The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(9)

“Tom Alexander gave me a call yesterday.”

Junie cradled her forehead. “Why does he call you? Why doesn’t he just call me? I’m twenty-eight years old. I don’t need my mother to speak for me.”

“Tom and I are colleagues as well as friends. We can communicate—unlike my own daughter and me.”

Dr. Alexander probably owned tons of pretty coffee table books about grape growing and winemaking, but he’d never sifted the Willamette’s ancient marine sediments through his long, elegant fingers. He hired other people to do the dirty work.

“Let me guess. He’s worried about me.”

“He asked how you were, that’s all.”

“He’s trying to wheedle out of you whether he’s going to be able get his hands on half my yield again this fall.”

Last crush, Junie had had no choice but to sell some of her grapes to Dr. Alexander. Hand selling bottles out of her tasting room hadn’t covered the payment on her line of credit, and coincidentally, Alexander had been scrounging for every bushel of grapes within a thousand acres of Clarkston.

Mom’s eyes widened. “Honey. What’s wrong with that? He’s a shrewd businessman as well as an excellent physician.”

Nothing was wrong with that. But Junie poured her heart and soul into her wine, while people like Tom Alexander used the interest off his investments to fund what was for him merely a prestigious hobby.

“He saved Storm’s life.”

Junie sighed. “That was a long time ago, and Storm’s completely recovered.”

“I’ll never be able to repay him for that.”

“None of us will, Mom. But that was then. Now, Tom Alexander just wants to buy up as many Clarkston area grapes as he can so his wine qualifies for the AVA stamp.”

“AVA, XYZ. It’s beyond me, the finer points of the wine business.”

“Wine begins in the vineyard. You heard Dad say that a hundred times.”

“About as many times as I heard him say, ‘You can make a small fortune in the wine business, provided you start out with a large one.’”

“It’s simply supply and demand. When the local vintners realized they were sitting on the mother lode of American pinot noir, they got together and lobbied for legal designation for six distinct viticultural areas. That changed everything. It painted a clear picture that wine from grapes grown on one side of the road tastes different from the other side, everything else being equal.”

“You told me Tom’s generosity was the only thing that got you by these past few months.”

“Generosity? Hah. Yes, he bought some of my grapes. But now he’s having them made into a wine that will compete directly against mine.”

“You’ll both benefit. What’s wrong with that?”

How could Junie make Mom understand her grapes were her children? Selling to Tom Alexander had broken open old wounds. It had made her mourn Dad all over again. Shock, denial, anger—the whole cycle. She’d promised herself: Never again.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” her mother said.

“That’s not what you left work early to talk to me about?”

Her mom looked genuinely puzzled. “No, not at all.”

Good Lord. “Then what?”

“I bought myself a townhouse.”

“What?” Junie blurted.

“If you’d listened to my messages, you would know. I have asked you and asked you to go house hunting with me. You never wanted to come. You know how bad traffic’s getting, thanks to the tourists and all the new development. And that was a close call I had last winter on the ice during the cold snap. Besides, it doesn’t make financial sense for me to waste two hours a day commuting when I could be operating.”

Junie’s head swam. First Storm, then Dad. Mom had been threatening to move to Portland ever since Dad died, but Junie hadn’t wanted to believe she really would. “You’re moving out of the farmhouse?” The house Dad had built for them with his own two hands? The only house Junie had ever lived in that wasn’t on some military base?

“It’s sweet that you’re nostalgic about the house. But be practical. This starry-eyed vision of living off the land never came true for your grandfather. You saw how your dad lived growing up—practically in squalor. And, Junie, as I live and breathe, it’s not going to work for you. I’ve tried to be patient. But you’ve been chasing your tail for five years, and where has it got you?”

“There’s a saying: ‘Do what you love and the money will follow.’ Most small businesses don’t show a profit in their early years. Wineries need even longer to get in the black.”

Mom shook her head. “I wish I could convince you to get out now, while you’re still young. Like Storm did.”

Junie worked like a demon waiting tables and managing the vineyard without any real help. Now her deep-rooted anxiety bubbled up to the surface. Was she doomed, like Granddad and then Dad? Tears stung the back of her eyes. Was Mom right?

“The townhouse is in The Pearl. It’s brand new, which means I can move in right away. It has three bedrooms, plus plenty of storage, and a cute balcony overlooking the shops and restaurants.”

Junie envisioned The Pearl’s crowded sidewalks, the cacophony of the late-night partiers when the bars let out.