Frankie rolled her eyes. “We don’t even know if I made the cork court.”
She’d had an amazing day, no question, but she didn’t want to be talked into making a clean sweep only to be disappointed with a consolation prize.
“Just because I didn’t follow in dad’s footsteps doesn’t mean I didn’t follow him around for the first twenty years of my life.” He leaned down and gave her a hug and Frankie clung tightly to his shoulders. A response that surprised them both. “He would have been proud of you today, Frankie. I know I am.”
“He’s right,” someone said from behind. An extremely sexy someone, whose voice alone had the power to send a warm sensation sliding through her body. “You won.”
She turned and her breath seemed to stick in her throat. Nate stood in his trademark uniform of khaki slacks and a DeLuca polo and took her in with those warm, brown eyes of his that made her feel like giggling. Then she looked down and did. His feet, minus one set off stuffy loafers, were sporting a pair of muddy, rugged ball-buster boots, which Frankie had come to associate with the down-and-dirty grape grower. Which meant that along with the giggling came some squirming on her part because of the intense heat that pulsed below her belly button.
“We don’t know that.” But in her heart she hoped it was the truth.
“Oh, you won, sweet cheeks,” he said. “No matter what Mrs. Rose has written on her tally, there was no other wine as talked about this year as Red Steel. I even had buyers asking me if I had tried it.”
“What did you tell them?” she asked, feeling very girlie and not really caring.
“That it was a shoe-in for the win.”
“I’ll bet,” Jonah said, eyeing Nate with suspicion.
Frankie hadn’t told anyone about Nate being her boyfriend—even thinking the word made her chest go shifty. But it was pretty obvious by how they were all but mentally stripping each other that there was more than just a roomie situation at Sorrento Ranch.
Movement at the front of the stage caught Frankie’s eye, as Mrs. Rose and the mayor took their place. Behind them, elbowing each other for the front spot, like a group of grannies at a high-stakes coupon bingo game, stood ChiChi, Luce, and Pricilla, each reaching for a tray with an award. ChiChi grabbed the King’s crown and Luca ended up with the Queen’s crown.
Frankie tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter which lady carried what award, that she’d held her own with the big boys and she should be proud. But she didn’t want to merely hold her own, she wanted to kick some ass. And that meant winning.
“Can I have some money?” Ava asked as she walked over. Today her hair was streaked teal, matching her bellybutton ring, and she wore a halter top and a strip of white denim on bottom.
Abby blinked. Twice. Then leaned in and whispered, “Where’s the rest of her pants?”
“On vacation with the rest of your legs,” Ava said. “What are you, like four-feet tall?”
“Five-one,” Abby huffed.
“Whatever.” Ava rolled her eyes then turned to her mom. “Can I have some money? I’m hungry.”
Jordan handed her a twenty. But when Ava went to take the bill, Jordan didn’t let go. “If I find out that you gave this to Mr. Sexy Syrah two rows over, who promised to sneak you a couple of bottles if you met him behind town hall—”
“You’ll do what, mom?” Again with the eye roll. “You already took away my internet and phone.”
“You want to try me, young lady?” Jordan said, all business. Even Jonah took a step back. “I will have Mr. Sexy arrested for soliciting a minor, you thrown in jail for being underage and in possession of alcohol, and you will spend the rest of senior year taking Tiny Tots Tap with me at the Tap and Barre School of Dance. Now, you still need money?”
“Gawd.” Ava drew out the word for so long Frankie was convinced she’d pass out from oxygen deprivation. Bad ass mom with wicked game: one. Bad attitude teen with a wardrobe disorder: zero.
The mayor tapped the mic and it echoed through the loud speakers. “Good afternoon, everyone.”
Silence settled throughout the park. A light breeze picked up and rustled some of the last leaves from their branches. Mrs. Rose snagged the Cork King crown from ChiChi and walked to the center of the stage. ChiChi settled on the Cork Prince award, but not before shooting the current Wine Commissioner a sharp look.
“Over five thousand corks have been cast, counted, and tallied. And the results are right here in these envelopes.” The mayor held up four gold-embossed envelopes and the crowd cheered. “It is with great honor that I get to present this year’s St. Helena First Harvest Cork Crawl’s royal court and crown the best wine of the harvest with the coveted title, Cork King.”
“About the party tonight,” Nate whispered, his breath tickling her ear. He hadn’t touched her yet; in fact he was keeping his distance today. Something that she had asked for when she saw that her grandfather was just a few tents away, but was now regretting.
She turned her head slightly and had a hard time speaking. He was still a companionable distance away, but she could feel his presence press through her entire body. “I haven’t decided yet.”
His eyes dropped to her lips. “Holding out for a better offer?”
“No, just making sure the offer still stands after the results are in.”
She had been putting off her decision because she didn’t want Nate to feel obligated to bring her if the results swung in her favor. Or if they swung his way, she didn’t want him to bring her out of pity. She wanted him to bring her because he liked being with her. So she’d wait until the results were in, gauge his interest level, and then make her decision.
“And the new Cork Princesses of this year’s harvest comes from… the Stags Leap District. Chiappa Vineyards for their Petite Syrah reserve.”
“Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod,” Abby chanted harshly over the cheering. “We won. I mean you won, well I was on your team, but you freaking won.” She looked at Nate. “Sorry about being number two. You do know that it is the first loser.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look,” Abby practically screeched. “Look at Nora Kincaid. Look where she is standing.”
Nora Kincaid had been huddled with her ear pressed to the tally tent for the past thirty minutes. After sharing a few hushed words with Mrs. Rose, she had taken up residence next to Charles’s booth. And she wasn’t just standing there, she had her phone set to camera, and her fingers were hovering over the snap-and-load-to-Facebook button.
“That doesn’t mean anything.” But Frankie knew that it did. “It could mean that he won.”
Something that would not be the end of the world. Sure, it would burn to lose to Kenneth, but Frankie knew what kind of boost being crowned king could give her grandfather. She’d spent most of the day watching him, partly hoping to catch his gaze and silently wish him good luck. But mostly she was worried over how tired he looked, how fragile he appeared. When had her hellion of a grandfather gotten so old?
“Nope,” Jordan said, clapping her hands. “If he won, then she’d be filming you.”
“Can you guys be quiet?” Ava hissed. “You just missed winner of the Cork Prince.”
“Who was it?”
“Doesn’t matter, it wasn’t you.”
Frankie looked back at her grandfather. It wasn’t him either. Which meant that between her, Nate, and Charles someone was going to have a really crappy night.
Frankie felt a warm hand engulf hers. She looked up and saw Nate smiling down on her. He didn’t say anything, but then he didn’t have to. He was doing the one thing that she needed but was too embarrassed to ask for. He was supporting her no matter what.
“And the Cork Queen of this year’s harvest comes from the St. Helena Appellation area.” The mayor took a dramatic pause and Frankie’s heart literally stopped. Her hand tightened around Nate’s and he gave a quick squeeze back. She looked up to find him not watching the mayor, but staring down at her. “Please
give a warm hand to DeLuca Vineyards for their Cabernet Sauvignon.”
Frankie wasn’t sure what she expected, but it hadn’t been for his smile to widen. For his eyes to go soft and him to look genuinely happy for her. And proud of her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I’m not.”
“We still don’t know if I won. Charles could take it.”
He shook his head. “You won, honey. This is your moment.”
Frankie looked at Charles whose eyes were firmly fixed on the mayor. “And finally, I am honored to say that this year’s Cork King also hails from the St. Helena Applications.”
She watched as Charles finally looked her way. His eyes weren’t warm, but they weren’t angry either. They looked desperate, scared, as though everything he had was riding on the mayor’s next words. And suddenly Frankie got an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Please welcome our new King Cork, Red Steel Cellars for their Cabernet Sauvignon reserve blend.”
Frankie’s breath rushed out of her. She heard people calling her name and felt congratulatory pats on the back but all she would do was look up at Nate. There was no surprise, no hesitation, no ulterior motives.
He knew. Knew she would win.
“How did you know?”
He turned to face her, but still didn’t take her in his arms. “Because it’s you in a bottle, Frankie. What can beat that?”
At his words Frankie had to fight the urge to launch herself into his arms at the overwhelming sense of happiness that filled her chest. This was what Nate had been talking about. This was what it felt like to connect, trust, open up and share. This was the completely, one hundred percent, forever kind of right.
But when he still didn’t move, still didn’t put his arms around her she asked, “Why aren’t you kissing me?”
He laughed. “Because your grandfather is watching. Nora has her phone aimed this way. I’m pretty sure your brother is packing. And if you need another reason, the last time I did that, you kneed me in the nuts. So, sweet cheeks, if you want that kiss, you have to make the first move.”
And move she did. Fast and furiously, putting her hands on his shoulders and rolling up on her tiptoes, not stopping until their mouths collided. Right there in the middle of St. Helena Community Park, in front their families and most of the town.
His mouth met hers, soft and giving and so right that she didn’t care if Charles was there, or that Nora had moved to catch it all on tape, or that after this everyone would know that Francesca Baudoiun and Nathaniel DeLuca were a couple. All that mattered was that he had believed in her. And that he was hers.
Hers.
How had that happened? Frankie found someone that she wanted and he wanted her back.
Her fingers slid into his hair and she felt his slide down her back—gentleman that he was, stopping at her waistline. And when his tongue glided over hers all of the earlier insecurities vanished and were replaced by hope.
It had been a long time since Frankie had allowed herself to get caught up in the dream of something more. With wine she was bold, a risk taker. With her heart she was usually so cautious, convincing herself it was better to go it alone than risk knowing what you’re missing out on. But nothing about her feelings for Nate would allow her to proceed cautiously.
Frankie pulled back and ended the kiss. Partly because people were cheering now, and the mayor was calling for a representative from Red Steel Cellars to please come to the stage. But mostly she pulled back, because if he kept kissing her like that, she’d forget what she wanted to say.
“Okay?”
Nate tilted his head to the side. “Okay, what?”
“I want to go with you to your family’s party tonight. As long as you know that I don’t cook.”
“Oh, honey, I think you made that clear last night.”
Right, when they had pizza for dinner and Pop Tarts for dessert because she charred the steaks until they were nuggets and her cupcakes collapsed in the middle.
“How about I bring the wine?” she said. “I hear it is a real winner.”
CHAPTER 16
One hour later, Frankie stood in Judge Pricket’s private chambers feeling like anything but a winner.
“I don’t understand,” she said. She knew that she hadn’t done anything wrong, but had a gut feeling that in the end none of that would matter. “What kind of grievance?”
Judge Pricket, looking ever so official in his jacket and tie, sat behind his massive desk. To his right, staring enviously at his gavel was Mrs. Rose.
“Someone is claiming that Red Steel was grown, fermented and aged on Baudouin property,” Judge Pricket said.
Frankie would bet the vineyard that someone was Shady Katie or cousin Kenneth. “Yes, sir. That is true, I leased the use of the barrels from my aunt and some of the grapes were grown on Baudouin land, but they are mine. I grew the grapes, harvested them, and aged the wine myself. All by myself.”
“That’s what I told him,” Mrs. Rose harrumphed, arms folded over her ample chest. “And if he hadn’t insisted on taking his claim to court, we’d all be out celebrating instead of in here accusing someone of nothing good.”
“Ed, could I have a word with my granddaughter?” Charles said from the doorway. And just like that, Frankie’s heart broke.
“I think we should call Lucinda. She needs to know what’s going on,” Mrs. Rose said, standing and putting all of her two hundred pounds between Frankie and her grandfather.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Charles said, but his eyes were on Frankie.
“That’s all right, Mrs. Rose. Judge—” Frankie stood as well. So did Pricket. Now they were all standing, waiting for Frankie to finish her thought, but she couldn’t because she knew if she did that she was going to lose everything.
But then she thought of Nate, and how she’d risked her heart with him and he hadn’t let her down. And a small part of her, the little girl who missed her dad, who tried so hard to prove that she was worthy of her grandfather’s love, hoped that maybe this was the time, this would be when she put herself out there and not be let down.
“I think I’d like to talk to my grandpa for a minute alone,” she heard herself say.
“You sure?” Judge Pricket said, resting a hand on her shoulder. Because the judge, just like the rational part of Frankie’s mind, knew that there wasn’t a happy ending to be had. At least not for her.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
The room cleared out, leaving Frankie with the one person she’d been trying to get alone for months. Only now she wished her brothers were there, or her aunt. Or Nate.
Charles walked to the empty chair beside Frankie, leaning heavily on his cane, his body deflated with every step he took. He lowered himself and stared at his feet.
“I need you to say that Red Steel is a Baudoiun wine,” he said.
And any hope that Frankie had died. Her heart expanded too fast for her chest to contain and her throat tightened, cutting off all air. “I’ll lose everything. You know that, right?” she said. “Without that wine, I’ll have to sell my grapes and still I won’t be able to pay off Tanner completely. And Katie will deny me the loan.”
“I know,” was all he said. He still hadn’t looked at her, or hadn’t even really spoken to her about what happened over the past few months. He’d just come in and asked her to give up her entire world without giving her anything in return.
“Can I ask why?”
“Because if you don’t, the family will lose everything.” His voice cracked and he cleared it before continuing. “The vineyards, the house, the wine, everything.”
“I thought you only lost half the grapes in Santa Ynez?”
“I may have well lost the entire thing. With only half the expected harvest, I will need to sell each barrel for double the cost and without placing in the cork court…” He shook his head.
“You can’t sell central coast wine for Napa Valley prices,” Frankie fini
shed for him. “So it takes you a few more years to break even. You’ve been here before.”
“Never here.” Finally, he looked up and Frankie wished he hadn’t. Outside of anger and pride, she had never seen her grandfather show much emotion, and she had never seen him cry. But his eyes were red and glassy. “I had to take out a hard money loan.”
“Please tell me you didn’t use the St. Helena property as collateral.”
He gave a shaky nod and Frankie braced herself for the impact his answer would have over her future. “After the mess with the Showdown—”
“You mean when you tried to be sneaky and ruined the family name?” Frankie clarified, because if they were going to go there, then there wasn’t going to be any skating around issues. She wouldn’t get his love, but she would damn well get his honesty.
“Yes, I got greedy, messed up, and the buyer I had lined up for those grapes pulled out. But I found a new buyer,” he said and Frankie already knew where this was going. “Without that title, I can’t get the prices I need to make the first balloon payment.”
Stomach churning, Frankie collapsed back against the chair. “Oh, God, Grandpa. Does Luce know?”
That land meant everything to her aunt. If Charles didn’t make the payment, her aunt would lose her cottage that she loved so much, her garden, and everything that Luce’s father had left her. The entire Baudouin legacy would end.
“And that’s where Red Steel comes in?” she ventured. “He’ll take your supermarket select at a mid-range price if my wine is part of the deal?”
“I’m so sorry, Ches-ka.”
Frankie wasn’t sure if it was the utter sorrow in her grandfather’s apology or the use of her childhood nickname, but her eyes began to burn. “How much is he asking for?”
“All of your bottles and the last two harvests when they age.”
Frankie forced herself to breathe. It didn’t help. She was going to be sick, so she dropped her head between her knees. “That’s all the wine I have.”
“It will get us through until the next payment, which is after the next harvest.”
“You,” she corrected sitting up. “It will get you to the next harvest. It will set me back four or five years.”
Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) Page 24