by Tawna Fenske
“I have no idea,” Eric said. “I went out for a late lunch and then met with the wine distributor for Whole Foods, and when I came back—”
“Holy hell,” Reese breathed.
“No kidding.”
“The Wine Club Pinot.” She thought saying it out loud might take some of the sting out, but that wasn’t true. She stared at the pool on the floor, blinking hard with the faint hope that when she opened her eyes again, the wine would be back in the barrel where it belonged.
Nope. Still there.
Beside her, Axl was uncharacteristically subdued. Even he understood what this meant. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
Clay cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what is Wine Club Pinot?”
Reese shook her head slowly, not trusting her voice yet. “For the last five years, we’ve had this wine club. It didn’t start out very big, but we’re up to over five hundred members this year. On top of their dues, they can pay to get a Reserve Pinot Noir bottled in limited quantities and only available to them.”
“It’s a special blend,” Eric said. “We only make one barrel of it, just to create hype and demand. I’ve had it in the barrel for three years. We did a small tasting last month to build up orders. Only wine club members get it.”
“There’s a waiting list,” Reese continued. “All the bottles have been presold.”
Clay frowned. “Do you mind if I ask how much?”
“A hundred and eighty macaroons per bottle,” Axl grunted.
“Smackaroos,” Reese muttered, her eyes still fixed on the floor.
Eric shook his head. “And at three hundred bottles per barrel—”
“We’re fucked,” Axl finished.
Reese shook her head. “It’s not just the money—it’s the hype we’ve had over this particular wine, this special, limited-edition wine available to a select group, and now—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. This couldn’t be real. Not when they’d been doing such a good job building their reputation as a premier winery. Not when people were really starting to take an interest in their wines.
“What happened?” she asked Eric.
Eric grunted and knelt on the floor beside the barrel. He pointed to a spot on the underside. “Take a look at this.”
Reese crouched down beside him. “It’s cracked.”
“Yup. A big crack, too.”
She bit her lip, afraid to say it. “Termites?”
“I doubt it. Doesn’t look like that kind of damage, and I don’t think termites would go after a wine barrel anyway.”
“But you were so worried—”
“About the building. I don’t want termites eating the building where we make wine, but I don’t think that’s what caused this.”
She nodded, still uneasy. “I don’t understand—you check these barrels every day. So do I. How could we not notice something like this? A little leakage or something?”
Eric stood up and held out his hand, and Reese let him pull her to her feet.
“It can happen suddenly sometimes,” he said. “I saw it once when I was interning in France. This is one of our older barrels—I don’t know, maybe it just gave.”
Reese shook her head. “What are we going to do?”
“Where’s Larissa?” Axl asked. “She’s gotta be able to put a good PR spin on this.”
“On three hundred bottles of spilled wine?” Reese shook her head. “I doubt that.”
Axl grunted. “Unless you’re planning to get a turkey baster and suck it up off the floor, I can’t think of another option.”
She gritted her teeth and looked up at Eric. “Okay, you’ve got that other barrel of Reserve, right? The one we were planning to roll out for the Memorial Day event next week? That’s the same vintage.”
“Right, but it’s not the exact same wine. The members will know the difference.”
“We’ll have to tell them, obviously.”
“So what do we serve the VIP guests at the event?” Eric asked. “It’s going to cut into our profits for that.”
“What choice do we have?” Reese asked. “We’ll write a letter to the club members explaining what happened, and offering to substitute the other Pinot. We can use one of the younger wines for the event. The 2013 has been aging nicely, right?”
“Sure, but that’s gonna leave us with that much less next year.”
Reese sighed. “I don’t know what else to do, Eric. That’s the best I’ve got.”
He grunted and shook his head but didn’t say anything else for a while. “Dick over at Larchwood is going to love this,” he muttered at last. “A hundred bucks says he hears about it and makes it a point to tell everyone who comes through his tasting room for the next month.”
Reese grimaced. It really wasn’t the money—though in light of the added cost for materials in the new building project, the money hurt.
No, the worst of it was the loss of the reputation she’d worked so hard to build. “We’ll look like hacks,” she said with a heavy sigh.
“Get out of here, Peanut Butter Cup,” Axl finally said. “You’ve already had a rough day with Leon. Eric and I can stay here and clean this up.”
“No, it’s my responsibility,” Reese argued. “I should have been here.”
“What for?” Axl snapped. “You think you should sit here twenty-four hours a day with your ass parked on a wine barrel waiting to stick your thumb in a crack?”
“I don’t—”
“Go!” Axl insisted. “Go take care of the damn camel.”
Reese hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, Axl. I’ll talk with Larissa when she comes in tomorrow. She can work her PR magic, figure out the best way to explain this to the members.”
She started to turn around, then realized Clay was still standing there looking lost. Or looking forlorn over the wasted wine, she really couldn’t tell.
“Clay—I offered you dinner earlier, didn’t I?”
He tore his eyes away from the wine and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough on your mind. If someone could show me where the mop is, I’d be happy to help clean this up.”
“No, really,” Reese insisted. “I feel like I owe you for your help with Leon. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t gotten Dr. Wally out here.”
Clay shook his head. “Really, Reese, you don’t have to feed me.”
“I insist. My place, one hour. Be there. I’ll throw something simple together.”
Eric looked up sharply. “You’re cooking? Count me in. Sheila’s working late tonight. What do you have?”
Reese blinked, then regrouped. “Sure. I can do that. I think I’ve got frozen shrimp and some angel hair pasta. Shrimp scampi okay with everyone?”
“Perfect,” Eric said. “I just picked up a great little Pinot Gris from Sokol Blosser that’ll go great with that.”
Reese felt Clay go still beside her. She looked at him, trying to read his expression. “I have water,” she offered. “Or soda. Or juice. Or—”
“I’m fine,” he said, his eyes fixed on Eric. “Really, I don’t want to impose.”
“I insist,” Reese said. “So dinner at my place in an hour. Axl? Want to join us?”
“Nah, I’ve got a hot date. Don’t tell Francie, okay? I’ve got a little somethin’ on the side with this other lady, if you know what I mean.”
Axl tried to wink, and Clay reached out to steady him before he started to tip.
“Okay,” Reese said with an eye roll. “Well, then. I’ll see the rest of you at my place in just a little bit.”
Reese marched out of the room, feeling eyes on her back. She wasn’t sure whose they were, but she didn’t dare turn around to look.
As she got outside, she breathed in the smell of wet grass and spring onion. Leon spotted her
and came trotting up, his shaggy ears pricked. She surveyed him for any wobbly movements or odd behavior, but he looked pretty much the same.
“Quite a day, Leon,” she told him. “First you get stoned, then I lose a whole barrel of one-of-a-kind Pinot Noir. Not sure which is worse.”
Leon hummed and fell into step beside her as she marched across the lawn toward her house. The phone was ringing when she walked in, and Reese scrambled to grab it, leaving the front door ajar so she could keep an eye on Leon.
“Hello?”
“Hey, cuz,” Larissa chirped. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Making dinner for Clay and Eric, apparently. Why?”
“I just got stood up by this guy I’ve been seeing. Wanna get together and play with makeup and have pillow fights in our underwear?”
“Did you miss the part where I said Clay and Eric are coming over for dinner?”
“No, I got that part,” Larissa said. “I thought they’d like to watch.”
Reese snorted. “No. No pillow fights, no makeup. But if you want to come over, I’m making shrimp scampi. Bring salad.”
“I’ll be there in a few. Love you!”
Reese hung up the phone and went to her refrigerator to make sure she had everything she needed. She hadn’t planned on an impromptu dinner party, but she was surprised to see she had plenty of shrimp and a big bunch of asparagus. Maybe an easy hollandaise sauce? Plenty of butter for the scampi, plus a couple loaves of French bread in the freezer.
She pulled out the ingredients and was about to check on Leon when the phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Hi, honey, it’s Mom—listen, Grandpa’s got other plans for dinner tonight, and I thought maybe you’d like to come over and join us? I made huckleberry cobbler for dessert.”
“Actually, I’m having Eric and Clay and Larissa over here.” She hesitated, not sure if having her parents there would make the dynamic more or less awkward.
Could it really get more awkward?
“Why don’t you two join us for dinner?” Reese suggested.
“We wouldn’t want to impose—”
“Don’t worry about it. Just bring chairs. And bring the cobbler, too.”
“You’re sure?”
“No problem. Come whenever you’re ready.”
She hung up the phone and carried two asparagus spears outside to where Leon was standing beside her house sniffing a patch of grass.
“How are you feeling, buddy?” she asked, offering him a piece of asparagus.
While Leon munched, she scratched his ears. As soon as he stopped chewing, he burrowed his face in her cleavage and nuzzled hard.
“Slut,” she muttered, massaging his long, fuzzy neck.
“First you get him stoned, then you call him a slut?”
Reese looked up to see Clay approaching from the side of the house. Her stomach did a loopy somersault and her skin began to tingle. She glanced at her watch, then back up at him. “You’re early.”
He stopped just a few inches from her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his bare forearms. Her skin prickled with desire, and she resisted the urge to take a step back.
Clay cleared his throat. “I wanted a chance to talk to you for a sec before everyone showed up. I just didn’t want this to be weird.”
“Weird? What could possibly be weird about having dinner with a stoned alpaca, my ex-husband, my over-amorous parents, my nymphomaniac cousin, and a recovering alcoholic?”
“Larissa’s coming?”
“How many nymphomaniac cousins do you think I have?”
“Right. Look, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with everything. I know this is a little weird for you and all, and then there was that kiss the other night—”
“It’s fine,” Reese said with a shrug, not wanting to dwell on it. Spotting a paper bag under his arm, Reese nodded at it. “You brought your own drink?”
“It’s seltzer.”
“There’s going to be wine at dinner. I’m sure you’ve been around that before, but I figured I should warn you.”
“I’m okay. That’s why I brought my own drink.”
She bit her lip. “Clay, if this is too hard on you at this stage—”
“If what’s too hard on me?”
Reese watched his eyes, waiting for the hard-on joke. There wasn’t one, except in her mind. Reese bit her lip. “Look, I’ve been wanting to ask you about something.”
“Yes?”
She closed her eyes for a second. She took one deep breath, then another. Sooner or later, they had to talk about this. It had been fifteen years. Might as well get it out in the open now. “Clay, do you remember—”
“Hey, kids—what’s shakin’?”
Reese opened her eyes to see Larissa shimmying up the walkway with a board game under one arm, a bag of salad clasped in one hand, and a bottle of white wine in the other. “It’s Sauvignon Blanc,” she said, lifting the bottle. “You said shrimp, right?”
“Right,” Reese said, casting a look at Clay before reaching out to take the bottle from Larissa. “Thank you for thinking of it. Eric’s got a Pinot Gris, so we’re all set.”
“My pleasure,” she said, pausing to kiss Leon on the lips before sashaying through the front door.
Reese looked at Clay. “We’ll talk later.”
“Sure,” Clay agreed, giving her a wary look. “Everything okay?”
“Absolutely,” Reese said. “Never better.”
Clay was surprised to discover six people could fit comfortably in Reese’s tiny dining room.
Space-wise, anyway. The meal wasn’t exactly comfortable. The dining surface was glass, which meant every time he reached for the breadbasket, he was treated to a view of June caressing Jed’s knee under the table. Not that there was anything inappropriate about it, but he could tell it was making Reese uncomfortable.
Among other things.
Reaching for the bread, Clay grazed Reese’s arm with his and watched her bolt right out of her chair.
“More scampi, anyone?” she asked in a shout.
Clay drew his arm back, not sure if it was the kiss the other night or something else making things so tense between them. He settled for smiling and holding out his plate.
“Sure, I’ll take more—unless anyone else wants it?”
“There’s plenty,” Reese said. “Stop being so polite.”
Larissa snorted. “Bet that’s not something you ever thought you’d say to Clay.”
Clay forced his smile to stay in place and tried to keep his eyes on his food. The sound of ice sloshing drew his attention to the chill bucket at the center of the table, where Reese was replacing the empty Pinot Gris bottle with the Sauvignon Blanc Larissa had brought.
“More wine, anyone?” she asked.
Eric hoisted his glass, putting it right at eye level for Clay. Clay looked at it and swallowed hard as the pale liquid sloshed onto the table. He stared at the droplets for a second, then forked a shrimp into his mouth.
“How’s Leon holding up?” he asked Reese.
“Good,” she said. “I just checked on him. He seems pretty much like his normal self.”
Jed nodded and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Went right for my nuts when I came up the walk. I blocked him with the cobbler.”
Clay grimaced and made a mental note to avoid the cobbler.
“I’m glad Leon is okay,” June said. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with your grandfather.”
“Um, how about dismantling his medical marijuana operation?” Reese suggested.
“He insists it’s legal. There’s no arguing with him. As long as it doesn’t get out of hand—”
“Out of hand?” Reese asked. “Have you ever known anything with Axl not to get out of hand?
”
“Could you pass the bread, Clay?” Eric said.
Clay nodded and handed it over. He studied his old pal for a moment, curious why he seemed so quiet.
“You okay?” Clay asked.
“Sure, why?”
“You’re not talking much.”
Eric shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just got into it with Sheila on the phone earlier, no big deal.”
Reese frowned. “Everything’s okay, right?”
“Of course,” Eric grumbled. “She’s just been nagging about moving back to New York to be closer to her family. She got a job offer from some big ad agency out there, says she has a lead on a job for me.”
Everyone stopped talking at once.
“What?” Larissa snapped. “You might be moving?”
“Of course not,” Eric said around a mouthful of bread. “It’s just this wild hair Sheila had. She’ll get over it.”
June dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin and pushed her plate aside. “Even so, honey, make sure you give us plenty of notice if you’re considering it at all. Without you as our winemaker, I don’t know what we’d do.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Eric said. “Really, there’s no chance of it. It’s just Sheila being—well, Sheila. Who’s ready for huckleberry cobbler?”
Clay set his fork down and stood up. “Let me help clear some of these plates.”
“I can get it, Clay,” Reese said. “Let me.”
“No, sit down. Really. You’ve hardly touched your food, you’ve been so busy serving everyone else.”
Reese frowned at him but sat down and forked up the last of her salad. Clay began gathering plates, and Larissa stood to help.
“Hey!” she said as she grabbed Reese’s salad plate out from under her. “Anyone want to play a game over dessert?”
“What sort of game?” Eric asked.
“I brought a board game,” she suggested.
Eric grunted. “Bored being the operative word?”
Larissa rolled her eyes. “Fine, something else, then. Something fun.” She trudged to the kitchen sink looking more wobbly than normal on her high heels, and Clay made a mental note to keep an eye on her. The line between social drinking and a genuine problem could be squiggly and blurred, which he knew damn well from experience.