Page 77 of Que Será, Syrah

* * *

“It’s really called that?”

“Clay!”

“Sorry. Go on…”

* * *

Jake was so mad he was vibrating. I was pretty angry as well, as the man (I’d thought his name was Dave, but at that point I wasn’t sure) sauntered towards us. “But she said she’d let us have a taste,” he said, pointing at me.

“You didn’t?” Jake growled, turning his anger on me.

“Of course, I didn’t,” I replied. Then I turned to Dave. “I said maybe, if my sister was here.”

“Why? I thought you were the owner? Can’t you make any decisions?”

“One of the owners,” I said, holding up a finger (no, not that finger). “One!”

Which was when Jake lost it. “That’s it. Out. Both of you!” Then he grabbed each of us by an arm and walked us out.

Once we were out in the open, and he’d relocked the gate, Jake seemed a whole lot calmer. Which surprised me. He’d been one of the kids who’d played here with us. I didn’t recall he’d been nervous back then.

Jake pointed out where the vans were parked in the drive, and directed Dave (or whatever his name was) towards them. Then he turned to me.

“Jesus, Legs. What were you doing down there?”

“Uh…leading a tour?”

“Leading? That was your idea?”

“Well…”

“Did you not notice how quiet it was down there?”

“Bruh. With the way you were shouting? Uh, no!”

“This isn’t a joke! One of the CO2 fans is offline. I had to go all the way to Sacramento for a part; I just got back.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is?”

‘No, why?’ I wanted to reply. ‘Because CO2 loooves low places and can kill in minutes and we just had an idiot down there opening barrels—which is where the CO2 lives?’ But of course, I didn’t. What I said instead was, “How come nobody told me?”

“Why would they? The gate was supposed to be locked. And you don’t have any business in the cave, anyway.”

Which was—technically—all true, but after Dave’s jabs about me not being an owner, it hit badly. “The whole winery is my business, Jake!”

“I didn’t mean it that way. None of us have any business in there right now, other than—” He broke off on a groan. “Oh, shit.”

“What now?”

“Bianca’s going to pitch a fit.”

* * *

“Everything’s fine,” I insisted, yet again, trying to sound as soothing as I knew how. “I know it got a little chaotic, but nothing happened.”

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