by Mae Wood
We worked until the light faded and the stars came out. I tucked my shears into my jeans pocket and headed down the same path I’d taken with Ryan when these grapes were new. It was hard to believe that it had only been a season with him.
When I got to the production building, I watched a batch of harvested grapes pass down the sorting line and through the destemmer and crusher. The fresh smell of their bright, sweet juice filled the air.
“Kenzie, you should stay at the house tonight.” It was my mom, who came up beside me while I stood in my trance. I was sweaty and dirty and probably stunk. My ponytail had fallen, and I pushed back strands that were stuck to my neck. She placed an arm around my shoulders and we both watched the machinery crank away, not caring about anything but this—the magic of the grapes on the way to becoming the art of wine. “You worked hard today. You look like you’re about to crash.”
“Yeah,” I said, not telling her that my body finally felt right—it was worn out and exhausted and matched my head and my heart. “But I want to go back to my place.”
“Sure? Your dad and I are going to sit on the porch and open a bottle. You should join us.”
“I just want to crash. Tomorrow’s going to be long.”
“That it will be. Long and good. You did good, honey. I’m proud of you.” She turned toward me, both arms holding me close. “Really proud,” she whispered in my ear.
“Thanks,” I said, hoping she took the scratchiness in my voice and the tears brimming in my eyes for exhaustion and not heartache. I pulled back from our embrace. “Okay, really going to crash out.”
I sank into my bed in the cottage and stared at the ceiling. My body and heart that had been aligned in their exhaustion were now at odds again. I couldn’t get my head to shut off. I couldn’t stop replaying the way I’d felt lying with him in my bed, on these sheets. Safe and loved and all the other things that I didn’t have words for but that made me know he was for keeps.
When the clock hit midnight and my bedsheets were in knots from my ceaseless turning, I pulled out my computer to watch a movie or screw around on the internet in an attempt to quiet my mind, or at least overwhelm it with anything other than Ryan. Maybe I could wear myself out enough to get a few hours of sleep.
I opened the lid and my eyes scanned through my email before my stomach clenched once again. Ryan Royer. It wasn’t his work account this time. It was a personal address. I didn’t hesitate. I clicked it open.
Kenz,
I was wrong. In so many ways, I was wrong. There isn’t a good enough apology for my assholery. What I did has been eating at me. I want to fix it. I don’t know if you’ll forgive me or even open this email.
I want to see you. I want to tell you this all in person. I want to beg for a chance to get back to where we were. Well, that’s not exactly right. I don’t want back to where we were. I want to do us better. I want to do this for real.
And I’d be in my car right now headed to find you, but I’m in Philly for work all week and I understand if I’m banned from Napa. Can I come up to the dinner on Saturday? Will you let me?
Love,
Ryan
I laughed while tears streamed down my cheeks and I batted them away with the flats of my palms, staring at his email until my eyes throbbed and my throat stung from crying. I was more of a wreck than I’d been since he’d said goodbye. I was so tired, tired from my work, tired from the ache in my chest and the confusion in my head.
I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how to put everything I was feeling—the whole complicated mess that at its root was simple and raw—how to put those feelings into words. How to explain that I thought I should be somehow ashamed that I wanted to give him a chance, that giving him a chance—that giving us a chance—would make me weak. But I was strong. Stronger than most people believed I could be.
And I wanted to give us a chance because I didn’t regret anything. I didn’t regret the kisses in the vines or the lazy days in Davis or the frantic need I’d felt for him in meetings. I didn’t regret offering him my heart. My only regret was that I didn’t have more of it, more of him, more of us. Regret lingers like a wine that’s gone bad, that’s turned to vinegar. I didn’t want bitterness. I wanted full-bodied and lush and surprising. I wanted a life with him. And that heady taste of us we’d shared over the summer? I wanted more of it. I loved him. He loved me. And yeah, he’d been wrong, but in the end, that love, that possibility of more of him—more of us—that chance was worth it, even if my pride and heart might get crushed.
I sat up and pulled my computer into my lap. There weren’t words that I needed to tell him. There was only one word that mattered. Yes, I typed back.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ryan
I’d been a wreck over her for so long that this new climb on the Kenzie roller coaster didn’t scare me in the same way the others had. Anticipation, oh yes, that was my constant friend. Anxiety, yes. Worry? No. Because the fall that would come, the headlong rush toward good or bad, delight or disaster—that was in her hands. I didn’t have power in this. I didn’t have control. I couldn’t negotiate or cajole. I could only hang on and see where this ride would take me.
The sun was low as I made my way through the party on the tasting room’s wide stone veranda. I said hello to folks I knew and met those I didn’t, but my friendliness was for show. I talked with Marlena, who was cool enough not to give me shit about anything, and I thanked Jordan for helping get this deal across the finish line, but mainly I stood by the bar, quietly enjoying a glass of von Eck’s cab franc blend as if it was my last. Because it might be. If I ever had a glass of von Eck wine again, I might only taste bitterness and regret. Right now though, I tasted dark fruits like black cherry. A little oak. The wine was layered, complicated. And those different facets made it good, made it special.
But what I was here for wasn’t complicated at all. I was here for something frank and unpretentious. Something straightforward and honest.
I got another glass and sipped it while I thought about how I’d get through this party and, assuming she was still willing to give me a chance, how I’d steal her away at the end and make things right. Because I’d done something utterly insane, something so rash that only Kenzie, who had been there with me, caught up in us—and who I hoped would be with me again—would understand wasn’t flip or thoughtless or shallow, but entirely, deeply true. So, while I’d gone with Greg as moral support when he decided to finally look at rings for Tamara, I was the one who’d gone home with a box in his jacket pocket.
My gaze caught hers across the stone veranda, but I didn’t move to speak to her. I couldn’t because the words I had for her, the words I’d thought about for a week and practiced aloud in a dozen different ways on my drive up—those words weren’t for anyone else. She slayed me, cut me right down to the bone and kept going. Despite the hours I’d spent looking at the photos I had of us, remembering how she’d felt in my arms, how happy she looked in those pictures, she looked even better. Her pink dress against the green land behind her. Her skin was tanned from her work outside. Even from a distance, I could see the tiredness dragged at the corners of her watchful eyes as she greeted me hello with a subtle tilt of her head.
Click, click, click. The Kenzie roller coaster ratcheted up toward its peak and I steeled myself for what was to come.
Appetizers were passed among the circulating guests. The sun’s golden light catching on her blond hair. The light’s last minutes reflecting like fire on the windows of her family’s houses on the nearby hill. I wanted to be next to her. I wanted to hold her. Don’t push, I told myself. Instead, I gave her space. I finished my glass of wine and resumed shaking hands and heaping praise and thanks upon investors and the winery team.
But I knew every step she took. I knew every smile that crossed her lips. I savored every glance she threw in my direction. This wasn’t about me or us. This was her and her family right now.
Everyone settled in at a lo
ng row of tables and shared dishes family style. It was catered, of course, but it didn’t feel flashy. It didn’t feel showy. As the sun finally set and the stars emerged, camping lanterns and tiny strings of bare bulbs bathed us in warm light. It felt like a dinner with close friends or family. A true celebration.
As dessert was served, Shelly and Theresa rose from the table and everyone turned to them. They’d welcomed us as we’d started the meal, thanking everyone for their part in the von Eck legacy, touting how it would be stronger thanks to each of us here tonight. But a second round of thanks, a special announcement?
Theresa began. “Von Eck is a family winery, as you all know. It’s our estate and it’s our home. Those three houses over there? That’s our home. This,” she said, gesturing to the hills around us, “is our home. And we are so pleased to share it with you this evening and every time you open a bottle of von Eck. This night is special not only because we’re marking a new addition to our estate, but we’re also marking the beginning of a new generation. It’s with great pride that we’d like to formally introduce the next generation of von Eck and welcome our new estate manager, McKenzie Balfour.”
She stood in the lamplight, and amid the enthusiastic applause gently bobbed her head in acknowledgment. The inky darkness of the night behind her contrasted with the soft lantern light that teased her hair and skin, making her glow. She took my breath away. I clapped until my palms stung. She was the most amazing person I’d ever encountered. That smile on her lips, the dip of her head in thanks, the pride that shone from her. The only thing scary about her was the thought of life without her.
“Thanks, Mom, Aunt Theresa,” she said. “Von Eck is my legacy and my passion. I’m thankful to all of you who play a role in working toward the excellence we strive for. Wine is equal parts science and art. But overall, it’s a special kind of magic, the land, the labor, and the love all coming together to make this special gift. A gift that I’m glad to share with all of you. It’s poetry in a bottle, just as the big Napa welcome sign says. I’m not one for speeches, so I’ll give my apologies to Lord Byron for changing the words.” She raised a glass of wine in the air. “‘Let us have wine and friends, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.’ Cheers.”
Everyone lifted their glasses and a chorus of cheers erupted along the table.
Wine and women, I thought to myself. That was Byron’s line. Wine and women. But I didn’t want women. Wine and a woman, that’s what I wanted. Let me have wine and a woman, mirth and laugher, and something, something ever after. It was terrible. There wasn’t a rhythm. I wasn’t a poet. But I wasn’t scared anymore.
Dinner ended and the night wore on, people falling away as the hours ticked by. Kenzie’s gaze was on me at times, darting furtively as she said goodbye to guests. I caught her eye, raising my glass and a newly opened bottle of their chardonnay in my hands to show her my offering, before tilting my head toward the stone stairs that led from the veranda to the ground. She nodded and the vise that had been around my chest released. She was giving me a chance. It was all I could ask.
The soles of my shoes crunched on the gravel as I wound my way under the dark sky to a place where we could be alone, where I could once again take out my beating heart and offer it up for her examination, hoping this time she’d not offer me solace, but claim it as her own. The box in my pocket was leaden. Some freaking Tolkien ring or Harry Potter charm, like it wasn’t just a circle of metal. Like it had the power to make or break me. I turned on my heel and found her looking at me, less than a dozen steps away.
She was bathed in silver moonlight. And I was struck by how much had changed since the last time—since the first time—we’d stood in a row of vines in the darkness. We were together then and I wanted to be with her again. It was as simple as that.
“Kenz,” I said, clearing my throat. “I was wrong and I’m sorry, and I hope that you’ll forgive me.”
That I’d thought about what I’d say all week in Philly, that I’d practiced a speech to myself for hours—all of those complicated, pretty words were forgotten. I had myself to offer to her, plain and forthright.
“Okay,” she said with a step toward me, her arms a tight knot across her chest. The neckline on her pink dress drooped open, more than a peek at her skin.
Her body called to mine, but I stood still. I wanted to push. I wanted to demand. To tell her that she had to give us a go, a real go. To tell her that I wanted her, that I needed her in a forever kind of way.
“I was scared,” I said.
“I’m scary?” she said, the beginning of a smile dancing on the corner of her lips as she took another step toward me, her crossed arms still protecting her heart.
“You’re not. I wanted it all. I want it all. But I-I …” I stuttered, not sure how to go on, but sure that I had to go on. “I don’t want you to think that I picked my job over you. Because that’s not right. And I wish I could say that I picked the job to make our future better, but that’s not it either. I picked the job because I was scared. You’ve got all this.” I gestured to the land. “A family. A life plan. Goals. Hell, you can probably live in a house in the middle of a freaking vineyard if you want it. And I don’t. It’s me and there’s no safety net. I can’t afford to crash.” I took a breath before telling her exactly why I’d ruined everything. “Marlena almost fired me.”
“Oh,” she said, a swift syllable of surprise.
“Yeah. She called me out about us in New York. It was unprofessional. It was reckless. For me, and for you. For a lot of reasons. And if I’d said no, said that I was staying on the deal? I don’t know. Maybe it would have been fine. Maybe she would have fired me. But I got scared. Because if she fires me, that’s a hell of a black mark. And, well, I’ve got my undergrad almost paid off and the apartment sure as hell isn’t cheap. And maybe it was the wrong thing to do, and maybe it was the right thing to do. I don’t know, Kenz. I don’t. All I know is that for once in my life I didn’t do what I wanted and it fucking ate at me. And I don’t want to do that ever again. I want to be with you.”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t move a muscle. She just looked at me wide-eyed, the pause at the crest before the plummet back to earth. It was time to put it all out there.
“For real. Forever. And you may not be ready. But I am.” I put the bottle of wine and my glass on the ground, not caring in the slightest about what happened to them, and I reached into my pocket and opened the box to offer her my heart forged in metal and diamond. “When you want it, it’s yours. When you want me, I’m yours. Marry me.”
Her arms dropped slack at her sides and her lips parted in a round O. Not a word. Not a yes or a no or even a maybe. I closed my eyes. Damn. At least I’d laid it all out there, I tried to console myself. I’d swung for the fences and struck out. No regrets. Yeah, right. Everything about this was a regret now. Biggest regret of my life.
I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was still frozen in surprise. Before I could decide what to do, how I could walk away, how I could leave her for good, she spoke, her voice shaking. “Next weekend?”
I blinked in confusion. Next weekend? “What?” I said.
“Next weekend. Grapes will all be in, except the super late harvest stuff.”
“I’m really proud of you, Kenz,” I said. Okay, she was going to pretend like this never happened. I got the message, and she didn’t need to say anything else. Professional. She was being professional. Like we should have been all along. I snapped the box with my heart closed and shoved it in my pocket.
“No,” she barked and then laughed, a full-throated laugh that rang out into the darkness. “Ryan. Yes. Next weekend. Let’s do it.”
Epilogue
Kenzie
We didn’t get married the next weekend. Well, we did, but we didn’t. Vegas. Elvis. My cousin and his friend Greg were our witnesses and wedding party, both sworn to secrecy. My parents needed time to be convinced that Ryan wasn’t going to walk away a
gain, that I wasn’t changing my mind, that this was more than a crush.
For a year and a half, we worked to make a life that we could share together. I spent as much of the winter as I could in the city, and that spring we celebrated with a bottle of Drachenfutter when he got his promotion from vice president to senior vice president, gaining that little word in his title that meant so much to him and so little to me. He traveled for work and I kept the cottage in Napa so I could work too—us bouncing back and forth between his apartment and the cottage, making do because there was no doing without him.
And then, when the grapes were once again being harvested, with Marlena’s blessing and my family’s help, he found a new gig. I didn’t really understand his new job any better than I did his other job. Something about mergers and acquisitions and financial consulting for the wine industry. Basically, he was doing what he’d done for von Eck for others—getting wineries capital to expand, whether through private equity or bonds or good old-fashioned loans. He still worked in the city, but he spent a lot of time in wine country with clients. One or two nights a week at the cottage and then I’d head to the city for a couple of days. It wasn’t awesome. It wasn’t how I’d imagined newlywed life would be like, but neither of us were going to let perfection be the enemy of the good we had. And it was good to be together—good to know we were together even when we were apart.
