Page 30 of Gone With the Wine

I hate having to admit I need help. Needing help makes you weak. So my dad always told me.

Finally I tap in the digits.

It rings a couple of times, then she answers. “Hello?”

“Hi. Bianca?”

“Yes…”

“It’s Jansen Beck.”

After a beat of silence, she says, “Hi, Jansen.”

“I hope you don’t think this is stalkerish, but I heard you give that guy your number last night. It, uh, stuck in my mind. And this morning I was talking to my guys here and we have some problems.” I pause and grit my teeth. “I’m hoping you might be able to give me advice.”

“Mmm.” I can almost hear her thinking. “What kind of advice?”

“We aren’t sure when to pick the grapes.”

Another short pause. “Oh.”

“Also, we have wines that need to be bottled. Antonio says we might want to blend some of them. And we were talking about that last night, and you sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I do know a little about it.” I hear the smile in her voice. “We’re going through the same things here. Except we don’t have any wine to bottle.” She blows out a sharp breath. “But never mind that. We’re getting close to harvest, yes. I’m going to be helping Jake today, but I could come over there later, if that works.”

Better than I’d hoped. “Sure. That’s fine.”

“Three-ish?”

“Sounds good. You know where I am?”

“I live next door.”

“Right. Okay. Great. See you then.”

I end the call. Okay. It didn’t sound like she’s going to call the cops on me. Although I do have a contact in the sheriff’s office. Ha.

I lost some sleep last night, thinking about her. That never happens to me. Since my divorce, I’ve gone out with a few women, but I haven’t been so caught up in someone that I keep thinking about her. Dreaming about her. Fantasizing about her.

Get it together, man.

Carol and I go over some business things and I give her approval to order supplies, stuff I don’t understand, which frustrates me, but I’m learning. I spend the afternoon with Diego in the vineyard being taught more about caring for the vines.

“I want to get some owls,” he says.

I frown. “How do you get owls?”

“There’s a group in Napa that build owl boxes so that barn owls will nest in them. Owls eat rodents, so it helps us with rodent control.”

My chin jerks down. “We have a rodent problem?”

“Not a problem, but there are always mice and rats.” He shrugs.

“So much for the romantic beauty of winemaking.”

He grins. “Using rodenticides is harmful to the environment, and possibly to the grapes, so this is better.”

“Eco-friendly,” I murmur. “Okay, let’s do it.”

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