Page 38 of Gone With the Wine

“Do you think pets have names for us, too?”

“Uh…”

I grin at his bewildered expression and lift my shoulders. “I think of weird stuff sometimes.”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “I’m sure they do have names for us. But…do we want to know them?”

I laugh again.

“Thank you for all your help, today. I appreciate it.”

“I’m happy to help.” I purse my lips. “To be honest, it’s nice to be listened to.”

His thick eyebrows launch up. “What does that mean? Nobody at your job listens to you?”

“Not at my job. Here at home.” I smile and shrug. “There are some old-fashioned attitudes in my family. Plus, I was the middle kid. The one nobody noticed because Rosa was perfect and Allegra was always in trouble over something.”

“Uh. You totalled your teacher’s shed.”

I press my fingertips to my smile. “That incident involving Mrs. Gerstenmayer was my one attempt to act out and get attention. I discovered I didn’t like that kind of attention. Anyway, it was frustrating that I had all these ideas and dreams about making wine and nobody wanted to listen. So…that’s why today was nice. Actually, Jake was listening to me earlier, too. He knows a lot but at least he didn’t disregard my opinions. You know, I was kind of mad at him and I didn’t like the idea that he’s back and he and Rosa are together again, but he’s really smart, and he loves her, and…” I stop. “Sorry. Sometimes I talk a lot.”

One corner of his mouth jumps. “Why were you mad at him?”

“He deserted her! After graduation, he disappeared. I had to deal with a heartbroken Rosa, which was very disconcerting to me at age sixteen because she’s always so unflappable. But she was flapped.” I frown. “That doesn’t work, does it.”

One corner of his mouth hikes up. “I get what you mean. What about all those rumors people kept telling you about? About your winery.”

“Wow, that was wild, wasn’t it? I wonder if Uncle Geno started them? Or people are just making shit up. That happens in a small town. It’s like that game of telephone—you know? Where the message gets repeated over and over until it’s not even recognizable. We don’t know how those started.” I wave a hand but my stomach tightens in anticipation of confronting Uncle Geno about that. “Tell me more about what brings you here. You’re not married, I take it? No kids?”

“No. No kids.” He drops his gaze to his glass. “I’m divorced.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “Shit happens. I retired from hockey and didn’t know what to do with myself. Stephanie—my ex—still had her job. She owns a clothing boutique in Manhattan Beach, with one of her friends. She had all this other stuff going on, too—fitness classes, going to the spa, out for drinks with friends.”

“You’re young to be retired.”

“Not in the hockey world. I’m thirty-six.” He pauses, eying me as if he expects me to gasp with horror. I don’t. I know how old he is after googling him late last night and watching videos of him playing hockey on YouTube. He won championships and medals and awards. Watching him play hockey was stupidly hot. Who knew?

“Anyway, I was trying to figure things out.” He pauses. “Hockey pretty much consumed my life.”

“I’m sure.” I watch him over the rim of my glass as I sip.

“I still wanted to play,” he says with a shrug that’s trying for nonchalant. “It was hard to give it up. But it was time. All the injuries take a toll, and I wasn’t producing like I used to.”

Again, I feel like there’s a lot going on beneath that careless shrug. After a moment of silence, I say, “Retirement can be hard.”

“Eh.” He drags up a smile. “I’m okay. And so far, I like it here. I feel like an outsider, but people are mostly friendly, and I enjoy a challenge.”

“This is definitely a challenge. Foranybody, never mind someone just starting out. But I give you credit for being open to advice and help from people who’ve been around.”

An expression crosses his fast so fast, I almost miss it. Almost a flinch. “Yeah. I need to remember that I can’t do it all myself.”

“For sure. Wineries are run by a team.” I grin. “You’re a hockey player, so you know about teamwork.”

He dips his chin, eyes thoughtful. “Yeah.”

To be honest, I’m dying to help him. The wines I tasted today are miraculously lovely—clean, balanced, multi-dimensional. Most producers make blends that are cabernet sauvignon-dominant, and I could definitely see doing that. But I’m also imagining a blend reminiscent of wines I drank in Argentina, combining merlot, cabernet, syrah, and cabernet franc. Jansen has a magnificent syrah in his cellar that astonished me.

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