Page 11 of Taurus

He turns to look at me, resting his forearms on the steering wheel. “You’re scared no one in that building is going to like you, and you’re worried they will see you as something you’re not.”

“Not quite. I’m just worried they’ll see me as an enemy because I’m taking over for Grandad. I don’t want them to think I’m trying to replace him or come in and ruin everything.” I climb out of the golf cart and smooth out my top and slide my phone back into my pocket.

“They are scared you’re going to sell,” he tells me truthfully. “As they should be, because even you don’t know how this story is going to end yet.” He motions for me to follow him up the walkway toward the door. “Just be yourself and you won’t have anything to worry about, all right?”

I nod, “All right.”

He slides the large door open and the cool air rushes out in a gust and welcomes me in from the thick Georgia heat.

The bar slash tasting room is a large, dark wooden affair with a few tables placed strategically around the huge, U-shaped, deeply colored mahogany bar.

There are more people waiting for us than I thought there would be, but I guess that makes sense. Pesca isn’t a Fortune 500 company by any means, but it’s certainly not small. I suppose I didn’t realize exactly how many people depend on this place for a job.

“Sorry, we’re late. I was dragging a little this morning,” Austin says, immediately taking the blame for us being a couple minutes behind the eight ball, and I’m grateful for that because I can feel everyone’s eyes on me immediately.

Yes, I grew up on this vineyard, but I haven’t been back in ten years. Most of the staff, minus a few familiar faces, have completely changed since the last time I can remember.

In fact, nearly the entire property has changed in so many ways that it’s actually making my head spin.

“Now, I’m sure some of you remember Parker, or you at least heard Warren talk about her constantly,” Austin laughs. “But I’m going to do a formal introduction of sorts.”

He places his hand at the small of my back and pulls me forward to stand next to him. It’s a completely casual, platonic move, but the heat of his touch through my top is impossible to ignore.

“This is the infamous Parker Scott, granddaughter of the late, incredibly missed Warren Scott. She has, of course, been tasked with the role of owner and operator of Pesca with the passing of Warren. Parker, tell them a little bit about yourself, and don’t be scared. They don’t bite, I swear. They only look mean,” he jokes with the staff and there is a low rumbling of chuckles.

I take a breath and lace my hands together in front of my body, “Hi, everyone, like he said, I’m Parker. I grew up on this vineyard, though it’s changed quite a bit since the last time I was here. I helped where I could growing up, but don’t let that fool you, there will still be a learning curve. I can’t wait to meet you individually and learn as much as I can about this entire process and how Pesca operates now.”

There’s a smattering of whispers and conversations between some of the staff that I can’t make out, but luckily, Austin takes back over pretty quickly.

“Okay, I’m going to go around and introduce the heads of each department and later, when Parker comes around to observe individually, she can meet each of the teams on their own.”

The way Austin is commanding attention, maintaining professionalism, and handling this entire situation like an absolute pro is somehow shocking, yet not shocking to me.

He’s always been an incredible leader, but I know him more as the foul-mouthed, funny, incredibly romantic, and hotheaded man that my sixteen-year-old self fell head over heels for.

He’s a man now. A boss. A manager. Successful and respected. It’s impressive… and hot.

“First and foremost, I’m going to introduce you to Bryan, our cellar master.” An older man, maybe in his early fifties with a completely shaved head, waves his hand my way.” Basically, he is responsible for everything from the time the grapes are harvested off the vines to the time the bottled wine is shipped out. He works hand in hand with our winemaker, Gaila.”

I look to my left and a woman, who is probably my age or a little older, with the most striking blue eyes and black hair waves. “Gaila,” Austin continues, “makes the magic happen. She watches every grape closely and decides when we pull them, which ones we use, and she experiments with many different blends and infusions. She’s the shit, basically,” he says and everyone laughs.

“It’s nice to meet you, Parker,” Gaila says after the laughs have died down. “Warren was one of my closest friends and I heard so much about you. I’m glad you decided to come back and keep Pesca moving forward.”

“I hope I can live up to the legacy, that’s for sure.”

Austin introduces person after person, from the cellar rats, who help Bryan with the grunt work, to the coopers that hand-shape and craft the barrels the wine will age in, and even the vineyard staff, who is in charge of the crop management and general upkeep of the property.

“And this,” Austin motions to a petite woman with a bright blue pixie cut and intricate tattoos covering both of her arms, “is Linds. She runs the bar here in the tasting room.”

“Hi.” She reaches out to shake my hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Warren had many incredible things to say about you. You’re certainly infamous around here.”

“Uh oh,” I laugh.

“Nah, all good things, all good things,” she emphasizes.

“Linds and her wife, Val, who you’ll meet later, keep me sane around here. You’ll love them. Trust me,” Austin says.

“Look at you being sweet,” Linds says with a roll of her eyes. “So, Parker, I hear you’re going to be hanging out with me today?”

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