Page 113 of Let It Breathe
Larissa piped up beside her. “God, how did no one see a typo like that?” As Reese opened her eyes, Larissa reached for a bottle. “I swear we proofed it a dozen times.”
Sheila shook her head. “Maybe the printer did something screwy with the file or had a problem with the font.”
Reese shook her head and bent to pick up a bottle. “Pork,” she repeated, still too dazed to come up with anything more than that.
“We’re fucked,” Eric muttered. “This was such a big deal. Our big break—one of our wines served at a state dinner. Jesus.”
“They’ll probably serve it in decanters,” Reese argued, feeling desperate. “Maybe the bottle won’t matter anyway?—”
“The whole fucking point is that we wanted them to see the label,” Eric snapped. “We wanted them to know where it came from. Willamette Valley port, not pork. Goddammit!”
He drew his foot back and Reese closed her eyes, waiting for the crash of shattering glass.
Instead, Eric snarled another string of obscenities. “This place is fucking cursed!”
With that, he turned and stormed out the door.
Sheila bit her lip and looked at Reese and Larissa. “I’d better go after him.”
“He’s coming unglued,” Larissa said.
“I think everything’s just getting to him,” Sheila said. “The Wine Club Pinot, the stuff that got smoke damaged, now this.” She shook her head. “He takes his craft so seriously.”
“We all do,” Reese said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Go get him,” Larissa said. “Before he drives the tractor into the pond or something.”
Sheila gave Reese’s hand a squeeze before turning to follow her husband. Reese shook her head. “What the hell are we going to do? These are supposed to get shipped out today.”
Larissa held up her phone. “Let me make some calls, okay? Maybe they can do a rush order on a reprint, and if we get everyone in here to help steam the labels off?—”
The phone rang, and Larissa stopped talking. “Maybe that’s them now.”
Reese peered at the caller ID. “Not unless they’re phoning from Larchwood Vineyards.”
Larissa rolled her eyes and snatched the receiver. “Dick,” she snapped.
Reese couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakably furious.
Larissa rolled her eyes. “No, Dick, we’re not paying for smoke damage to your grapes. We’ve already been over this.”
Reese held out her hand for the phone, but Larissa shook her head and covered the mouthpiece. “I’ll handle this dick,” she whispered, nodding at the door. “You handle that one.”
Reese looked up to see Clay standing in the doorway. Larissa turned and headed for the back room, her tone rising as she told Dick exactly where he could stick his bill.
Reese looked at Clay, her heart hammering against her rib cage. He wore a dark-gray T-shirt and a look that suggested he might want to search her for weapons.
“You’re here,” she said, then kicked herself for making such an inane observation.
“We need to talk.”
The words made her gut clench and her heart lodge itself somewhere in her throat. She closed her fist around the pen she’d tucked in her back pocket and brought it up. She began to roll it in her palms, trying to keep cool.
“We need to talk now? Now? Don’t you think the talk should have happened fifteen years ago?”
She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “About the construction project. We need to talk about that.”
“Right,” Reese said, feeling her face grow hot. “That.”
