Page 8 of Gone With the Wine

“Yes! I’m so grateful to them, too. I’ve been working on things here at the house and also business stuff.”

“Which isn’t good.”

She grimaces. “Not great, no. But now you’re here, we can really make some plans. We can make wine!”

“Well, not really. Uncle Geno has the wine. What the fuck is that all about, anyway? Nonna left us this winery. That wine is ours.”

Rosa frowns. “Well, he’s been running both vineyards as one for years.”

I shake my head. “Without the wine from last year’s harvest, all we have are grapes, and it’ll be a long time before we’re ready to bottle the juice from them.”

We need that wine. I push back my shoulders, my muscles tightening with readiness for battle.

“I know.” Her lips droop. “And winemaking is what you do.”

“True. But there’s lots to do after the crush. Lots of testing to make sure fermentation is happening properly, too fast or too slowly. Checking sugar and alcohol levels. You know.” I wave a hand. We both grew up in a winery. We knew this stuff by the time we were twelve.

“Yes.”

“And of course I can help with the harvest.”

“So much work.” Rosa sighs.

“There’s something so special about the harvest, though.” I love it when the leaves turn gold and the days grow shorter and cooler. I love finally seeing the results of the growing season, seeing the fruit ripe and heavy with the sweet juice that will become wine, thinking about the possibilities of the wine…it excites me and inspires me.

The decision of when to pick the grapes is so important—they have to be the perfect ripeness to make clean, balanced wines. Leaving the grapes too long ends up with flabby wines that lack structure. Nobody wants a sugary, unctuous Zinfandel.

I didn’t want to come home. But family is important, and the lure of being handed a winery and being able to call all the shots is too good a chance to pass up. I have to admit I’m excited to be part of the decisions this year.

I don’t plan to stay long. I promised Rosa I’d come back for harvest, despite being busy at Castillo Lorenzo. But being here, seeing the vines and the house and the outbuildings with potential for creating a beautiful wine tasting experience, with all its memories and history, gives me this weird urge to make something of this place. To make somethingspecial. For Nonna’s sake.

We’ve hauledmy suitcases up to my room and I’ve unpacked, had a short nap, and I’m in the kitchen hoping for food when Jake walks in. He’s tanned from the sun, and a little sweaty and dusty. We both go still and look at each other across the room. He’s older—a little heavier, with an attractive beard and eyes that hint at suffering and regret. But when he smiles, crinkling up those eyes, it’s genuine and warm. “Hi, Bee.”

I huff out a breath and move toward him for a hug. “Hey. Good to see you.”

After we separate, he says, “Where’s Rosa?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up. I’m a little jet lagged.”

“No doubt. That’s a long trip.”

“Yeah.” I eye him. “Rosa told me about you two.”

He keeps his expression neutral and holds my gaze steadily. “Yeah? That’s good.”

“I was worried about you being back in her life after you ditched her without a word all those years ago.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t want her to be hurt again.”

He dips his chin in a brief nod. “Neither do I. I promise…I love her.”

“I believe you,” I murmur. “But ten years…you weremarriedand you left for ten years.”

“Yeah. I thought she didn’t want me.”

“Uncle Geno.”

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