Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,82

one could learn at book club.

* * *

Vivian should have known by her age that life was full of surprises. That had never been more evident than the past hour or so with Bridget at the book club. Apparently, there were some serious thoughts inside that head of dyed red hair—and those thoughts resonated with Vivian. Out of everyone at the table, her experience in reading the book was most closely aligned with Bridget’s.

She’d been thinking a lot about Bridget since the shakeup over the wedding planning. It had been shortsighted of her to feel deprived of throwing a big party. She recognized the change in plans for what it was: a gesture to say, We’re not doing this for the extravaganza. We just want to be married.

Of course, marriage was still just an idyll to Bridget. Something ephemeral, dreamy, flawless in the way that only the as-of-yet unexperienced could be.

She wondered if Leah had noticed the line in the book, one of the many nuggets of truth buried in the fantastical story: Every woman’s husband is hopelessly irredeemable in one way or another. The same could be said of a marriage.

She hadn’t focused on the line the first time she read the book. She’d barely noticed it because she hadn’t yet grappled with her husband’s flaws. Nor, to be fair, had she dealt with her own.

Vivian brought her wineglass to her lips. The baron would be arriving later in the week to spend time at the winery and “take a look at the operation.” Leah still had no idea about the new offer; Vivian had kept her promise to Leonard about keeping it a secret until the deal was more solid. But now, sitting across the table from her daughter and granddaughter, talking and laughing and mulling over the vagaries of life and love, staying silent felt impossible.

She was going to crack.

Thirty-eight

Once Mateo showed up, Sadie didn’t hear another word anyone said. When he looked at her she felt a jolt. For real. After that, she was done. It seemed the height of irony to sit around talking about love and sex instead of, well, actually having sex.

Besides, after reading six-hundred-plus pages about people hooking up in every possible place for every imaginable reason, how could she let a technicality like Mateo’s job get in their way? That was why fiction was romantic and real life wasn’t.

“I have to run to the bathroom,” she said, standing up.

Her mother and grandmother, distracted with their conversation about a vineyard in the novel, barely noticed her slip away.

At eight thirty in the evening, the winery was mostly shut down except for a few people working late in their offices. Of them, the only one Mateo was likely to be seeing was the senior winemaker, Chris.

Chris’s office was next to her grandfather’s, and to reach that area she had to cut through the oak room.

It was eerie to walk through the rows and rows of barrels in the stillness of night. The pervasive smell of wine was even more noticeable. She thought of the juice sequestered away in the individual mini-caves, changing day by day. Like writing fiction, there was no absolute formula for great wine, and like writing a book, a wine was never truly “finished.” In this sense, she found it fascinating, a noble pursuit. Mateo thought it was odd that she didn’t like the outdoors since her grandfather was a grape farmer, but maybe she’d inherited her creative drive from him.

Leonard’s office was dark, the only light shining out from under Chris Kessler’s door. Was Mateo inside, or had he already left? A door in the back of the oak room led to the loading dock. She checked it, but it was locked. No, if Mateo left, he’d probably just go out the way he’d walked in and she would have run into him. So she waited. After what seemed like forever but was actually just a few minutes, the office door clicked open and Mateo appeared.

“Hey,” she said.

He didn’t seem particularly surprised to see her. With a glance behind him, he gestured for her to follow him to the back of the oak room. He unlocked the door to the loading dock, and they walked out into the field, his flashlight guiding their path.

“What are you doing back here?” he asked.

“Following you,” she said.

“Sadie . . .”

“What? I’m an adult, you’re an adult. My grandfather is selling this place. Who cares?”

“It’s not that simple,” Mateo said.

“It could be. Mark