Page 50 of Rare Blend
I feel silly, stupid, honestly, for allowing myself to get jealous. And for what? I have no claim to Ethan. I hardly know the man, and up until a few days ago, we couldn’t tolerate each other. I’m not even the jealous type. Brandon used to brag to his buddies that I was such a cool girlfriend because I never minded if he went out without me. He was always the only guy in his friend group who didn’t have a wife or girlfriend blowing up his phone trying to keep tabs on him during long trips and guys’ nights out. It truly never bothered me. I’m starting to wonder if it’s because I blindly trusted him that much or if I didn’t like him enough to care. Evidently, I’m still carrying around the trauma of my ex cheating on me with his admin; I automatically assume all men behave this way.
“I’ll leave you two to do your interview thing.” Tawny turns her attention to me. “If you need anything, give me a holler, and if he’s being an ass, come grab me and I’ll put him in his place.” She winks and then leaves us alone, the door closing behind her with a loud click.
“She seems nice.”
He snorts. “Me, her, and my older brother Gavin are the oldest kids on my dad’s side. We’ve always been close.”
“Must be nice having such a large family.” I can only imagine how much brighter and less lonely my childhood would’ve been had I grown up surrounded by siblings and cousins.
His chin dips, and his lips pull to a tight smile. “Chaotic, but a good kind of chaotic.”
I look away, worried he’ll notice the wistful look in my eyes, and bury my head in my bag.
“Do I have your permission to record this interview?”
When I glance up for confirmation, he nods stiffly, and then rolls his neck like he’s getting ready for a match in a boxing ring.
I set out my supplies in front of me, turning my phone on to record, and ready myself with my pen and notepad to write down additional notes. Thanks to Suzy, I have a pretty solid question set. “Should we get started?”
His face contorts, and I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what he must’ve looked like as a petulant child. “I guess,” he groans.
Pressing my lips together, I bow my head slightly to mask the giggle I’m holding in. That was kind of adorable.
“I promise not to bite.”
His eyebrows raise, hazel eyes darkening in a flash before he clears his throat. “I’m pretty private, so this is a big deal for me.”
I note the catch of breath in his throat, the fidgeting of his hands, and feel an overwhelming need to reassure him that everything will be okay.
“We’ll start with questions about the winery. Get some history and background. I’ll save personal questions for the end. You don’t have to answer anything you’re not comfortable answering. I’ll even make sure you get the first copy, fresh off the press. You’ll be the first one on the delivery list, if that would make you feel better?”
The creases around his eyes soften. “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised.
“Sure, I’m not trying to get on the bad side of one of the founding families.” I waggle my eyebrows at him, trying to lighten the mood.
He angles his head, not smiling, but definitely looking less pensive than he was a moment ago. “I see you’ve been getting your fair share of gossip from the nosy townies.”
“It’s called research.”
“Riiight,” he drags. “Trust me, it’s not as fascinating as it sounds. Just because my great great whatever decided to build his pioneer shack in the middle of the desert doesn’t make me or my family all that special.”
I make a show of my eyes looking around. “I wouldn’t call this a pioneer shack by any means.”
He chuckles. “This is ostentatious as hell.” His jaw slacks slightly. “My mom has a thing for France. Naturally, my dad took that into consideration when they built the estate.”
This is exactly what I wanted to happen. I didn’t want to sit here and ask him question after question. I wanted the information to flow naturally. Just two people having a conversation. “Is this not the original winery?”
“No, the original winery was an extension built off the house my parents live in. It used to be my grandparents’ house, and when they transitioned from wheat farming to growing grapes, they started with using their home and eventually built a separate addition.”
“I’d love to see it. Maybe take some pictures. That is, if it’s okay with your parents.”
He nods. “I’ll talk to my mom about it. She would love to show you around. It shouldn’t be an issue.”
“So, how did the winery begin? What’s the story there?”
His lips compress, and his head tilts. “My grandfather started the winery in the late seventies. Wheat wasn’t providing well enough for the family, and he was willing to try anything to startturning a profit. Around this time, there were already whispers about the unique soil of Red Mountain and being in the rain shadow allowed for an easier control of water. He took a gamble and planted the first vineyard on some fallow land, which is land left unplanted so the soil can rest. From there, he learned everything he could, and it took off. He replaced all the wheat with vineyards the following year, and the winery was born.”
“Smart man,” I comment.
