Love Unforgettable: Love in San Soloman - Book Three

by Wells, Denise

  Yep, it says what I think it does.

  I click over to my phone log and read the transcript from my visual voicemail just to be sure.

  Yep, the voicemail confirms the text and the email.

  Oh. My. God.

  “I’m winning an award,” I say still in shock. “A really big award.” I barely hear the exclamations and questions from Kat and Remi. My ears are buzzing, and I can’t quite catch my breath.

  “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” I start.

  “Tell us what’s going on,” Kat says.

  “I’m winning an award,” I say. “Or rather, I won an award that’s being presented this weekend at Grape Nuts, the convention I usually go to. Except I wasn’t going to go this year. Just because, actually I don’t know why, I didn’t have a good reason—”

  “Lex, the award, what is it?”

  “Winemaker of the Year. I won Winemaker of the Year.”

  * * *

  I get home after breakfast with Kat and Remi. They, of course, made a huge deal out of the award and wanting to go with me when I receive it. But I don’t want to make a big thing of it. I don’t have to go to receive it. I get it anyway. If I go, I have to get dressed up and make a speech, and I’m just not sure I want to go through all that effort.

  It’s difficult to wrap my head around. I’m proud, I’m excited, I wish Stone were here to see it. I wish my parents and brother were too. But at the same time, I feel like a total imposter. Surely this must be a mistake. I’m not qualified for this award. I’m not old enough, not established enough, not talented enough. I have to tell the girls not to say anything to anyone. I want to keep this low key. Like, really low key.

  Chapter 32

  Cole

  I text Lexie mid-morning, just to say hi and that I’m thinking about her. I’m sure that I’m coming across as over-eager, but I am thinking about her and I want her to know.

  That’s cause you’re a soft-hearted momma’s-boy.

  When I don’t hear back from her by lunchtime, I decide to take a little break and head over to the winery. I walk into the tasting room and look around for Lexie. Courtney, her second in command, gives me a little wave, and tells me that Lexie is in the back. She directs me through the lab and into the barrel room.

  I finally find her in the very back of the rows of barrels, teetering atop an old ladder, holding a glass of wine up to the light and inspecting it.

  I watch her for a while before she realizes I am there. Just soaking her in. Pink hair separated into braided pig tails, white Converse sneakers with wine stains all over them, faded and worn jeans, and a black Lovestone hoodie. She almost looks like a kid playing at being a winemaker, but I know firsthand that under that petite exterior lies a woman who is sexy as hell. She’s got one foot on the ladder and one foot on the rack holding the barrels. Her ass twitches slightly to the beat of the music, enough so I want to smack it. Smack it, and grab it, and pull her up against me with it. Get her naked and bite it.

  She hums along to the music, lost in her own little world of music and wine. Her dog, the husky she has with her today, notices me and starts thumping his tail on the ground and lets out a “woo” in greeting. Without turning around, she says loudly, “Hey, Court, can you throw me that rag at the bottom of the ladder?”

  I grab it and hold it up toward her,

  “Here you go,” I say.

  She looks down. “Hey, you’re not Courtney,” she says, smiling.

  “I’m not Courtney,” I say, smiling back.

  “What brings you out here at this time of day?” she asks, reaching into her pocket for the remote to turn down the music.

  “Well, there’s this woman that I can’t stop thinking about. I want to see her again, so I thought I would come and ask her in person when we can make that happen.”

  She turns on the ladder to face me. “Doesn’t that technically mean you’re seeing me now?” she asks coyly.

  “You make me a little nervous standing on the ladder like that, can you come down do you think?”

  “You gonna catch me if I fall?”

  “Always,” I say. She takes a step down, so I move forward, grab her by the hips and lift her off the ladder, slowly lowering her down.

  “Hi,” she whispers as her toes touch the floor.

  “Hi,” I say. She looks from my eyes, to my lips, and back to my eyes again. I take that as my cue to kiss her. Her lips are soft, her breath sweet, and she tastes like wine. She stretches up to wrap her arms around my neck and I pull her in tighter, loving the feel of her against my body. I reach down to grab her ass and squeeze. She moans into my mouth as our tongues tangle. I lift her slightly and she wraps both legs around my waist, we move back until she’s pinned against a barrel.

  “My God, you feel good, woman,” I groan, lifting my lips from hers.

  “I could feel better,” she teases.

  “Our first time is not going to be with you against a barrel.”

  “What about our second time?’

  “That’s gonna be right after the first.”

  “Third?” she asks.

  “Right after the second.”

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself and your abilities, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” I smile then lean in to whisper in her ear, “After that, sweetness, I will fuck you against a barrel anytime and as often as you wish.”

  She turns her head, her lips seeking mine, her tongue demanding entrance, to which I comply. We make out until I lose track of time and am seconds away from pulling her jeans down and taking her right now, special first time be damned when her assistant interrupts us, paging Lexie to the phone with a call from “the people from the National Winemaker Award Contest about her win.”

  “Shit,” she says, pulling away from me, eyes averted, lowering her legs to the ground.

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “You winnin’ an award?”

  “Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “Give me a sec.” She heads over to the phone on the wall to take the call. All I hear is her side of the conversation, but it’s enough to know that she’s won a pretty damn important award and she’s not feeling deserving of it at all. In fact, she’s practically trying to talk them out of giving it to her. She confirms that she will rearrange her schedule to be at the conference this coming weekend and the awards ceremony Saturday night. And yes, she would be honored to lead a panel on winemaking and sustainable winemaking practices.

  She hangs up the phone and heads back toward me with her head hung low.

  “Sweetness?”

  She looks up at me. “I wasn’t planning on attending. I don’t deserve this award. I really don’t. There are so many truly great winemakers out there, all of whom are worthier of such recognition. I just got lucky. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, and I wasn’t going to go. I don’t know why I’m admitting this to you. I’m annoyed with myself as a result. But now I have to go. And worse, you know about it too.”

  “Why is that worse?” I ask.

  She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before responding. “Because you’re going to be happy for me. You’ll want to celebrate it, and I just can’t do it. They are sending a photographer for the cover of the Wine Educator for God’s sake. It’s too much.”

  I go to her and pull her into a hug before saying anything. When I step back, I make sure she’s looking at me before speaking. “Who judges this so-called contest?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes and steps out of my embrace to pace up and down the aisle. “The reviewers from The Wine Educator along with judges from other contests and some of the past winners,” she says, her voice low.

  “So, they might know their stuff and maybe they don’t. I mean, my experience with reviewers is that they don’t often know enough to actually do, so they review instead.”

  “Exactly!” She throws her arms up in the air.

  “And the judges from other contests, how do they get to be judges?”

  “I think they are o
ther contest winners and people in the industry that maybe aren’t winemakers.”

  “So, a bunch of people who don’t even make wine, and other people who probably got lucky just like you and don’t know what they’re doin’. Couldn’t dot an ‘i’ if their brains were ink.”

  “Hey, I know what I’m doing!” Her voice is loud, and her tone is sharp.

  “But you got lucky with the award, so it wasn’t evidence that you know what you’re doing,” I shrug.

  Her face gets red and she points her finger at me when she speaks. “I have worked my ass off to get to where I am. And I am damn fucking good at what I do!”

  “Exactly,” I say quietly.

  Her chest is heaving. And really, in this moment, I should be commended for not staring at her tits, ‘cause I’ll bet they are fabulous.

  “You’re an asshole,” she says.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “I still—”

  “Quiet, sweetness.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me.

  “I’m only gonna say this once. You have earned every accolade thrown at you. Own your talent, you’ve worked hard for it. The rewards that you receive, belong to you and only you. If someone else’s work merits a similar honor, they’ll get it on their own and you have nothing to do with that. Just like they have nothing to do with your successes. And as far as what you deserve, it’s only good things. Really good things.”

  “But—”

  I put a finger against her lips as soon as she starts to object. “What I need to know now, is if I need to have my tux cleaned for this event?”

  “You can’t go!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . .”

  I raise my eyebrows at her again, we are fast making a habit of her saying nonsense and me questioning why.

  “I don’t know why,” she says. “But you can’t. And don’t look at me like that.”

  “Who you plannin’ to take, then?”

  “No one.”

  “Unacceptable.”

  “Fine. You can go if you really want to. But I’d rather that you didn’t,” she says.

  “Well, that right there, sweetness, is an invitation that I just can’t say no to.”

  “Yes, on the tux.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be wearin’ a fancy dress?”

  “Yes.” She has a sour look on her face.

  “Will there be dancing?”

  “Probably.”

  “So, you’re excited about getting all dressed up, receiving an award, and spending an evening drinking and dancing with me then?”

  “I guess.”

  “Great, I look forward to it too.” I keep my voice positive. “Now, I’ve got to get back to the ranch. I mostly came to find out if I can see you later.”

  “I’d like that.” she replies. Her voice back to light and happy.

  “I’ll call you later.” I give her a quick kiss, and then another, then head out. I see Mavis is at the tasting bar as I walk through the room to leave. So, I go over to say hello before leaving. Just in time to hear the tail end of her conversation with Courtney, where Courtney is telling her all about the award Lexie is receiving.

  So much for Lexie keeping all this quiet. Once Mavis knows, the rest of the world knows too. She’s got a ten-gallon mouth, that one does.

  “Why, Miss Mavis, you are just as pretty as a picture,” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek.

  “Ah, Cole, such a good boychik. You see my bubala now?”

  “I did, indeed. And I will be seeing her later as well.”

  “Is about time you move fast, so slow before you two. Such shtuss. Nonsense, I tell you. Oy.”

  “Well, I do apologize for that. I will make sure to move faster in the future. In fact, I’m escorting her to the aforementioned awards ceremony this weekend.”

  “L’chaim,” she says loudly and raises her glass.

  “But she’d like to keep in on the down low, if you know what I mean. So, she doesn’t want too many people to know, or us to make a big deal out of it.”

  “Such mishegas.”

  “Is that good?” I ask.

  “Is nonsense,” she says.

  “Oh, okay. Well, just keep it to yourself anyway. And with that, I’ll leave you ladies to it. Miss Courtney, Miss Mavis, have a good day, the both of you.”

  Chapter 33

  Lexie

  The weekend comes much faster than I want it to. And before I realize it or am ready for it, I’m waking early on Friday morning with that unsettling feeling that I am forgetting something. My main problem is that I leave for Grape Nuts this morning, which I’m still not super excited about. Cole wanted to come with me today, but I convinced him to come separately tomorrow. Mostly because there is nothing for him to do at the actual conference, and I don’t want to take him away from his own stuff and life for no reason.

  I’ve got Daniel handling everything in the vineyard while I’m gone. Courtney and the staff will be running the tasting room, and the dog sitter will be here soon to hang with the huskies. Which means that everything I do today from here on out will be for my comfort and enjoyment. So, I make myself a thermos of coffee mixed with hot chocolate and a peanut butter and banana sandwich and decide to drive my Jeep with the hood and the doors off.

  It only takes me two hours to get to Grape Nuts from San Soloman. They are holding it at the San Francisco Convention Center. An easy drive for me, listening to my favorite 70’s playlist the entire way, singing at the top of my lungs. Marvin Gaye’s “Inner-City Blues” is blaring as I pull up to the valet in front of the hotel. I’m sure I’ve created some sort of noise pollution nuisance, but I don’t care. I needed this, I’m feeling invigorated, refreshed, and a little bad-ass.

  Bring it on, Grape Nuts!

  I cruise around the venue before heading up to my room. It is still really early in the day, but I was lucky to get an early check-in. The vendor booths opened at eight o’clock this morning, but the panels don’t begin until ten o’clock, and the one I’m on isn’t until tomorrow late morning. Grape Nuts is overwhelming to say the least. Two and a half days of nothing but a bunch of winos geeking out on all things wine industry related. There have to be at least fifteen thousand people here already. This is the third time I’ve attended, but the first time I’ve been asked to speak and sit on a panel. And of course, the first time I’m getting an award. There are people here who are huge in the wine industry. People I’ve looked up to my whole life. But I’m staying the course like I promised Cole I would; I worked hard for this award, and it’s only fitting that I accept it graciously.

  After looking around a bit to get my bearings, I head up to my room, drop off my bag, grab my ID badge and head out to the event. Like many of the other winery owners, I am wearing jeans and a winery logo shirt. Since the bulk of my clientele is female, especially with how I name my wines, the majority of my logo shirts are in cute feminine styles and the tees are cut to flatter the female figure instead of hang all over like the men’s styles. I have men’s shirts too, but not as many styles. The shirt I’m wearing today is black with cap sleeves and a low rounded neck. It ends mid-hip, so it looks good tucked in or left out. As I look around, I’m happy to see that most everyone in attendance seems to be dressed casually, like me, which makes me feel more at ease.

  The panel today that I am most looking forward to is on the necessity of tasting rooms. Especially since Mavis and I just put so much money into ours, and since one of the leading opposing theories being that the highest profit is to be garnered from wine clubs and mailing lists as opposed to distribution or the tasting room.

  However, when I get there, they ask me to join the panel instead of sitting in the audience. I have a feeling this is what happens when you start winning awards, all of a sudden you are the expert on everything and subsequently treated as such. Clearly, I’m not the only one excited about this panel since it not only filled one of the larger ball rooms, but ther
e are people standing in the back because there are no more seats left.

  The panel consists of myself and one other “boutique” winery owner, an urban winery owner, and three really big names in the industry. It’s interesting to hear what the urban winery owner has to say since that is a newer trend in wineries. And when I say new I mean in the last ten years or so. Not to say that’s when the whole urban trend first started, just when the wineries started to catch on and gain some recognition. It’s harder to pay attention to what the others are saying when I know I could be asked a question at any moment and I need to defend my decision.

  When the tasting room panel ends, I check my schedule and head to the next panel presentation. Really hoping that this one will let me be and observe. There are just some days where group participation is overrated. After this next panel there is a lunch break, then a longer presentation I want to catch on wine cans, instead of bottles, then the vintner mixer. My day just started and I’m already exhausted.

  * * *

  I go to the vintner’s mixer, already in session, straight from my last panel. The room is huge, I’m guessing there are at least one thousand people in here. I note six different bars around the room, as well as tray passed beverages, offering a variety of selections in red and white wines, champagnes, and sparkling wines.

  On either side of the room, they’ve placed two exceptionally large buffet tables that each hold appetizers and tapas, plus additional waitstaff are carrying tray passed appetizers. Each vintner (winemaker) in attendance was required to bring a case of assorted wines. So, in addition to paying to attend the conference, we also provided all the alcohol. Since they estimated about twenty-five hundred vintners registered, the organizers of the event got access to twenty-five hundred cases of wine. Not bad for a multi-day conference.

  The walls of the room are covered in blown up pictures of logos, labels, and winery properties of those in attendance. I recognize the labels and logos of so many big players in the industry: Caymus, Schramsberg, Duckhorn, Mondavi, Kendall Jackson, Ferrari-Carano, Chateau Montelena, Patz & Hall, Foxen, and Rochioli to name a few. I’m so excited to meet the winemakers from some of these places so I can pick their brains. This might be my only year to do so since I’m on the radar because of the award. I still have a hard time believing that I’m living my dream. Which is not the same as when I don’t feel as though I deserve it. I am a bonafide winemaker. I make a living growing grapes and making and selling my wines. It’s amazing.