Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,62

she turned to Mateo, she thought about making a joke, something like: Thought he’d never leave . . . wink wink. But she refrained.

“So, you’re here to help out?” Mateo said, stepping out from behind his desk. He wore a gray T-shirt, jeans, and work boots.

“That’s my grandfather’s big idea. I’ll probably just slow you down.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Mateo said casually. If there was any leftover tension from the fact that she told her mother about his job search, he was clearly willing to let it go.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try,” she said.

They walked outside, and Mateo climbed behind the wheel of a dilapidated golf cart.

“Hop in,” he said, his dark eyes shining with a hint of mischief. He really was so hot. The T-shirt pulled tight against his biceps, his big, callused hands on the steering wheel.

They took off in the cart, the motor rumbling loudly. A breeze whipped up her hair, and they bumped through the borders of grass between the rows of grapevines. The cart picked up speed, and Sadie felt a lightness of spirit she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Mateo steered down a path next to a wooden post marked with an “M.”

“And here we have the Merlot,” Mateo said, cutting the engine. They disembarked from the cart. The sun was so strong Sadie felt like she could reach out and touch it. Mateo pulled a Hollander Estates baseball hat from the back and put it on. “I think I have another one in here somewhere . . .”

“It’s fine,” Sadie said.

“Are you sure? You’ll be able to see better with some shade.”

Sadie dutifully accepted a battered cap and pulled it on.

Mateo handed her a pair of shears that had a springing mechanism in the middle. “I just happen to have an extra pair of snips.”

“Why are you cutting grapes now?” She knew the harvest wasn’t until fall.

“The vines are growing rapidly this month. We need to thin the clusters to just the right amount that the winemaker needs for bottling and also to keep the vines in balance. The vine’s natural tendency is to produce hundreds of clusters, but we can’t let them do that or they’ll all be weak, insipid flavors and stunted growth. When we thin the clusters, the remaining ones ripen with better flavors.”

“I guess no one wants insipid flavors and stunted growth,” Sadie said.

“No,” Mateo said. “They don’t.” They shared a smile, and Sadie felt another wave of powerful attraction.

“I’m sorry—what was that?” She realized Mateo was explaining something, and she’d completely zoned out.

“We’re cutting in two types of areas: big clumps, where it’s all jammed up with fruit—like here—or short shoots.”

“What’s a short shoot?”

Mateo pulled out a wispy branch. “See the size of this compared to the others? There aren’t any leaves, and this section won’t grow good fruit, so we might as well cut it off now.” He pulled a bunch of grapes away from the vine and lopped it off. She felt herself leaning toward him like a plant toward the sun.

“I thought you didn’t want too many leaves,” she said. “The last time we were out here you were thinning leaves.”

“It’s all about balance. Too many leaves, the fruit has reduced sunlight and airflow and you’re more likely to get disease. But if you pull too much, there’s no canopy and you need some leaves because photosynthesis helps create the sugar in the fruit. So you just cut like this.” He lopped off a bunch, and it dropped to the ground.

“And then you just leave all these grapes on the ground? Isn’t that a waste of food?”

“They aren’t ripe. They’re inedible. Here—squeeze this.” It was hard, like a plastic grape. “If we had pigs around, maybe we could use them. But it’s fine—they’ll fertilize the field.”

They worked methodically, side by side. Sadie consulted with Mateo whenever she felt uncertain whether to cut. Mateo had a laser-like focus. He worked quickly and made a point of telling Sadie not to rush to keep up with him. He talked and talked, casually explaining the life of the vines.

“The plants will stop producing next month. At that point, we just have to let the sugars accumulate.” There was something immensely satisfying about the crunch of the metal against the plant, the sound of the fruit hitting the grass. The results were so tangible compared to writing.

After a while, Mateo became quiet. He pointed to indicate where Sadie should work. Sadie admired his intensity, the way he seemed