Crushing

by Kelly Kay

  We climb up on the side before the road slopes down and around to the entrance of the tasting room. They mostly keep extra merchandise and boxes up in the stuffy attic space. But he pulls a ladder from a secret area and lays it against the old stone building. He hands me his bottle and climbs up one-handed while not spilling a drop from his very full glass. Probably not his first time climbing with wine.

  I hand him my glass and the bottles then climb up. There’s a flat space in the middle of the roof where he’s placed our things. He holds out his steady hand to pull me up. My skin warms under his touch. There’s a flutter in my belly. I’m not going to judge, just tumble a little deeper into him and this moment.

  We lay down next to each other. The stars are going to swallow me whole. There’s so many of them from this vantage. The temperature is warm up on the roof, but I’m shaking a bit. Without saying a word, I reach out for his hand and he doesn’t resist. We lay there in our truce watching and occasionally lifting our heads to sip our wine. This is the least lonely I’ve felt in a very long time.

  Chapter Forty

  Josh

  Thank fuck’s sake for the dark, since certain parts of me are a little too excited by her touch. When she took my hand, it was the most restrained I’ve ever been. She fucking said she missed me. That means I’m gaining ground. I missed this tiny dynamo of a woman who makes me laugh and feel all kinds of scary shit.

  “Can you tell me things?” she says in a lilting tone that melts me.

  I brush my fingers through her hair. “What sort of things, Hellcat?” She sighs.

  “Lucien things. And something about Santa Barbara life before I met you.”

  “Tall order, Cosmo. Why?”

  “I want to trust you and I don’t know how you feel about your history. Only research.”

  I kiss the top of her head. “And that will help you trust me?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “I was engaged.”

  “I know.”

  “Research.”

  “Yup. Did you love her?”

  “No.”

  She was supposed to complete my perfect life picture. After my first multimillion-dollar deal, I leased a Porsche. The car completed a childhood dream I thought I wanted back in my dusty Farmhouse bedroom. My Santa Barbara house is steel and glass. It defined my successful transformation from Josh to Joshua. At parties, I always drink whiskey or beer, never letting on that I know anything about wine. I successfully became someone else.

  I didn’t have a tragic upbringing, but I was stripped of choices. I was being forced into a life laid out for me by my grandfather. When I rejected it, I thought it made me a better person. I rebelled against the world I was locked into by becoming insanely successful at something else.

  The wine business comes with such strings, especially this one. My parents never had a choice. When my parents got married my grandfather legally changed the name of the winery to LaChappelle Whittier so he wouldn’t be forgotten. He tried to get my parents to legally change my name to LaChappelle. My mother being an only child, the last of the true LaChappelles wasn’t good enough for Lucien. That misogynist needed to know a LaChappelle man would run things. My grandfather was a hard man and never truly believed in my mother or that she could run his empire as he often called it.

  My father is an affable guy who had promise as a business journalist or a scientist. And then he loved her, and his fate was sealed. He had to become a vintner. No choice, just Lucien’s law. They protected me from him the best they could. But in the end, I severed all ties to get out from under his large shadow.

  I glance over in the darkness at hill where dear grandpa used to stand with a giant stick and overlook his kingdom. As a kid, my grandfather would take me on tractor rides through the vines. Not a fun ride with a loving grandpa in the grapes, it was mandatory and part of my life curriculum. Before I could go to school, I’d have to identify not only the varietal but the clone and the age of each block. And he wasn’t too kind when I forgot one. At one point, I knew the exact age of every vine on property. I almost failed geography in fifth grade because I couldn’t memorize world capitals. But I could find the Zin clone 68 blindfolded in our vineyard. Late nights and early mornings I was bombarded with information that I was told was vital for survival.

  He told me I could go and study anything I wanted at college. He’d happily pay for it but with the understanding that I was to return to the vineyard to take over for my ‘foolish lighthearted father’ and his ‘inconsequential flight-of-fancy daughter.’ This was his command. His words and feelings towards them may have played a part in how easy it was for me to cut ties with them for a while.

  I shift my body and tell her a bit. “The man spent my youth telling me the only way this place would survive is if I came back from college to rescue it from my parents. I’ve never told my parents the terrible way he spoke of them. But I’m sure they knew. He used to say to me I had no choice but a duty.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “It was Lucien and we all accepted it.”

  “My parents were treated like stewards of this land, and they never knew it. My mom used to paint. I didn’t realize this until I was seven and found a bunch of her canvases in storage. She wasn’t allowed to paint anymore because she needed to tend to the merchandise or the deal with label design and getting it approved through the liquor board. He made her learn graphic design, but she found sneaky ways to create. Like the pottery that she now sells in our tasting room.”

  “I love that she found a way to express herself despite him.” I lay back down and think about him again. She caresses the back of my hand.

  The bastard died when I was a junior in college. Lucien’s last Christmas, when I was home from school, he sat me down and showed me his will. The winery would be mine. It was cruel to my parents and a legacy I wanted nothing to do with. The damage was done, and we had a relationship that was no more than shambles. After he died, I gave it back to my parents. I was old enough to realize no one could tell me what to do and that my parents weren’t everything I’d been force-fed.

  I’m excellent with math, and I can talk anyone into anything. I had no interest in a world where my grandfather marginalized not only my parents but had taken away my entire future before I even figured out what I wanted it to be. My parents can mine joy from everything, especially each other. So they thrived here. I’m a different breed.

  “You don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want to.” She whispers to me and I revel in her trust. I’ll let her know a bit more.

  “Lucien lived for revenge, duty, and Martial law. I wanted to be the master of my universe, not thrust into someone else’s. He was the most black-and-white man who ever lived. There were no second chances and no second impressions.

  Lucien sent his best friend and CFO to jail for embezzlement, and he probably cooked the books himself. He ruined the man’s life and the lives of his family because he believed his friend cheated him and was disloyal. Completely cut him off without another word. That was the kind of man Lucien LaChappelle was.”

  He took possession of me from the very beginning. My mother got to pick Joshua, and of course I have my father’s last name, but the rest of it was mandated by my grandfather. It’s literally his name bookended by mine. Bastard. I set out to be Joshua Whittier instead of anything Lucien LaChappelle.”

  My heart tears a bit when I think of the winery becoming someone else’s home. I know I gave it up a long time ago but it’s still hard to think about. A feeling I didn’t even know I could muster. It’s buried pretty deep down under glitz, money, and ambition. Then there was Elle. The woman unearthed a whole slew of feelings I didn’t think I was capable of having. She did it without trying, just by being Elle. Seeing this all through her eyes reminded me that I don’t have to reject all of my childhood. That Lucien was only a piece of it. I have a universe of people and support. I do love the smell of the soil and the bitter taste of a grape ri
ght off the vine. Elle busted that door open when I thought it was sealed off. We stay still in all that I’ve revealed. After a while she shifts to her side and looks at me.

  “Josh, why aren’t you hitting on me?”

  “Do you want me to hit on you? Because I don’t do that.”

  “Yes, you do. You hit on me at Steiner’s.” She chuckles that deep throaty sexy fucking laugh. And my resolve weakens.

  “No, I didn’t. I conquered you that night.”

  She laughs again, “I wasn’t putting up much of a fight. I’d call it more of a checkmark on a to-do list than conquering.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “That was then, but last week you said no. You’ve repeatedly told me to stop, so I am. You said that was off the table because you don’t trust me. So let’s just look at the stars.”

  Fuck me. This wooing shit is hard. I want to flip her over and eat her pussy until she wakes up all of Sonoma with her screaming, but I’ll bide my time. I’m pretty sure I could get her, I’m just not sure I can get her heart yet. I don’t lose, and I need to be careful not to fuck this up. I want all of her, not just the parts I’ve already had. As sexy as she is, for once it’s about more than just sex. I’m feeling things that don’t relate to my penis while I hold her hand, and I like it. I want more of this.

  I wake up a couple of days later still in Sonoma. I was supposed to leave the next morning. I can’t find the motivation until she goes to New York. The night of my mom’s birthday, I kept reaching for her hand, or she kept reaching for mine. I’d like to blame it on Syrah, but she was different. Something has shifted and cracked wide open. She’s changing me too. I got up early and went out for a run, so I didn't have to see her at breakfast.

  Nothing happened last night, only wine and more stargazing, but for some reason that awkward morning-after feeling was taking hold. I need to connect with nature.

  Last night she snuggled into my chest. I’ve never been so chaste in all my life. I just put my arm around her, and we both pretended my cock wasn’t at attention and my balls weren’t blue.

  No one has asked when I’m leaving, and honestly I don’t have a fucking clue. Instead of phone calls, we sit on the porch each night and reveal a little more of our dark and twisty shit. She knows more stories of my grandfather and his domination over my childhood than my father now. No kissing but I don’t think I can be patient much longer. I swear I heard her masturbating last night and the idea of that set me off. Our rooms are next to each other, and it’s killing me to know she’s so close. My parents’ bedroom is on the other side of the house.

  Today I need to focus on some of my own business, and then my dad asked if I’d look over the reports that came in from the vineyard manager. I just dove right into vineyard life. I was in the fields today too, my childhood chore skills coming back like long-awakened muscle memory.

  He also said he made progress on restoring the outbuildings on the property. Dad’s always envisioned restoring the crumbling buildings scattered throughout our property for historical tours. Mom and I believe they should become vacation rentals for an immersive experience. Either way, it’s time to deal with the some of the salvageable ones. Maybe Elle has an idea.

  After I shower, I head to the Cooperage excited by this thought. Usually, Sundays would be quiet, but today there’s a bustling office full of employees getting the end of the quarter crap together. My emails can wait. I scoop up my mom and call out for Elle.

  “Elle! Get out here, now. Where are you?”

  “WHAT!” She bolts up from her chair in the conference room where she usually works, acting like something is terribly wrong. She’s dressed in faded, ripped jeans and a heathered gray V-neck clingy t-shirt. The shirt perfectly frames the spot where her emotions show. She stops my heart for just a split second. So, fucking beautiful.

  She runs out of her office with her hand on her heart. She says, “Why are you so loud? Jesus, I’m right here.”

  “Come with me.”

  She shakes her head. “No. I have work to do. You seem to be annoying right now.”

  “I’m super annoying, but you still have to come with me.” I motion to her to hustle up by waving my arms at her to usher out of the building.

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so. And when have I ever commanded you to do something, and it went badly?” I wink at her, and her cheeks flush.

  Elle says, “That’s ominous. I don’t like it. Where? I need to know where I’m going. I need a plan.”

  She looks adorable as her vivid green eyes glare at me, and the gold flecks dance in the streaming sunlight beaming from the windows.

  I say, “It’s fine. I’m not kidnapping you. Too many witnesses. Mom’s coming too.”

  “Is she done with her luncheon.”

  “Yes. I promise she’s coming too.”

  “If Sarah’s there, then you can’t very well leave me in a ditch. But I do not like not knowing where I’m going.”

  “Trust me, I get that. Come on.” The entire office laughs at me teasing her as she flips them off. Hellcat.

  We set off for a tour of the property along raggedy roads that haven’t been groomed in years, but I know the paths well. I shouldn’t be looking, but the bumpy ride is managing to make her perky breasts bounce most delightfully. Her bra doing nothing in the way of keeping them in place. We almost go off the road. They’re so hypnotic. And now, I need to look away because I apparently have awoken my favorite appendage. There are multiple twitches down below at the thought of seeing them bounce without Mom in the back seat.

  Focus. I need to focus on the task at hand. Damn her tits. We pull up to the caretaker cottage, and the path to it is a little overgrown. It was a guard shack of sorts during Prohibition. We refer to it as Lookout.

  “Are we hiking? I’m not so much an outdoorsy woodsy girl.”

  “Shut up and follow me.”

  My mom is smoking us, she’s way out in front. She’s always been fit, but she seems off her game lately. Glad to see she seems to be back to normal. The cottage looks great. It’s been stripped of vines and brush. The foundation looks like it’s been reinforced and the inside has been overhauled. There’s tarping and a temporary roof.

  “Mom. When did you guys do this?”

  “Your father started this project a while back. We just never got around to finishing it.” The building looks fantastic.

  As Elle makes her way through the trees out to the edge, she sees it, she looks fucking fabulous in a simple t-shirt. Her eyes get all soft and sweet. Almost as if she’s falling in love. My mom is circling the building, and Elle joins her as I stare out at the view of our vineyard and the valley. Lookout’s pretty big though, approximately eight hundred square feet, for a cottage.

  “What is this, Sarah? Like a hobbit house? It looks a little bit like a fairy cottage with the gingerbread exterior.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Elle

  Sarah speaks, “There are seven abandoned buildings on property all similar in states of disrepair. Same limestone and river rocks that build the Farmhouse, the Cooperage office building, and barn that’s the tasting room. Some of them were homes, and some were secret warehouses to house wine barrels. There’s one super long one on the end of the property over there. Will and the crew did a lot of work on this one and the one we call, Longhouse. But then well, you know, time got away from us.” They must have gotten the diagnosis in the middle of the construction.

  “And the story is that Emma LaChappelle also believed seven was a charmed number so she wouldn’t allow any other tiny buildings. There were originally only seven varietals, and now we only have dividends of seven for tradition’s sake. I’ll bet if we look at them on a map, if connected, they might have a pattern or something. She was a bit mystic.”

  “Like a pentagram or something?”

  Josh laughs and says, “Yeah, the 4G, Emma, was a brilliant genius whack job.”

  Sarah points towards the big hill before
the little lake. “That one was where they’d bottle in secret.”

  “Why secret?”

  “This one was called the caretaker’s home in the twenties and thirties, but that was code. They used it as a lookout point during Prohibition. They called him the caretaker, but his whole job was to sound that bell if he saw a raid approach. It’s called the Chappelle Bell. Part of the cover for police was that we were religious zealots.”

  She gestures to a rusted-out bell that sits between two very sturdy trees still tethered. The clapper is long gone, but the bell remains. The trees grew around it. I touch it then sit on a rock for the rest of story time.

  Sarah speaks, “All the buildings and the cave were retrofitted with false walls to hide the extra wine we were producing. We had a license to produce sacramental wine for Catholic churches in the area but produced ten times the amount needed. It’s how my great-grandfather was not only able to survive but expand the winery. That’s when he bought the coastal land out near Bodega. It also enabled my father to be able to jointly purchase a monstrous track of land in Lodi. That’s how we can keep up with commercial production. Lodi produces a ton of Cab and Zin each year. We don’t mix it with the Estate vines but produce the…”

  I interrupt, “The Chapel label, I know. But you own the property with Schroeder, right? They produce the Bellamy’s Ghost label.”

  Josh chimes in, “Exactly. And the LaChappelle and the Whittier labels can remain certified organic and estate. As can Schroeder’s. It’s second labels, like Chapel, where the real money is. Alena maintains the proprietary white and red blends each year, but we have little to do with it after that. My dad and Adrian Schroeder expanded the Lodi vineyard to accommodate Trader Joe’s demand.”