The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(57)

Mom’s head lolled toward him on its pillow. “One day, you’ll realize it’s not where in this world you lay your head. It’s whose head’s lying next to yours that’s important.”

He turned to the pregnant lady bending to plug in an electrical cord as his mom’s prophecy sank in. “Here, let me help you.”





Chapter Thirty-three


Junie examined her farmer’s almanac. Tuesday. Only five days till the crush. Tonight’s moon was waxing, almost full. Grapes picked at the full moon retained their juice better than at any other phase.

Her pickers were on stand-by. She’d been checking the sugar levels in her grapes morning, noon, and night, hoping against hope that the moment the Brix hit that magic number, her crew wouldn’t already be tied up, picking at another vineyard.

When she wasn’t checking the grapes, she was tasting last year’s wine and trying to keep up with data entry and cleaning the tasting room for her increasing tide of visitors over the Labor Day weekend.

She paused outside on the new patio to look helplessly at her appliances, sitting forlornly in what was supposed to be a bistro. She’d install them herself if she could. But there were limits to her abilities.

Where is Manolo? Normally, he flew back from Reserves on a Monday. She’d hoped to have heard from him by now. But he was always guarded about his plans. And she had too much pride to call. Her emotions toggled between wishing she’d never met the man and counting the minutes until she saw him again. She tried to stop thinking about what he looked like in his uniform, grinning that fourteen-karat grin.

Halfway out to the vineyard with her refractometer in hand, she noticed something unusual. Shielding her eyes, she looked up. A bank of gray clouds drifted slowly eastward, leaving behind a swath of pure sapphire blue.

It was a sign.

She picked a handful of single grapes from random bunches and tested their combined juice as usual. With growing anticipation, she tested from another row, and another. Then, trembling, she whipped out her phone and punched in the speed-dial number for her crew chief.

“Adrian? How soon can you get out here? My Brix is at twenty-five!”

“We’ll see you at three a.m. sharp,” Adrian replied.

Junie punched the air and let loose a squeal she was sure could be heard all the way to Rory’s orchard next door.

This called for a celebratory glass of wine—as soon as she checked her barrels. With a giddy blend of excitement and apprehension, she skipped down the cellar stairs, pulled up her spreadsheet, and snatched the wine thief. Forcing herself to remain calm, she withdrew a sample and deposited it in her glass.

She’d been waiting patiently for this wine to reach maturity for a whole year. It was ironic that she didn’t want it to happen today. Not today, when the pickers would be arriving within hours!

But wine didn’t adhere to anyone’s schedule. Like a developing baby, it was ready when it was ready.

She sipped, noting its crucial characteristics, as she had been doing for months.

Then she sipped again.

With trembling hands, she pulled out her phone.

This wine was ready—now.

“When can you come?” she pleaded with the bottling man.

“First thing Thursday.”

Junie hung up, her heart pounding. This was exactly the situation she’d been hoping to avoid. There would be no sleep tonight. She needed to start racking her wine immediately to be ready for the bottlers. The pickers would be arriving even sooner—before dawn.

But before the onslaught of people and machines and activity, there was something that couldn’t be put off.

Solemnly, she poured two fingers of her best vintage and carried her glass out to the vineyard.

“Here’s to you, Dad,” she said, raising her glass to the heavens. Then, in accordance with tradition, she poured half the wine onto the ground. “And here’s to a good harvest.” She downed what was left. “Let the festival begin.”





Chapter Thirty-four


Following the next-to-the-last inspection before the consortium’s grand opening, Manolo held open the door of Sam’s old house for him.

“Soon as you figure out an alternative for that shrub that’s unavailable, I’ll get it ordered and the landscaping should be done just in time for the final walkthrough on Friday,” Manolo said.

Sam pulled off his yellow hard hat. “I’m just thankful this weather finally broke in time for the weekend. In fact, I’m inclined to start celebrating early with a beer when we finish here. Join me?”

“I should get out to Junie’s, now that I know we’re a go. I appreciate your help with that.”

“Easier than I expected. All I did was get the county interpretation of the state law.”

“Clock’s ticking. Junie’s probably getting antsy to get her new pizza oven put in.”

“You didn’t call her and let her know about your mom?”

His answer was a sheepish expression.

Sam shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’re still keeping with that asinine rule not to call women that you made, years back.”

“It’s served me well. Guess it’s ingrained in me now.”

“Anyway, I’m glad your mom’s going to be all right.”