by Kelly Kay
A Trader Joe’s light bulb goes off. That’s how he knew them.
“You are aware that I know all this. But what I’ve never asked is, why not just sell the juice?”
Josh explains, “We do some. It’s a lot of juice. But by owning the name, blend, and production facilities, it makes more money for us. And we maintain quality control. We may be in a position to produce some cheaper wine, but the quality is still excellent. It’s how we can keep creating world-class rare vintage wines because the ten-dollar dinner party wines provide the capital for the collector and higher-end wines.”
Sarah lights up as Josh becomes animated, telling me about the business and their family legend. She’s proud that he’s not been totally swallowed up by Santa Barbara. His face softens, and his eyes gleam in the sunlight.
Josh finishes her story. “The LaChappelle legend is that we were the only vineyard to never have a drop spilled, confiscated, or destroyed during Prohibition.”
I ask, “I knew lots of wineries produced sacramental wine, but did they all bootleg?”
Josh raises his eyebrows before he continues, and it’s insanely hot. He says, “Yes, but not as well as we did. Langerford got close, but just before the repeal, they got raided and lost a ton of barrels.”
“You’re descended from bootleggers? That’s cool as hell. Can I use that?”
Sarah laughs. “I don’t see why not.”
I ask, “What are you going to do with these buildings?”
“We were going to restore them, put them on the historical register, and then either conduct tours or let people vacation in them.”
“You don’t need more tours. I love the idea of little cottages tucked away for vacation,” I say.
Josh is standing a couple feet from me, and the sun is in his sandy hair, making it all the more enticing. He’s still an untrustworthy asshole, but when he turns towards me with one corner of his mouth in a semi-smile, the distrustful knot in my stomach loosens. He’s different. We’re different. It’s like we’re laying the groundwork for something else. Here’s the part that makes me the most nervous about him being up here this last week. I’ve discovered I don’t like to be too far away from him. I wait for him to fall asleep each night. If I leave my door open, I can hear him snuffle and lightly snore. It’s adorable and comforting.
His shirt is unbuttoned one too many. I feel as though it’s not usual for him, but I get a view of his pecs. They’re granite-hard, like the rest of him. Tasting room Sam is crazy. This is how a man should look.
I start to envision the cut vee that leads me to his sandy glistening hair that surrounds his magnificent dick. I flick my eyes in that direction, and he catches me. We both realize that we’re kind of staring at each other when Sarah interrupts us again. And I look away quickly as his smile gets dirty and he licks his lips.
“I would have loved to restore them, but there's no reason now that we're selling,” Sarah says.
The sun ducks behind a cloud, and Josh’s smile disappears. I’ve seen that negative veil settle over him before. In some ways, I represent the sale. He doesn’t want the business, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have it. I’m not sure why he wants nothing to do with all of this when clearly, he loves it. It’s a part of him. Get that all too well. Someday we should talk about his farm and mine.
Even though I sold my parents’ farm, there’s a part of me in that soil, no matter what happens to it. I heard part of it is a housing development. Kids now play in grass that will always have a piece of my family and me in it. We belong to the dirt, and that dirt belongs to us. I know why I couldn’t stay there, but I’d like to see why he chooses not to stay here. The more he shows me of himself and of the property, the more I see that it’s possible that 'Santa Barbara Joshua' is a façade.
He becomes abrupt and says, “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go. Just thought you’d want to use the story for marketing. I have a shit ton to do, let’s go.”
Sarah reaches her hand to help me off the ground as Josh stomps back to the Jeep. I want to change Sarah's mind about renovating. It seems to mean something to Josh as well.
“Sarah?”
“Yes, dear.”
“You have the means and the vision, why not do some of the buildings like a parting gift? You don’t give up on anything, why this?”
“It’s a lot of work. And I’m tired a little too often lately. I’d rather spend my energy with Josh, Will, and my friends.”
I remind her, “It could be beautiful. I’ll help.”
She touches my cheek. “I’ll think about it. We do have the permits, materials, and supplies. We’d need labor.”
She yells after Josh. “Honey, can you send your father up to get me in about an hour? I want to hike around a bit.”
I panic. “Are you sure, Sarah?”
“Absolutely. Today is a good day, Elle, thank you for asking. And I want Will and I to talk about the buildings.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that she feels strong today. She hugs me tightly and says, “Thanks for reminding me that we haven’t sold just yet. And that I’m not done for, yet.”
Will is going to be pissed at us that we left her up here all alone, but she’s too headstrong. Josh seems oblivious to the health concerns of a woman with Parkinson’s left up on a mountain by herself but whatever.
His chiseled chin taunts me. I want to grab it and suck on it right now, but I also want to push him out of the car and make him walk back. It’s not my fault they’re selling. I text and let Will know where his wife is, and he tells me he’ll head right up there. Then I buckle in and stare at that damn chin with a fucking sexy dimple.
“What?”
“Stop being an asshole. It’s your parents’ decision.”
“I can’t help but think you had something to do with it.”
“How? What are you talking about? They had buyers and paperwork in motion long before I started putting you guys in magazines and all over social media.”
“About that. I’m done being your poster boy for the wine country.”
“No, you are not, Suit.” He’s breathing intensely and driving erratically. My head and chest are bouncing everywhere. I hold down my boobs as we take a particularly harrowing turn. “Can you slow down please?”
“No.”
I plead. “You’re making me nervous.” He speeds up, and I hold on the bars of the car while we turn on a switchback. “PLEASE.”
He glances over to me and shakes his head. Then the car slows down a bit. I breathe a little bit more regularly. Then I smack the shit out of his arm.
“Hey!” He jerks his arm away. “You want me to be more careful driving, then don’t hit the driver while I’m doing it.”
“You scared the shit out of me on purpose.”
He smirks at me and says, “Maybe I like the terror in your eyes.”
I roll my eyes and say, “I need a favor.”
“Don’t you always?”
“You have a photo shoot this afternoon at El Dorado.”
“Hmmm. Do I?”
“Oh. No. I’m not joining you there. I’m not sure my whore ass can ever be seen there again even after all this time.”
“We did wreck the room.” I laugh at the memory.
My tone softens, and I say, “We were different people.”
“Were we?”
I shift the subject slightly. “Did you know we cracked the headboard, chipped the sink, broke a chair leg and shredded the sheets and mattress pad? I’m not even sure how the hell we did that one.”
“You paid for the repairs?”
“Of course.”
“You paid to have sex with me.” He needs to stop referencing that night.
“Jackass.”
“It’s my fatal flaw.”
I know exactly who told him that. “Sarah told me that mine is being too in control. I find it endearing.”
“A controlling bitch and a jackass. We’re a match made in hell.” I laugh at the thought
.
I defer back to his schedule. “You’ll be in the pool with a glass of wine and a bimbo showing people the good life.”
“Now, that I can get behind. Hey!” He reacts as I hit him again. He says in a deeper tone of voice, “I know it’s not your fault. But you’re here actively helping them sell this place. I can’t wrap my head around how I feel about that or lots of things these days.”
“Someday I’m going to need for you tell me what the fuck it is that bothers you since you've been all but absent from this place for almost a decade. There’s more to your grandfather’s stories, aren’t there?”
“That will require lots more wine and some stars. ”
"I happen to know where we might be able to find some."
"When I get back."
Chapter Forty-Two
Josh
She quickly asks, “Where are you going?”
Her voice pleading with me makes me realize that more than anything, I don’t want to leave her side. I don’t want other men looking at her without me around. I don’t want to miss out on saying goodnight to her or good morning. But if I miss this week, my career is done. I’m only going home to get this deal done. No other fucking work matters.
“I’m headed to work right after your photo shoot.”
“Now? You have to start telling me things!” She’s standing on the other side of the Jeep demanding to approve my schedule.
I ask earnestly, “You want to know about where I am?”
“Yes!” Her face reacts to how intimate that statement is. She instantly blushes with embarrassment. Her skin telegraphs each mood and feeling. I’m starting to know which shade is what.
“Then you’ll just have to go to New York. Go today.”
“Because I can so afford a last-minute ticket.” She rolls her eyes at me.
I pull out my phone. “When do you want to come back?”
Her jaw drops. “Don’t. You don’t have to do that.”
“Leave this afternoon. It’s Sunday, traffic will be light to the airport. Let me skip the photo shoot, and I’ll go with you to the airport. Then I’ll meet you back here on Friday.” If she’s occupied for the week, I won’t miss out on anything. “You know this is a good plan, Cosmo.”
Elle’s eyes are wide as I keep my phone out. She asks sweetly, “Do you have another lockdown week?” She’s still talking to me across the Jeep, afraid to get closer. I can see her hands fidget. And a smile breaks across her face and I know I have her.
“Yes, Cosmo, a lockdown week. But you can tend to your messy New York desk. John’s sending you a ticket. Consider it my apology for not telling you I was going sooner. Meet me back here in two hours, and we’ll take a car.”
She simply stares at me with a ridiculous grin, shaking her head in disbelief. I like keeping her guessing. I return the smile, and we just stare at each other like moony-faced morons. We’ve just made our first joint plans, and it’s not lost on either of us. They may not actually be together, but they are in tandem.
Then she walks away towards the Farmhouse. She doesn’t look back as she yells, “You’re watching my ass, aren’t you?”
“Fuck yeah, I am.”
“Good.”
I see her skip a bit into the Farmhouse, I assume to pack. This week is going to suck.
Chapter Forty-Three
Elle
“I gotta say, my love, it’s fucking strange to see you at that desk. And as power-hungry as I am, I adore it.”
“I missed you, Evan.”
I haven’t really been in my office in three and a half months. Evan is set up on my office couch. This is exactly how we used to work when I started in this business. We were paired early in my career, and he would just plop down across me, and we’d work. Sometimes in silence or talking through things as we went along. He’s the other half of me business-wise and pretty much the only person I trust in the world.
I did pull in a shit ton of business to justify my extended California vacay. But my office is foreign to me. I use LC/W as a base of operations now, but I think I might want to open a branch office and get out of the winery. Sarah said they know a lawyer that might be able to help me out with the practicalities of getting a California business license. I might hang a small West Coast shingle.
“I love seeing your face. But you’re in jeans. And are those Adidas?”
“Yup, limited edition.”
“At least tell me they’re designer jeans?”
“Lafayette 148 New York.”
“Thank god you’re still you. The sneakers are the strangest. Don’t they make at least a wedge?”
Not sure which girl I am. But I’m not so sure I miss all the makeup and maintenance. My nails are bare right now. I don’t think they’ve been naked in a decade. Maybe I’m both of them. Both Noelle and Elle. Time will tell.
Evan and I laugh a lot over the morning’s business. Then he hauls in most of the creative team so we can hammer out a schedule. They all call it ‘pitches and problems.’ Evan and I secretly call it sitches and bitches. It’s a moment for the staff to be heard, but it can get bogged down in annoying petty shit. My mind drifts as someone complains about the quality of copier paper and how it doesn’t have an accurate Pantone read.
Before I left on Sunday, I sat down with Sarah and Will and scheduled the revitalization of the Longhouse and the Lookout. They started construction today, and it’s where my head is dwelling. I got them a double crew and paid for overtime myself. I won’t tell them I paid but I want it done quickly. My gift to them for taking in a stray. I pulled some strings with a decorator friend of mine in San Francisco to get the building sites inspected first thing this morning. I want to give this to them. In exchange for all the kindness and housing they’ve given to me.
Will got all the permits and materials to surprise Sarah nine months ago. He’d gotten far enough in the projects that they were plumbed, wired, and inspected, but they dropped them cold for the exact reason I thought, the diagnosis. But everything is there to finish at least three of the buildings. Two of them might be almost done by the end of this week.
Evan pulls me back to my reality. “Do you like the blue? Hello?!”
“Yeah. I do." I mean nothing I’m saying. I’m so distracted by the other life that I’ve apparently been building.
It’s two hard and productive days. After some client drinks, I head back to my apartment. It’s Tuesday and tomorrow I have a ton of meetings during the day. It will be dizzying. I forgot how draining meeting after meeting could be. And without running up and down the hills to the tasting room or picking up wine boxes, I remember why I used to work out so often. I’ve replaced spin class with hauling wine boxes and hiking the vineyard. I’m antsy. I have extra energy without the manual labor. I forgot how sitting all day long can take a toll on you.
I stop at a liquor store on my way home and discover that the wine I like is freaking expensive outside of the immediate Sonoma area. I buy LC/W Merlot and Langerford Chardonnay. I’ve never told anyone that it’s my Chardonnay of choice, given that it’s a rival winery. But I have met Theresa Langerford, Sarah’s friend, and she is blunt and wonderful. And I did have that chance encounter with one of her sons, Jims at Della Santina’s. I could just tell people I’m supporting the Valley as a whole.
I open my front door, and there are no stars, no one waiting, no leftovers in the fridge, just my flawlessly manicured home. My deep blue velvet tufted couch sits perfectly positioned with a shell pink woven throw just waiting for me. I have two beige chairs with blue velvet pillows that match the couch on them. Then there’s a splash of bright green on the rug that gets picked up in the wallpaper in my powder room. I keep that door a tiny bit cracked so the green can harmonize. Good lord, Melissa was right. This is all way too planned. All my artwork matches the exact hue of the couch and bathroom paint.
My bedroom is shell pink and black with a touch of Tiffany box blue. My shower curtain in my bathroom and the blotter on my des
k are also Tiffany blue. I sit there dumbfounded at the matchy matchyness of my home. I pull a cork and start going through my mail. I look at the coffee table. I instinctively got out two glasses. Guess I was getting used to someone being there at the end of the day.
ELLE: Everything feels foreign here. I’m not sure who to be.
JOSH: I’m sure it’s a lot. You okay?
ELLE: Yes, but it’s like I don’t belong in California and I don’t belong here anymore.
JOSH: Babe, I’m swamped. I do want to hear all of this. You know, I do. But I can’t right now. Email it to me, and I’ll read it before I fall asleep. I promise, my Hellcat.
I sit straight up and toss my phone on a chair nearby like it’s searing hot. Did Josh just call me Babe!? And when did I become his? I have to let it go but holy shit. Can’t. Did he just call me Babe and respond with a reason why he can’t talk? That’s not friend behavior, that’s a term of endearment followed by accountability. I hear another text across the room and look anyway.
SAMANTHA: When are you coming home?
Sitting in my apartment in the city that’s been a part of me for so long, I feel my entire body relax at Sam’s word, home. This is my perfect furniture. I searched for close to a year for my prewar apartment. My ideal neighborhood. This is the perfect life I dreamed of as a little girl. And it’s not home. I’m proud that I’m bold enough to face the truth. Oprah would be proud because I’m going to stand in it.
ELLE: Tomorrow.
Chapter Forty-Four
Elle
I never answered his text, and there have been no phone calls. But after sixty-six hours in Manhattan and feeling vaguely suffocated, I changed my plane ticket. Instead of sitting in meetings, I spent the next couple of days decorating the new buildings. They were completed in record time. Evan was in charge of my company all along. We chatted before I left about a possible West Coast office. It has been an incredibly interesting five days since I’ve spoken to Josh.