In the meantime, her harvesters would be fed.
But not with eggplant, apparently.
Carmen was making the beds on the second floor. Her back ached from bending over. Juan appeared in the doorway with a load of sheets in his arms.
“¿Mija, dónde van estos?” he asked.
“On any bed that doesn’t have a sheet yet. That includes cots and air mattresses.” Carmen rubbed her back. Standing up felt good. The lake looked so inviting. At the very least, she could offer lake views. She made a note to have Lola drag out the float and put towels down at the beach.
“Sí. What time do the pickers arrive?” asked her father.
“Papi, call them harvesters. Por favor.”
“But they’re picking?”
“Sí.”
He nodded, lifting his finger, teaching her. “Then, they’re pickers.”
Carmen shook her head. “No. They’re teachers, journalists, office workers, dentists.”
“¿Dentistas?”
“Sí.”
“Who want to vacation by picking?”
Carmen sighed. “Sí. Harvesting. It sounds better.”
“Bueno. I call them harvesters and they pick for free.”
Her father was halfway down the hall when he heard his daughter yelling, “They harvest!”
“I’ll call them the King of England if they help us get the grapes in.”
Carmen put her hands together in prayer, rolling her eyes. “Gracias, Papi.”
He couldn’t stay away. He’d gone on another date with Celia last night and found himself glancing discreetly around the Campbell’s bar, hoping Carmen was there to see him with another woman. What if Carmen didn’t care? That would crush him more than he’d admit. Even to himself. Mostly he worried about not being fair to Celia, who’d looked lovely last night. She’d seen Stella, had reminded him that Stella was dating Paolo, which meant she’d gotten her hair done. He’d complimented it, saying it looked nice.
“It’s shorter, right?” Evan had asked, trying to engage.
She’d laughed. It was a different color. Or was that what she said? He couldn’t remember. He’d tapped his glass, signaling to the waiter that he needed another. A nagging voice in the back of his mind said he was drinking to get through this date. Even when he was fighting with Carmen—and if he was honest with himself, that’s what they did—there were sparks. He felt so brilliantly alive around her. Fascinated.
The date stretched on. When Celia had suggested a walk by the lake, he’d wracked his brain for excuses. It was too early for bed. He had pickers coming in the morning, but Paolo took care of that. What he’d really wanted to do was go home and swim. Because Carmen would be checking on the grapes, walking the fields. In a weird way, it felt like they were communicating because they always went out at the same time. The humid dark, the sound of the lake, distant voices on the water coming from Wapato Point.
It felt intimate. Shared.
He knew it wasn’t rational, but it felt like they had some kind of agreement. A ceasefire every night.
Did she feel the same way?
All these thoughts ran through his brain as Celia told him about growing up in Chelan. The only time he could focus was when he wondered if Carmen had had the same experiences. He needed to end it with Celia. She was a nice woman. She deserved better.
Earlier today, he’d walked down his driveway and back up Orchard House drive carrying a box of eggplants. They were left over from a wedding. Maybe the Alvarez household could use them. That was the excuse he made to himself. It was a flimsy pretext to see her again, even though nothing between them had changed. The kitchen hands had taken the box from him, staring at it like he’d offered them coal. One of them thanked him and went back to their lists, which seemed to perplex them.
“We’ve got like, twenty-three for dinner tonight?” asked the girl.
“Twenty-three people?!” the boy screeched. “Dude, my cooking experience is like, opening a can of Pringles.”
The girl crossed her arms. “That’s not what you told Ms. Alvarez.”
He shrugged. “I thought she was hot. And I needed credit.”
The girl pushed her hair off her sweaty face. “Great.”
“So, is this for a wedding?”
Both teenagers stared at Evan, surprised that he was still there.
The girl shook her head. “No, this is for like, people who are picking grapes.”
Evan nodded. “She found a crew?”
“No, they’re volunteers. It’s camp for people who like wine.”
Evan was astonished. Audacious didn’t begin to describe Carmen Alvarez. “And manual labor in the blazing sun?”
The girl shrugged. “I guess. They’re going to have like, lectures and stuff in the orchard. Yoga classes, I think. I know my aunt is coming to talk about making goat cheese. I don’t know. I just hope they don’t have to eat Pringles for dinner.”
Evan smiled. “Yeah, well good luck with that.”
Carmen, who’d heard Evan’s voice, hurried down the stairs just as the screen door shut.
“Did you talk to him?” she asked the confused cooks.
“Yeah. Why?” asked the girl.
“Don’t talk to him. Okay?” Carmen said.
The boy turned to the girl. “I thought he was kind of sketch.”
The girl rolled her eyes as Carmen headed outside.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” Carmen yelled at Evan, hating herself for thinking that even his back, in a damp polo shirt, was sexy.
He lifted his hands, slowly turning around like an outlaw. “Don’t shoot!”
“Very funny. What’s up?” She stood on the patio, arms crossed, trying to keep her tone light.
He pointed to the kitchen, where the crack of breaking dishes was followed by yelling. Carmen tried not to be distracted by the chaos. Worryingly, there were no signs of dinner.
“I brought food. To feed your crew,” Evan said.
Oh no. He knew. “My guests.”
He lifted his sunglasses on his head. “It’s not a wedding, Carmen. The cat’s out of the bag.”
Carmen sighed, looking up at the hill to the Hollister Estate. “I don’t know where you found pickers.” She was so tired of feeling like the underdog.
“I can send them over here when they’re done.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Nice. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Evan shook his head, glancing at the canopies being installed in the orchard. “What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes, wishing she wasn’t wearing old shorts and a faded T-shirt. “You get your grapes in while we wait, depending on you.”
He cocked his head. “Would that be the worst thing in the world?”
“Do you know what happens to wine made of high sugar fruit?” She’d been doing her research and emailing Stella her questions. She wasn’t the girl who’d driven in from Seattle. She was serious. They’d started watering at night, instead of morning, which is what she knew Paolo had told him to do. “Too much alcohol.”
“Two days isn’t going to make much difference.”
She looked shocked. “Two days! How many pickers do you have?”
He grinned. “Enough.”
That was it. He’d come to gloat. To see how she was slaving away just to get enough people to harvest. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d screwed up their wedding—the bride was still posting nasty comments on their Facebook page—he was looking for ways to rub this in Carmen’s face. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure could get around the visa situation at the border. He was bringing in truckloads of pickers while everyone in the valley scrambled.
She hated him.
Hated how he brought her back to high school. Crushing on a rich boy who kissed her, but smiled when someone said, “greasy wetbacks”.
Never sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him.
She waited until he was halfway down the driveway. Sh
e took deep breaths, clenching and unclenching her fists until her breathing slowed. By the time she’d calmed down, Evan had reached his own property. He briskly walked the length of his house, head resolutely forward, pointedly avoiding looking in her direction.
She rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed the box of eggplants off the counter. The girl cook opened her mouth but saw Carmen’s face and changed her mind. Carmen dumped the entire box of eggplants, purple and shining, into the garbage.
Fourteen
Not Pickers
Evan Hollister paced the length of his patio while Mandy proceeded to devour her lunch. The woman, thin as a straw, ate constantly. He found her appetite slightly nauseating, given the heat and her apparent lack of sensitivity. She squeezed a packet of ketchup over her fries, licking her fingers with gusto.
Evan looked away.
She studied her fingers for more ketchup. “I don’t see what the problem is. She’s your competitor. You need her land. Let nature, literally, take its course.”
Evan ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the crowds milling on the patio, clutching plates of what looked like hamburgers. He bet the girl cook had come through. The boy had looked terrified. He found himself missing that war room mentality, where you were the underdog and it was up to your little team to snatch victory from the mouth of defeat. Carmen’s anger at him had gotten to him. Since he’d known her, he’d become a different, more sensitive person. It was like walking around with his skin inside out. “Do you think it’s fair to let people get terrified just because we’re in the middle of a land dispute?”
Mandy finally stopped eating. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, blotting it daintily. “Okay, wait. Let me take this apart for you. They’re mice. As far as I know, mice have never killed anyone, at least not directly. A few mice at an outdoor yoga class aren’t going to cause any lasting trauma. They’re going to freak some people out. Which is what we need. Secondly, a land dispute? Evan, it’s her land.”
“It’s her father’s land.”
Mandy gave him a closer look. She pushed her lunch away, wiping her hands with a napkin. “Her father’s land, which will be hers someday, which is how these things work.”
Evan stopped pacing, not liking her change in tone. He hired people who were strong enough to call him out, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “I know how things work, Mandy. However, before she arrived on the scene, I was about to buy the land from her father.”
Mandy shut her lunch box as a fly approached. “Let me ask you something, Evan. Do you really want this land, or do you want to make nice with Carmen Alvarez?”
Evan smiled. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
She gave him a sly grin. “That’s why you hired me. I get you from point A to point B. Point B is the winery with national sales, awards and big numbers. It’s running with the big dogs in California. You have it within your capability, but from what you’ve told me, it can’t happen without additional land and grapes. You can buy the grapes or buy the land. The land next door is very high in minerals, which makes great grapes, which makes great wine. Or you could have your agents go look for grapes and have them shipped here. Which has its own set of problems. But to me, it looks like you have an issue here.”
Had he gotten soft? Had he let his attraction to Carmen muddy the issue? Maybe the old days weren’t so far behind him. Carmen was putting together an army down there. What was he doing? Making excuses. “I don’t have the land.”
She shook her head and pointed over at Blue Hills. “Maybe you like the old man, maybe you like the daughter. But you to need think very clearly now. The bank was well on its way to seizing the property. Blue Hills refused your generous offer. I don’t think you’re doing anything that wasn’t already going to happen on its own.”
“Until Carmen showed up.”
Mandy shrugged. “From what I heard, until very recently, she worked in marketing. I doubt she can run an operation like Blue Hills Vineyard.”
Evan stood at the edge of his patio, looking down at the people mingling on the Alvarez patio. They were young, fit-looking and apparently ready to spend hours in the sun for the privilege of getting in touch with their agricultural roots. Carmen had her pieces lined up. She wasn’t wasting any time worrying what Evan thought or felt. She was going to win if he didn’t focus. He’d hired Mandy for a reason. It would pay off. Unless he wasted this opportunity.
Let the chips fall where they may.
Evan turned around, taking the chair across from Mandy. He lifted his sunglasses to reveal a burning intensity. “Okay, tell me what you’ve got.”
Mandy’s smile was that of a wolf entering a pasture. This was going to be fun.
Carmen raced down the stairs, dodging a question from a guest asking about extra toothbrushes. Feeling guilty, she doubled back up into her own bathroom, extracting a new toothbrush from the countless dentist trips she’d taken as a child. All those shrunken boxes of dental floss, mini mouthwashes and travel-sized toothpastes. Funny how she’d never cleaned them out. Although when she thought about it, she realized why. They represented time with Mami.
Now part of her stash was being handed to a goateed PE teacher who held the future of Blue Hills in his tattooed arms.
Carmen ran back down the stairs, through the kitchen where the two cooks were arguing about breakfast, and into the cool night air before anyone could ask her another question.
How many more endless days would it take?
She still had to plan the First Crush Festival booth location and staff. Once she breathed in the night air, she felt invigorated. This ritual of visiting the crops had become vital to her nighttime routine.
If she was honest, seeing Evan was a huge part of going outside each night. It was almost like they had a relationship based on distant nightly visits, like some wartime romance where they could only gaze at one another through a fence. Every time she buried the notion of a crush on Evan, he showed up in navy blue swimming trunks patterned with sharks, his torso lean and muscular like a soccer player. He’d bend over, throwing his arms above his head to stretch. Barry would lope over to nuzzle him. Evan would talk to him, murmuring affectionately, rubbing him behind his ears until the dog flopped on the patio, begging for a belly scratch. Evan often delayed his swim to indulge Barry, grinning as the dog reflexively churned his rear leg. Papi used to say you can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats animals. She was learning things that made her want to cram her feelings into a little box, bury them somewhere.
Evan Hollister was a situation.
By the time Carmen had walked out into the vines, she was relaxed enough to imagine a post-harvest world. Once they’d paid the bank, would Evan admit defeat?
Did guys like Evan ever lose?
The crates for the harvest sat ready at the end of the vine rows, making it hard to reach the spot where she normally looked over the valley. She went diagonally down the field until she reached the cave, standing on the wall that bordered the patio to the winery. It was close to Evan’s house, the tiny slice of land above his hilltop property. She’d have to be careful that she didn’t make any noise. The night was completely still. She’d learned as a kid, hiding in the vines past dinner time, that any sound ricocheted across the lake.
Carmen peered down the hill and couldn’t see the pool. A warm glow from inside Evan’s house lit the patio, but she couldn’t see him. Maybe he wasn’t swimming tonight. Perhaps he was inside, plotting her demise. Or was he floating on his back, admiring the moon? She climbed on the stone wall to get a better look.
The moon danced on the lake. An owl called in the distance. There was a flutter of wings. One of Blue Hills’ resident great horned owls, returning with food for its babies. Conjuring Evan’s presence was silly. Adolescent. Absurd.
And yet.
Seeing him was reassuring.
Carmen turned to jump off the wall. A patio door slammed. She turned her head, lost her footing, spinni
ng her arms like a windmill trying to regain her balance. This went on for what felt like eternity.
Please don’t let this be happening. No. Please. No.
She could not be falling right now.
He could not find out.
Not now.
Of course, she fell. Because that was the universe in which she lived. She tumbled off the stone wall, down the hill and through scrubby bushes that should have, if the pitch wasn’t so steep, stopped her. But she was sliding, trying desperately to grab prickly sage, rocks, anything to stop.
She landed within feet of Evan. He’d dashed to the edge of his property to see what was making its way through the bushes towards him. He looked as though he was expecting a deer or bear when he parted the bushes, keeping his head back to avoid startling the wild creature.
His expression changed when he saw it was Carmen. He jumped into the bushes barefoot, immediately puncturing his tender insole on a sharp rock. “Carmen! Ow! Ouch!” He hopped around for a moment, blood streaming from his foot. “Are you okay?” He crouched down, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Everything hurt.
He pulled her out of the bushes, squeezing her by the shoulders, asking her to bend her arms, turn her head. Count backward by sevens from a hundred.
She frowned. “I’m a hospitality major. I can’t do that.”
“Fair enough.” He looked up the hill. “That was quite a fall.”
Carmen peered at her elbow, embedded with gravel and blood. “I think my pride took the hardest hit.”
“What were you doing up there?” He led her to the table, getting her settled, watching her hobble.
She scratched her head. “Checking the vines?” She didn’t seem to believe her own answer.
Wiping his foot with a towel, Evan disappeared into kitchen, returning with a sturdy first aid kit and an ice pack, handing both to Carmen.
Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1) Page 14