“Uh-huh.”
“Your new winery is going to produce twelve cases of wine?”
“Only if I’m lucky. The vines need a lot of help.”
Marissa waited. “So why the call?” Again that forthrightness.
“I’m good at the wines, but you’re better.”
“Why thank you so very much.”
“How would you like to get away from my evil half brothers, come here, work for almost nothing, but have control of our new wines? The terroir is interesting here: a lot of citrus and a lot of salt. I have some ideas, but the vineyard will need major work to bring it to bear. I need someone with your touch in the winery itself.”
There was a long silence. She was one of the most highly paid vintners in either Napa or Sonoma—Father had made sure of that so that she’d stay.
“Complete control?”
“In consultation with me, but yes. Same criteria: top quality, not quantity.”
“You can not have much quantity with two-tenths of an acre.”
He ignore the jibe. “And, if things go well, there just might be a business partner. But she’s the business side and doesn’t know the wines.”
“She?”
Ridley kept his mouth shut. Had his tone given away something of what he was feeling?
What he was feeling? Like if Erica wasn’t a part of all this, there wasn’t going to be any point to it at all.
Another of Marissa’s thoughtful hums sounded over the line from America.
“A woman who was finally able to strike you speechless. Not even your mother or I could do that. This is a woman I must meet.”
Ridley opened his mouth, but still couldn’t think of what to say. He wasn’t asking her to come and approve of Erica. He’d called about the wines.
“I have a vacation in a few weeks. I was going to go up to Oregon and try some of their new wines, but Italy… I could be talked into coming to see what you are up to and meet this woman.”
“Tickets are on me. But it’s the wine I want the opinion on.”
“Free tickets to Italy. Deal. As to the wine versus the woman…” This time the hum was thoughtful and told him he wasn’t going to avoid that either.
He’d better warn Erica that he wasn’t flying Marissa out to pass approval on her, no matter what Marissa thought.
“You know, Ridley, you never asked me what I thought about Italian women.”
“Italian women?”
“Um-hmm!” She made it a very happy and rather lascivious sound for a woman fifteen years his senior. At that he had to actually pull the phone away to look at it and make sure that it had Marissa’s name on the connect screen.
“How didn’t I know that about you?”
“Well, you were so in love with me as a little boy, I didn’t want to disappoint you. Now you are in love with someone else, so it no longer matters. Yes, Italy sounds so very nice. Two-tenths of an acre!” She ended the call on a laugh.
“I’m not…” But the line was dead.
Was that what was wrong with him? Had Ridley Claremont fallen in love and not even noticed?
James Bond never knew, except that once.
How was he supposed to know?
* * *
“There are two ways to run a conversion like this.”
Bridget was leaning close to watch over her shoulder. They weren’t alone in the café. It was evening and the place was busy. Bridget had left Hal and a woman who came in to help at night to take care of the place. Erica was surprised at the number of locals, and more than a few were listening in with interest.
“Two ways,” Bridget nodded, then looked up in surprise. “What two ways?”
“Like a Band-Aid. Ease it bit by bit, or yank if off.”
“Both are terrible,” Bridget’s shudder earned her a few laughs.
“Easing your data over means either moving one category at a time or moving all of the ending totals. First you have to make sure that you are entering the correct new information into the old or new system as you do the migration. And second, and this is a bitch, you have to hand enter all of the history. The advantage is that it’s careful and methodical.”
“What’s the yanking method?”
“Write a conversion routine that addresses every single thing. Run it. Then check that the old and new systems report everything exactly the same. To the penny to be sure. And even then, you have to double-check.”
“Which choice are we doing?”
“Press that key.” Erica pointed and Bridget pressed it after only the briefest sideways glance at her.
“Now what?”
Erica pointed. The data scrub and convert was a task bar running across the bottom of the screen. As it rolled along, the master spreadsheet started populating line by line.
“Each line represents a subsheet of historical data—including the Scottish castle right back into the 1500s.”
Bridget’s eyes kept getting wider as more and more lines dropped into the master sheet. “I was managing all that?”
“Essentially by hand. I don’t know how you did it.”
Bridget shook her head. “Neither do I, luv. Neither do I.”
The status bar hit a hundred percent.
Erica split the screen. “And now the double check.”
She ran her test routine comparing the old data with the new. The numbers flashed by in pairs. The entire restaurant had gone silent. All eyes were on her and she did her best to ignore that and focus on the job.
“I standardized to British pounds,” explaining gave her less excuse to think while the final test ran. “That was by far the largest sector of Conrad’s holdings. But I’ll show you how to change the standard if you want to run dollars or euros. Or even yen, for that matter.”
It reached the end with a soft ping that sent a gasp through the room.
She wasn’t the only one holding her breath.
Her desire to have this work was so overwhelming that she had to force herself to slow down and compare the old and new system totals digit by digit, just to be sure they matched. While the total was staggering, it tallied to the penny.
“That,” Erica pointed on a sigh of relief, “is the ripping off the Band-Aid method.”
“It’s done?” Bridget looked at her aghast.
“È finito!”
Bridget actually shrieked with joy and threw her arms around Erica as applause broke out around the room.
Large-scale data conversions were a total bear and there was still hours of training Bridget on the new system, but the end of a hard cutover after weeks of hard work was always a good feeling. She’d been running test conversions for three days on sample sets, and debugging dozens of problems. But this run was clean. It was actually the third repetition on this exact data set and all three had checked out identically.
The applause continued. Whistles. Cheers. Snoop barking at the sudden noise.
Bridget was probably the only person in the room who could come near to understanding what she’d just done. But still, they all knew something grand had been achieved and her Italian friends were simply glad of any reason to celebrate.
It made her feel better about who she was and what she could do on her own than she had in a long, long time. This moment had been completely hers.
She hugged Bridget back and didn’t even bother trying to stop the tears.
* * *
Ridley stood out on the carruggio. The crowd was far too thick to get into Il Cane.
But he didn’t need to go in to understand.
Whatever Erica had been working on these long weeks, she’d done. And by the scale of Bridget’s reaction, it had been something fairly spectacular. Which didn’t surprise him at all.
The only thing left about Erica that surprised him was that she loved him. That one still had him scratching his head.
“The lady has truly done something,” Conrad said from close by his elbow.
“She’s amazing. Converting all you accoun
ts to a single standard. I’d wager that was a hell of a task.”
Conrad nodded solemnly. “It was. But that is not the achievement to which I was referring.”
“Oh, what then?”
“Look at the woman.”
And Ridley did. Beautiful, smart, unintentionally funny, sweet to the core. But she was also the master, or perhaps mistress, of the moment. The fairy-tale princess was gone. In her place, looking both the same and completely different than the woman he’d met a month ago, sat the Queen. Not from some fairy tale or long royal line. And yet she was.
He’d spent a lifetime imagining himself with Bond girls. “Claremont. Ridley Claremont,” said in that original Sean Connery voice. Hell, he was the child of a Bond girl, so it made sense.
Back in the vineyard he’d wondered why Erica hadn’t let him buy that silly purse. Perhaps now he understood. Not pride, but rather because she knew that she could do for herself whatever she needed. The princess might not have known that she knew that, but the Queen absolutely did.
Oddly, looking at Erica, he could see the cracks in Bibi’s facade. His mother had always been happy, always seeking the joy of every moment. But looking at Erica, he knew that there had been a very hidden layer that Bibi was careful to never show, not even to him. Her constant search for joy had been almost manic in its intensity, perhaps based on the fear that her wonderful new reality would shatter at any moment despite living it for more than half her life.
Erica’s joy was rooted in something far more centered, as if it came right out of who she was.
“She is amazing.” But Conrad was no longer at his elbow and Ridley was left to watch from outside in the dark.
Chapter 15
Erica was a hundred times more nervous about meeting Ridley alone than running that conversion in front of an entire crowd. She’d checked everything a dozen times and was down to the point where she’d revised a comma into a semicolon, and back, about ten times before she managed to stop herself.
She sat out at their table on the carruggio for the first time since they’d stopped sleeping together. She was shivering there before sunrise because she hadn’t been able to wait any longer. She watched his big motorcycle slowly emerge from the line of shadow as if it too was waiting.
Ridley couldn’t ride away on it. He simply couldn’t. There was too much here to just leave.
And her hands shook with the hope that he thought the same thing.
Erica was still there, with her second cup of hot chocolate at the much more rational hour that Ridley descended.
He stopped abruptly when he saw her.
She’d moved the other chair in and out, trying to turn it invitingly, before she got ahold of herself and tucked it back under the table just as it had been that night.
With a silent nod, he asked permission.
With an equally silent nod, she granted it.
“Is that it?” He pointed to the slim notebook she’d assembled and now clutched like a lifeline.
“Sì.”
“First word you ever said to me.”
“Sì,” it had been and the memory made her smile. Her one-word defense against the bad boy who’d ridden his motorcycle out of the sunset and into her life.
“And that absolutely killer smile that blows me away every time.”
And her heart stumbled.
Erica forced herself to take a calming breath. She had to get through this. There had to be a way to know. She wouldn’t survive if this was a one-way relationship. She just wouldn’t.
“Can I see it?”
Her heart? How could he not? Oh, the business plan. Right, just focus on the business plan.
“I have a couple of questions first.”
“Fire away,” he took a sip of her cocoa without asking. Such a simple gesture, she wouldn’t read any deeper meaning into it. She really wouldn’t. Not about sharing. Not about—
“What’s your estimated yield per acre?”
That had him blinking in surprise. Then a bark of laughter.
“What?”
“Just remind me to never underestimate you again. Not that I do, but that is a key question to any vintner, but you already figured that out. Low. Five, maybe six tons.”
“Quality over quantity? Like Claremont? Like your motorcycle?”
“Don’t know what my bike has to do with it, but yes. I’ll take quality every time.” She wasn’t going to read anything into the look he aimed her way.
“Really exceptional? It will have to be if you want to take on the likes of Bartolo and Leon.”
“Top dollar and worth it.”
“There’s one more question.”
“Okay.”
“You know that you can’t run both the vineyard and the winery yourself, right?”
He nodded. “The best vintner in all of Sonoma is flying out in two weeks. She’ll be a hard sell, but I think she’ll do it.”
“But…” Erica looked down at the still closed business plan. Then back up at him. “How did you know I could…” She could only tap the plan with the her finger.
“I might be stupid, Erica, but I’m not dumb. Or something like that. I knew you’d figure out how to make it all work.”
“You knew…”
“Don’t need to see the damn numbers. You say it’ll work, I’ll believe you.”
“I—” She looked down at the plan. It wasn’t right. She glared up at Ridley. “No business owner accepts a plan in the blind unless he’s an idiot.”
He held up an admonishing finger. “Might be stupid, but I’m not dumb. Remember? Take it up with my business manager.”
“Your—” But the blow was too deep. He was flying in a vintner and a business manager. No room for little Erica in his life. No room for her ideas. No—
“Erica,” a voice said from far away. “Erica Barnett!”
Suddenly a hard hand clamped over both of hers.
“Breathe, goddamn it!”
She couldn’t. It hurt too much. Going down for the third time. So long, it’s been good to know ye. The line from the old Dustbowl song flitted through the pain, complete with Woody Guthrie’s melodic guitar.
“Erica!”
Then something happened.
Something she could focus on. It jolted her system hard enough to bring her back to consciousness before she died on the spot.
Ridley was kissing her.
Kissing her.
Too hard. But it felt so good that she didn’t want him to stop.
It ended too soon. Too abruptly.
Her head didn’t stop spinning for several long seconds.
“Perch?” She barely managed to whisper.
He roared with laughter, but he didn’t let go of her hand. That was good. It gave her something to focus on.
“You mean aside from averting your panic attack?”
“Is that what happened?” That didn’t sound like her. It had felt far worse than that sounded. At least until the kissing part of it.
“Aside from that,” Ridley’s voice was a soft tease. “I wanted to. And don’t say perch again.”
She opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of what else to ask.
“Erica,” Ridley’s voice became dead serious. “I’d be a goddamn idiot to have anyone other than you as my business manager. You loved this place, this town, even before I did. You were born to be here. The people welcomed you into their hearts. Just one of the many gifts you have.”
“You want me to—” She patted her hand on the business plan as words again failed her.
“Damn straight.”
She looked down at it in wonder.
“Well?”
“There are things in here we need to talk about. For example, that barn will never do. You need to be right here in town. A dedicated shop, just for your wines—a destination winery. There are a couple of good buildings here that are vacant. Cellar tours. Tasting room. Gift shop. Only the very best. All local. Maybe get Claire to run it. I have a
couple drafts of a logo, but I’m not happy with any of them yet. And—”
Ridley stopped her with another kiss across the small table. This one was longer, less forceful. It lingered and teased.
It also left her breathless when he finally sat back looking far too smug for his own good.
“I’ll take that as a yes about the job,” he spoke into her stunned silence. “Now I have a question for you. Different topic.”
“It was a yes.” To run a business. To build it from the ground up the way she wanted. She could see it. She could do it. She knew she could.
“How did you know?”
“How did I know what?” Then she looked at his eyes and saw the worry in them and she understood the question. “How did I know I loved you?”
Ridley didn’t look away. Not all the way away. But she could feel the caution coming over him.
“Saying I just knew isn’t going to help you, is it?” But where he felt fear, she felt such a surge of hope that she almost lost her breath again.
He shook his head. “In the length of one lousy phone call, Marissa said she just had to meet the woman who’d finally made me fall in love with her. But how do I know?”
Erica had just known. It had come from so deep that there had been no questioning it.
Giving him the old line of “If you don’t know the answer, the answer is no,” was both not helpful and far too scary to contemplate.
Ridley wanted her to run his business. That was huge.
But now he was asking her to tell him whether or not he loved her?
The laugh bubbled out of her.
Ridley looked hurt, but it took her some time to stop it and apologize.
“You do understand how ludicrous it is to ask me that?”
He grimaced, but didn’t relent.
“Okay,” she swallowed down a final giggle. “I know how I knew. But you’re asking how do you know?”
He nodded.
Erica wanted to look at the sky, the fields, even his motorcycle, hoping to find some inspiration. But she couldn’t look away from Ridley’s eyes. His lovely eyes.
“I guess it’s the same question as before.”
“What do you mean?”
“It sounds a little strange for me to be asking this, so for a moment pretend I’m just your friend and not the woman who loves you and so wants to bias the answer you give.”
Path of Love Page 19