Page 65 of Gone With the Wine

I eye him approvingly. “Excellent question. Of course there’s a risk it won’t be good. But I’d say that’s offset by the fact that the syrah as is won’t be one of your better wines. It’s drinkable, for sure. Just not great.”

“I want it to be great.”

My heart grows several sizes. “I know.”

God. This man. I’ve watched him throw himself into work at the winery, getting his hands stained purple, ruining his beautiful leather brogues before he started wearing work boots, listening intently to everything I tell him. His absolute dedication and determination to getting things right makes my perfectionist winemaker’s heart purr.

I put Jansen out of my mind to focus on work for the rest of the day. When I stumble into the kitchen at Caparelli at dinner time, Rosa and Jake are sitting at the table with empty plates in front of them.

“We didn’t wait for you,” Rosa says pointedly. “We’ve given up on that. You’re working way too hard, Bee.”

“It’s harvest,” I say, repeating what I told Jansen. When he said the same thing. I investigate the contents of a big pot on the stove. “Spaghetti?”

“Yes. I made Nonna’s Bolognese sauce.”

“Yum.” I start dishing up. “I’m sorry. But yeah, don’t wait for me if I’m not here.”

She sighs. “You’re running back and forth between here and Take Flight?—”

“Bar Down,” I correct her, licking sauce off my thumb. “Oh, garlic bread!”

“Whatever. My point is, you’re exhausting yourself.”

I carry my plate to the table and sit. At that moment, weariness rolls over me. Even my bones feel tired. She’s right.

My days start at six in the morning. We have to clean the cellar before we can process the grapes and get the juice in the tanks, then I do my analysis and make adjustments and then we clean again. We have to punch down the reds every two hours. After lunch we spend a couple of hours tasting all the wines going through fermentation and talk about cap management technique. Then there’s a conference call about grape picking and shipping logistics and a cellar meeting discussing tank logistics and the crew's schedule. I’ve been going back to the lab after supper to look over all the testing results, analyze the data, adjust tank temperatures, and create work orders.

“I’m fine.” I summon up a smile and enough energy to eat.

She eyes me as if she sees through my act. “Bianca. You don’t have to work this hard.”

I frown at my spaghetti. “The work has to get done.”

“I know, but you’ve taken on so much.”

“I’m not here for long,” I remind her, a little annoyed. “I’m doing what I have to.”

She presses her lips together and glances at Jake. “We never see you.”

“What? We see each other all the time!”

“Yeah, on the crush pad when you’re yelling at us to be gentle with grapes or when we’re all picking in different rows.”

“Well, I’m sure you don’t really want to see that much of me.” I try for a smile to indicate I’m joking. Except I’m not really joking. “You two are busy with each other. And you’ve always had your own life.”

For a moment she says nothing, and I twirl pasta around my fork.

“What does that mean?” she finally says.

I finish chewing and swallow, then take a gulp of water. “You’re older than me. You always had your own life. You didn’t have time for pesky little sisters.” I smile and keep my expression pleasant. I’m not trying to start anything. “And that’s totally normal.” I keep telling myself that. Because I’m leaving again. My career and future and success as a winemaker is somewhere else. And reconnecting with Rosa and Jake is fine, but getting too close to them will only make that harder.

Her forehead creases. “Really?”

I wave a hand. “It’s okay. I have my own friends. And it’s been great reconnecting with them. I’m thankful for their help.”

“You don’t think we’re friends?”

I swallow a sigh. I really don’t want to start anything. “We’re sisters.”

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