of tugging at his insides. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling, but it took root, winding its way through his chest and settling in deep. He slowed his car and pulled over on the shoulder of the highway that ran through town.

  He was being ridiculous. There was no reason for him to stay. He had a job to do, and then he needed to go home and take his place at the head of his company once more. Strangely, he hadn’t given work a single thought since he drove into Canyon Creek, and thinking about it now only made his head ache. He took a deep breath and leaned back, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind. It felt like one of the stress headaches he used to get when he first started the company. They were a bitch and fucking difficult to get rid of too.

  He let his head fall to the side. Opening his eyes, he tried to get them to focus. When they finally cooperated, they landed on the small building perched on an outcropping on the hill. It looked like a tiny shed, the wood grayed with age. Next to it stood six barrels stacked in a pyramid formation. West squinted to make out the words in faded white paint on the side of the building.

  Lennox Hill Winery.

  He was immediately whisked back into memories from his childhood, when his grandfather took him on vacation to a resort vineyard on a cliff overlooking Lake Michigan. He was fourteen at the time and utterly confused as to why his grandfather would take him to a winery. He remembered the attitude he had in the car as they drove down the winding driveway toward the main guesthouse. His grandfather really was a saint for putting up with his bullshit.

  Once they checked in to their room, his grandfather took him out to explore the field of vines. The lushness of the leaves and the warmth of the sun that day were still vivid in West’s mind. When his grandfather showed him the spot where his parents exchanged marriage vows, his grandfather’s reasons for bringing him there snapped into focus, and West cried for the first time since their funeral.

  West shook off the memory and got out of his car, then walked up the driveway toward the larger building that was set back from the edge of the hill. There was a small patch of barren grapevines that grew in the center of an oval-shaped area at the top of the drive. The main building was concrete, the corners and details done in orange brick, and the stalks of vines that would be bushy and full come summertime grew along the walls.

  Despite the more contemporary feeling of this winery, the atmosphere was reminiscent of the vineyard on Lake Michigan. West pushed open the front door—a large wooden door carved intricately with a scene from the mountains, an etched glass arch above it—and stepped through into the shop. A large bar ran along the back, bottles of wine displayed with empty glasses at intervals along the surface. Tables created from halved barrels with glass tops held more bottles, as did the crisscrossed recesses that ran floor to ceiling along two of the walls.

  “Welcome to Lennox Hill. Can I offer tastings of anything for you?”

  West heard the voice behind him. He turned to see an elderly woman dressed smartly in a gray dress. Her glasses were adorned with crystals, and her lips were bright red.

  West glanced down at his watch. It was a few minutes shy of noon. He really should be halfway to Eureka by now, but one little tasting wouldn’t take long. He had stopped in after all. For what, he still wasn’t sure.

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  The woman smiled warmly and walked behind the bar. Gesturing to the bottles perched in front of him, she asked, “Any preference?”

  “I usually prefer reds,” he replied. “Merlot or Cabernet if you have it.”

  “We do.”

  She launched into an explanation of the different varietals and vintages. West was only half paying attention. The other part of him was soaking in the warm comfort of the place. Dark woods and soft edges made the space relaxing and inviting. He sipped at the two glasses she poured for him, just enough liquid to pool at the base of the glass. Both were impressively good.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to sample?” she asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “A tour, perhaps?”

  He really shouldn’t, but the offer to show him the behind-the-scenes areas of this place had him tempted. “No, I really should be going,” he said. He employed some of the staunch discipline he was so conscientious in developing over the years. “I will take a case of the Merlot with me, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course,” she replied, ringing up the box for him.

  He paid, thanked her, and then left, carrying the box down to his car. He opened the trunk and slid the case in next to his suitcase—a tight fit—before rounding the driver’s side and climbing back in. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, the engine still silent. His body felt heavy, as though he was anchored in place. He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Long ago he had perfected the ability to check his sentimentality at the door, but lately he felt those strategically constructed barriers begin to crack. There were things that needed to be done, and then he had to go home. Responsibilities could only be shirked for so long, and he’d delayed the trip long enough.

  He started his car and crossed back out onto the highway. Traffic was nearly nonexistent, and he sped forward, trying to shed the invisible ties that seemed to be pulling him back toward town. He made it another two miles befor
e he turned sharply around and returned to Lennox Hill, this time parking directly outside the front door.

  “Did you change your mind about that tour?” the woman asked, obviously surprised to see him back.

  “Actually, I have a proposition for you….”

  CHAPTER SIX

  A week had passed since Rush’s dinner with Sebastian. He showed up the next day to help Rush with some of the planting but remained uncharacteristically tight-lipped about what was bothering him. They worked mostly in silence until a good chunk of the work was completed. Sebastian would tell him if and when he wanted to, and the fact that he tried to figure it out was good enough as far as Rush was concerned.

  In the last few days, Sebastian had called several times, leaving voice mail messages on Rush’s phone, asking him to call back. Rush meant to, but the days got away from him. He resolved to call him as soon as he took a break for lunch. Finally his stomach’s demands won out, and he returned to the house, Casper in tow, to scrounge up something to eat.

  When he got inside, he grabbed his phone and dialed Sebastian’s number. He waited for him to answer as he pulled the cutting board out of the cupboard to prepare lunch.

  “Hey, Sebastian, it’s Rush,” he said when he answered.

  “Finally, you call me back. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days. I have something—”

  “Hold on a second. Casper’s going apeshit in the front room.”

  Rush walked into the room to find his dog barking like mad at the front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied movement in his yard. Turning to look through the window, he saw a very sleek, very black, very shiny sports car parked in his driveway.

  “What the fuck?” he bellowed as he commanded Casper back, then wrenched the door open. Walking up his front steps like he owned the place was the douche from the pub the other night.

  “What are you doing here?” Rush asked, none too politely.