Twenty-five

It was the first darkly overcast day since she arrived at the vineyard. Sadie settled on the veranda, waiting for the rain to come. Watching a storm shower the vines was always dramatic and lovely, even at the expense of a summer day.

She opened her phone and cued up the reading app she’d downloaded the night before. She’d never owned an e-reader and generally thought it was crazy to read on a phone, but she was curious about the book her mother was so obsessed with. And she didn’t want to be seen reading it. So far, Chances was the saga of an oversexed gangster with an empire in jeopardy and a rebellious daughter named Lucky.

“That’s the problem with your generation: you’re always staring at a screen,” Leonard said, appearing behind her.

She immediately put down her phone.

Her grandfather had always been an almost unreal figure to her, the stuff of legend. The living room was filled with framed photos of her grandfather with statesmen and celebrities. Her mother had told her, many different times, in different ways, the story of how Leonard Hollander, the son of immigrants, had built his fortune. People looked at the winery now, when the North Fork had over fifty robust wineries, and it seemed like Hollander Estates was a no-brainer. But back in the day, Leonard had been a visionary.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “When your grandmother was your age, she was knee-deep in soil, out in the fields, every day starting at dawn.”

Sadie nodded, unsure what point he was making. Was she supposed to be working in the vineyard? Maybe there was no point. Maybe he was just a grumpy old man. She loved him, but she didn’t understand him. She was pretty sure her mother felt the same way.

“That’s impressive,” Sadie said.

“We’ve worked very hard,” he said. “I should hope that sets an example for you.”

“Absolutely,” Sadie replied. He looked at her expectantly, showing no sign of leaving.

“You’re right, Grandpa,” she said, standing up and putting her phone in her bag. “I’m going to go find the vineyard crew and see if I can help out.”

“Now, that’s what I like to hear! Onward. Be productive.”

She walked out to the field with purpose in her stride. It just wasn’t the purpose her grandfather thought she had.

Reading Chances was making her think about sex. And thinking about sex was making her think about Mateo.

The air was heavy with moisture, and she inhaled. In the distance, Mateo was busy tending to the vines. She walked faster, the humidity creating a sheen of moisture all along her body.

Mateo, dressed in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a black Hollander Estates baseball cap, crouched down low, his gloved hands tugging at the grapevines. Alongside him, all down the row, workers did the same. Everyone was so intent on the task at hand that not a single person noticed her.

“Hey,” Sadie said when she’d gotten close enough. “Need any help?”

Mateo pulled some leaves from a plant and looked up at her. At the eye contact, Sadie felt a little jolt.

“You want to help?” He looked skeptical.

“Um, yeah.”

He waved her over. “See this? These are baby Syrah berries. We need to clear away the leaves so they get exposure.”

Thunder sounded in the distance. Normally, this would send Sadie running. She hated lightning, especially out in the country. But her interest in hanging around with Mateo trumped her survival instinct.

“Don’t the leaves protect the fruit?” Sadie said.

“No, it’s the opposite. It’s going to rain the rest of the week. This is an extremely wet growing climate for grapes. We get fifty inches of rain a year, compared to California, where they might only get five inches. So we need the sunlight and breeze off the bay to reach the vines and dry out the clusters after the rain. That prevents mildew and mold from growing.”

The clouds rolled in faster, so dark and heavy that day became night. Drops began to fall. A streak of lightning split the sky.

“We gotta clear the field,” Mateo called out to the workers.

They made a mad dash for the small farmhouse adjacent to the field, a utilitarian building with a wide-open, garage-like space for storing field equipment and a few small offices that everyone called “the barn.” Once they were inside, the rain pelting the roof sounded like pennies on tin.

“You can wait out the storm in here if you want,” Mateo said, shaking water from his hands and unlocking his office door. “I think this will blow over soon enough.”

Mateo’s hair was soaked, his tan skin dewy with rain. A drop of water glistened on his upper lip, and Sadie wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe it away.

“There’s a foldup chair behind the door,” he said, eyeing her. She was suddenly very aware of her soaked T-shirt and shorts clinging to her body.

The office smelled damp and faintly of fresh-cut grass. A few pairs of work boots were lined up in the corner of the room. A large mounted whiteboard took up most of one wall. On the other wall, two framed photographs. One was a closeup of what appeared to be fruit and flowers in a jug of white wine. The other was of a man drawing vertical lines in white chalk on the side of an orange building.

The room was so small that when Sadie unfolded the chair and sat, she could reach out and touch both the door and Mateo’s desk. The desktop was spare, with just a few pens stuck in a Hollander Estates mug and a laptop.

He sat behind his desk, facing her. Their eyes met, and for Sadie it was every bit as electric as the lightning flashing outside the window. She suddenly regretted breaking his confidence to tell her mother about his job search. She couldn’t take it back, but she could at least come clean.

“I have a confession to make,” Sadie said. Mateo leaned forward, folding his hands together. She hesitated for a moment. What if she didn’t tell him about her slight indiscretion? What if she confided, instead, that he’d been on her mind? They were closed up in that small space, the storm raging outside. It was so romantic, like the scene from Chances where Lucky was trapped on an elevator with a hot guy during a blackout. But she wasn’t a ballsy gangster’s daughter; she was a neurotic Jewish girl from Manhattan who needed to assuage her guilt.

“I told my mother that you’re interviewing,” she blurted out.

Either she imagined it, or Mateo physically shrank away from her.

“Didn’t I ask you not to tell anyone?”

“Yeah, but it’s my family. You put me in a bad position,” Sadie said.

“So what did she say?”

“Um . . . that she would do the same thing.”

Mateo shook his head. “Well, next time, learn to keep a secret.”

“I’m sorry,” Sadie said.

Mateo moved his laptop out of the way and leaned forward on his elbows. Sadie felt herself beginning to perspire.

“So what brought you into the field today? Since you’re not an outdoors person,” Mateo said.

Not an outdoors person? Oh—right. Their conversation at the seafood restaurant.

“My grandfather basically implied that I’m useless,” Sadie said.

“He can be tough.”

A clap of thunder made her jump. It was as if the universe were punctuating his observation.

“Yeah. But it’s hard not to respect someone who’s so accomplished.”

“Your grandfather grows excellent grapes,” Mateo said, seeming to choose his words carefully. “But a successful vineyard is not just about growing great grapes. It’s also about growing the right grape for the time.”

“And my grandfather doesn’t?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d say that,” Mateo said. “After all, you might repeat it.”

Ouch.

He turned to look out the window.

“It looks like the rain is slowing,” he said. Was that Sadie’s cue to leave?

She shouldn’t have opened her big mouth. She always said the wrong thing. Had she been too honest? Was there such a thing as too honest? Oh, relationships—even just casual interpersonal dynamics—were exhausting. This was why she was better off just reading or writing. Even if lately, the only thing she was managing to read were selections from her grandmother’s trashy book club.

---

Now Leah needed to find a bookstore. The night before, somewhere between talking to her mother and talking to Javier, she’d misplaced her copy of Chances.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen it?” she asked Vivian at breakfast.

“No,” her mother said.

Leah drove to town, fully aware there wasn’t a bookstore on Love Lane. There was, however, a great cheese shop.

The Village Cheese Shop was usually one of Leah’s first stops on the North Fork. This summer, she’d gotten distracted. But the cloudy day and her missing book inspired a visit.

Vivian had bemoaned the shop’s opening. “You’ve lost your chance!” For years, she’d been hinting that Leah should expand Bailey’s Blue to the North Fork. Leah knew it wasn’t so much a business suggestion as it was her mother’s way of saying that she missed her.

The shop was so spacious, it made Bailey’s Blue look like a closet. It had cheerful yellow walls, a black-and-white-checked floor, and a dine-in café. She walked the length of the display case and spotted a gorgeous wheel of English Wensleydale, heavily marbled with cranberry. It looked like a cake. She would bring some back to the house.

Before she could place an order, her phone rang with a call from Steven. She’d left him a message earlier; he was expecting her home the next day. After her conversation with Javier the night before, that simply wasn’t possible. She dreaded telling Steven, but the longer she waited, the worse the conversation would be.

“Hey,” she said, walking over to a display of Harney & Sons tea. “How’s it going there?”

“Busy,” he said. “I’m managing, but I miss you.”

He missed her. That was a good sign. He wasn’t still upset with her for staying behind. But that didn’t mean he was going to be thrilled with what she had to say next.

“I miss you, too,” she said, swallowing hard. “The thing is, I can’t come home yet.” Silence. She picked up a tin of peppermint herbal, then put it back. “Steven?”

“Why not?” he said, his voice tight.

“It’s just . . . the implications of the sale are really hitting everyone. I’m worried about Javier, Peternelle . . . I can’t leave in good conscience until I’m sure I’ve tried everything I can to maybe stop the sale. Or at least make sure that our people are taken care of if it does happen.”

She heard the buzz of Bailey’s Blue customers in the background and the distinct screeching sound the front door to the shop made when it swelled with the humidity.

“I can’t talk about this now,” he said, before ending the call.

Leah stood staring at the phone for a few seconds before slowly making her way through the other shoppers and back outside. When she pulled out her keys to unlock the car, her hand was shaking.

Steven didn’t understand why she was getting involved. Was she being ridiculous? What was she doing?

She was halfway back to the winery before she remembered she’d forgotten all about the English Wensleydale.