The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(54)

“You know it’s going to happen.” Manolo peered down at her from his superior height. His posture was erect, his shoulders squared, his elbows poised like a gunfighter, ready to draw. He had a feline alertness about him, as if he might pounce at any second. His hands clenched and unclenched, worrying Junie with their indecision.

Junie’s moist palms gripped the table edge behind her, her breath fast and shallow. Words failed her. The silence expanded until it filled the room with anticipation.

Then Manolo’s jaw twitched and his mouth tightened into a line. He turned away. “What was the question?”

Junie let out her held breath. “Um . . .” And she thought she knew this routine by heart.

“Fruit. Tart, ripe, or jammy.”

To her relief and disappointment, he retrieved their glasses. “I need to refresh my memory.”

The test ended with Junie pronouncing the wine still not ready. “Not quite spicy enough.”

“It will be, soon,” said Manolo with a meaningful look. “You know it as well as I do.”

*

A week later, Manolo met with the painters at the consortium in the morning, then drove out to Junie’s. He had to remind himself to back off the gas when his speedometer edged too far over the limit. He had a premonition that in the years to come, whenever he thought back to this summer, he’d cherish the days he’d spent at the vineyard most.

From some five hundred yards away, Junie raised her pruning shears in a wave.

Knowing she might appear at any moment, combined with the panoramic views of the valley and the mountains, made his job anything but a chore.

But, apparently, Junie’s work ethic surpassed her need to see him. Hours passed and she was still out there, babying those vines. The anticipation was getting to him by the time he finally glimpsed her little orange tractor putt-putting toward the barn.

He rose from where he was trimming away the protruding parts of a large stone and watched her dismount.

But his happiness faded when he saw the agitation in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

She handed him a small tool. “Look.”

He turned it over in his hands. “Looks like my nona’s potato peeler.”

“You put a drop of juice in and the reading tells you the Brix—how much sugar’s in the grapes.”

Manolo squinted into the end. “It’s like reading a thermometer. Says fifteen.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“By the look on your face, it’s not good.”

“The grapes aren’t ripening fast enough. The Brix should be climbing into the twenties by now. Twenty-five before I can pick.”

“What’s that mean in the big scheme of things?”

“This could be a bad vintage.”

The worst-case scenario that Sam described to Manolo might be coming true.

She opened her gloved palm. “See all these hens and chicks?”

“I see a bunch of grapes.”

“Notice how they’re all different sizes and shades of green and purple? To get a good yield, every grape in the cluster needs to be the same size and color. These aren’t maturing at the same rate.”

“Don’t worry. Maybe the weather will break before the harvest. No sense in panicking—”

Vertical lines etched the space between her brows. “I’m not panicking!” She yanked her hand back. “Just because last year’s vintage isn’t bottle-ready yet and this year’s harvest isn’t ripe, and if they wind up both being ready at the same time the pickers are going to be falling over the bottlers and I’m going to go nuts keeping an eye on everything at once, doesn’t mean I’m panicking!

“Junie—”

“And what will I do if the ovens don’t get here in time? What if they do get here and, still nobody comes to my grand opening you worked so hard on? What if none of this works?”

Manolo’s hands encircled her toned, slender arms. His breath caught at her vulnerability. He was a soldier. Soldiers hid their feelings. But this was no time to pretend he didn’t care. “Junie! Stop doing this to yourself. Stop getting yourself so worked up.”

What if she found out his bistro idea might not even be legal, on top of all her other concerns?

She tore free from his grip. “It’s not your winery!” she exclaimed. “You don’t get it. You’re not the one with everything to lose!”

Manolo’s thoughts leaped to Hoboken, to the restaurant he’d thought would always be there. But he’d think about that later.

He grabbed her again, steadying her. “I do get it.”

“How could you?”

“Because my own family business is slipping away!”

Some soldier he was.

Junie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Forget that.” He pointed down the road. “Look what’s coming.”

Junie’s head whipped around to see the white truck. “The pizza oven! The grills!” She turned to him, her face radiant. “We’re in business!”

Manolo returned her high five.

Now what, though? He’d been hoping against hope that he’d be the only one present when the boxes came. His plan had been to store the appliances unopened in their original cartons until Sam gave him the word on whether their use was permissible. Now Junie was going to want him to install them right away.