Arrogant Devil(32)

“Hadn’t noticed.”

I swing my truck into the first available parking spot outside of Hill Top Vineyards and kill the engine.

She laughs as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “Thank you for that, but it’s not necessary. I’m not accusing you of wanting her, so there’s no sense in pretending you’re blind.”

I know a trap when I see one.

“She’s my employee, and Helen’s sister,” I point out, hoping that will force her to drop the issue.

It does. We walk in silence up to the tasting room at the top of the hill. Hill Top Vineyards—aptly named for its location—has been around for a few years. They’re a leader in Central Texas vino, and I’ve been meaning to drive out and experience the place myself for a while.

“It’s annoying, really. That whole fresh face, no makeup thing only works for like five percent of women.”

So I guess we’re back to talking about Meredith. I want to groan.

“I always say you don’t need that crap,” I tell her.

She laughs and pats my shoulder. “That’s sweet of you to say, but you’ve never actually seen me without a full face of makeup.”

I narrow my eyes, racking my brain. Surely… “How’s that possible? We’ve been together for two years.”

She shrugs. “That’s what happens when you see someone once a month. We might have been together for a while, but in some ways it still feels like we just started dating.”

I know what she means. There have been door-to-door salesmen I feel like I know better than I know Christine. It’s an unsettling thought, but I shake it off and usher her inside the winery.

Since it’s a Friday evening, the place is packed, but I planned ahead. We have reservations for a tour and tasting, and we arrive just in time to go with the next group.

My dad started the vineyard at Blue Stone Ranch nearly 20 years ago, and even though I have someone else heading the day-to-day operations, I try to stay as educated on the industry as possible. It’s not like I’ll glean any trade secrets from a public tour at Hill Top (unless I’m lucky), but that’s not my aim. I like tasting the wine, talking to the employees, checking out the atmosphere. It’s important to see how we stack up against our competition.

I’m enthralled through the entire tour. Most people are there to get shitfaced while feeling superior to poorer people with Bud Light. The level of pretense and false interest is high, but by the time we’re out in the vineyard, we’ve lost half the group. Meanwhile, I’m glued to the tour guide’s side as if there’s a written exam at the end. The guy hates me, wasting my time with fluff. “And did you know one vine produces roughly ten bottles of wine?” No one cares.

I chime in. “Are you guys administering the fertilizer after the vine has blossomed or closer to when the grapes are about a quarter inch?”

He doesn’t know the answer and we move along to the outdoor receiving area where the growers deposit the freshly harvested grapes. From there, we head inside to see the fermentation vessels: the huge, stainless steel tanks that house the pulp while it turns into wine. They have a larger facility than we do (I ask the tour guide the exact square footage, but he doesn’t know), and I’m especially impressed by their aging rooms. We age our red wine in oak barrels as well, but from the looks of it, they produce nearly twice as much volume as we do. After that, I grab Christine and skip the part of the tour that leads through the bottling room—we just paid a branding company an arm and a leg to design our packaging. Besides, I’m getting hungry.

Finally, I’ve found a weakness: their food is shit. I know it’s common to have light fare like fruit and nuts in tasting rooms, but at Blue Stone, we make sure there are better, more filling options available. After all, these people eventually need to drive home.

While we’re sampling various white wines, the owner—a man about my age, named Vince Davies—comes to find me. He claps me on the shoulder and I turn to greet him.

“My tour guide says you were harassing him,” he teases.

“Just getting my money’s worth.”

“You know I would have taken you around the place myself if I’d known you were coming.”

I wave away his offer. “How am I supposed to steal all your secrets with you shadowing me?”

His eyes sweep over to Christine and I introduce them.

Vince smiles. “Ah, now I see the real reason why you didn’t want me around.”

I laugh good-naturedly then go back to shoveling birdseed into my mouth. I’m starving.

“Oh stop,” Christine says with a subtle blush. She’s obviously impressed with Vince, and I’m actually glad she’s so eager to talk to him for a while because I’m happier taking a back seat in social settings like this.

“You have a beautiful winery,” she says with a flirtatious smile. “I think we’ll head out and watch the sunset in a little while.”

“To be honest, the view is probably 90% of why people come out here,” Vince admits. “The wine is just the cherry on top.”

“It really is breathtaking!” Christine continues, reaching out to touch his arm.

That’s one of the things Hill Top has over us: location. From their large back patio, guests can look out over a deep valley where all the grapes are grown. The view extends for miles, and it’s the reason their sunset tastings sell out months ahead of time.