Page 12 of Merlot Marriage

I relay the story of my new nickname, loving the way her giggles vibrate against me.

“Oh, since I’m off tomorrow and the weather is supposed to be nice, I was going to head down to Sunshine Cellars to see Maggie and Kel. Do you want to come with me?”

There’s a list of jobs I need to apply for, but the prospect of spending an afternoon in the sunshine is irresistible. I’ll get to the applications later.

Philip

Summer arrived overnight. Thethick clouds that had been lingering now gone, replaced with a clear blue sky. I’m sure that in a few weeks, I’ll be cursing the oppressive heat, but for today, I’m going to bask in the warmth like a lizard. The constant chill in my bones from the damp weather bakes away as sunshine streams in through the car window.

Ophie turns off to the left rather than following the gravel driveway up to the winery’s main parking lot. Instead, we park beside a trio of cottages, next to Maggie’s sedan. I climb out of the car, following Ophie to the closest of the three. The flowers at the doorstep look brand new, the pot too clean to have been sitting there long.

“Maggie?” Ophie calls through the door when no one answers her knock. “They must be up at the tasting room.”

The sound of raised voices drifts back to us as we stroll up the path to the main building. The cottages sit below and to the eastof the tasting room, rows of grape vines extending across the south-facing side of the hill beside them.

As we reach the top of the path leading from the cottages to the main buildings, Kel and another man block our way, arguing in low voices.

“You can’t be in the tasting room, Nate.” Kel runs his fingers through his dark-blond hair in an agitated way.

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly want to be there, but we don’t have another option today, do we?” the dark-haired man—who must be Nate—replies, rolling his eyes. “Maggie is sick, and you have Olive this weekend. My mom needs to take Dad to physical therapy. It’ll be fine.”

Kel blows out hard, turning his head and catching sight of us. His fingers rub circles on his temples in the same way I’ve seen my dad do when he’s trying to figure out how he wants to lecture me this time. “Hey, Ophie. Okay, fine. You run the tasting room today, but please, for the love of god, don’t yell at any customers. And when the Suttons show up, benice.”

Nate stalks off without acknowledging our presence, grumbling under his breath. Ophie slips her arm around my waist and squeezes. I squeeze her back before extending my hand out to Kel.

“Hey, guys, good to see you. Everything alright?”

We shake hands, but Kel’s eyes keep darting over my shoulder down the path we just walked up.

Ophie steps away from me to give him a hug. “We’re good. Just needed to get out of the house and get some sunshine. Is Maggie okay?”

“She wasn’t feeling well this morning. Could have been something she had at dinner, or it might just be morning sickness. She was up all night and only fell asleep an hour ago.” Kel is clearly distracted, his answers slow and punctuated by pauses as he listens for something. He freezes, then pushes pastme. “Sorry, I think I hear Olive. I’ll let Maggie know you’re up at the tasting room when she wakes up.”

We watch him sprint down the path in silence. “Do you want to go check on your sister?” I finally ask when she doesn’t move.

She shakes herself, then looks up at me, concern in her brown eyes. “No, I’m sure she’s fine—Kel will take care of her. I’ll text her in a bit.”

Taking her hand, I lead her toward the main building. I’ve only been here once before, but I remember there being a small door on this side of the building. We step through right as another couple enters through the main door.

They look around, taking in the room. The girl smiles when she sees the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the rows of vines while her date peers at the chalkboard that lists all the wines available.

I wander over to a small table nestled against the window, dragging Ophie with me as the couple makes their way over to Nate, who’s cleaning wine glasses with a soft white rag. The men tip their chins at each other in the universal man language of acknowledgment before Nate leans against the bar that takes up the short end of the rectangular space.

The wooden bar matches the log-cabin feel of the interior—exposed beams grace the high barn ceilings, matching the color of the real-wood floors. The timber walls are a far cry from the plaster used in the Cape Dutch-style wineries I’m used to from home, but it has a woodsy sort of appeal.

I still think a dark thatched roof against a white wall looks better, but I can imagine that might not be the most practical in a place where the air is constantly wet from November to May.

After hearing Kel’s admonishments, I’m curious how Nate acts with customers. I lean forward and drop my voice to ask, “What do you think? Is Nate going to be rude to them?”

Ophie leans in to match me, her hair swinging forward and sending the scent of her floral shampoo cascading toward me. “He won’t be rude. He may not own the winery anymore, but he still considers it his legacy. It’ll be fine.”

I glance back at the long bar right as his mouth pulls down in a frown, impatience written in the twitch of his shoulders as the couple stares at the signage behind him.

“I bet you dinner that he’s about to make an ass of himself.”

“Loser also has to do the dishes?” Mischief twinkles in her gorgeous brown eyes.

I nod. “Dinner, dishes,anddessert.”

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