Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,111

he called from the kitchen.

“Yes,” she said. The fact that he knew that was indicative of the years they’d spent sitting across from each other at family meals. After all this time, they were family. And yet they’d never had a serious, intimate conversation.

He handed her a full mug and sat across from her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I needed this.”

“So what brings you here this morning, Vivian?”

“I’m concerned that you haven’t been out to the winery to see Leah. Yes, I know the shop needs to be managed. But I’m sure you could find some time.”

“With all due respect, Vivian, have you considered that this might not be any of your business?”

“Considered and dismissed,” she said, smiling. “Now, what’s going on?”

She saw him hesitate. He leaned back in his chair, focusing his blue eyes on her. They were unreadable, and for a moment she was afraid she wouldn’t get a word out of him. But then . . .

“When I first met Leah, she’d just been cut out of the family business,” he said.

Vivian winced to hear it put so bluntly. “Yes. It was not what I wanted, but Leonard had his mind set on how he wanted to run the winery.”

Steven shrugged. “Whatever his rationale, or yours—it was unfair to Leah. But I told her then as I tell her now—we don’t need the winery. We created something of our own. I had the ‘day’ job—a demanding, not terribly rewarding job—while Leah started a passion project. And I fell in love with it, too. Selfishly, I looked forward to retiring and then the two of us running a shop together. So no, I’m not thrilled that she’s apparently chucking all that to fix Leonard’s mess.”

“I see. So the problem is that you’re worried about the cheese shop.”

“No, that’s reductive, Vivian.”

“So . . . talk to me. I’m listening.”

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “I’m also worried about Leah. She’s been a successful businesswoman for eighteen years. We’re in a position to build on that success, and instead, she’s setting herself up for failure. And I’m supposed to just pick up and move to the North Fork? None of this has been discussed in a rational, logical way. Leah just ran out of here the other day and shows no intention of coming back.”

Vivian pressed her spine against the seatback, turning her mug in circles. The gold bangles around her wrist clinked together. Outside, a siren wailed.

Of all her life regrets, her biggest was failing to defend Leah’s rightful place at the winery when she had expressed interest two decades earlier. Vivian hadn’t asserted herself then, but she would not make the same mistake twice.

“It’s true that this is a major decision,” she said carefully. “One that should be made by you as a couple. In fact, I can’t argue with anything you said. Except for one thing: the cheese shop was never Leah’s passion project.”

“Of course it was,” he said, but there was a falter in his voice, a break in eye contact. This wasn’t news to him.

“No. It was her consolation prize. The winery was always her dream. This is her chance to grab it. If you deny her this, you’re no better than Leonard taking it away from her the first time around.”

Fifty-one

There might have been no setting on earth more perfect for social media than a vineyard: In the twilight of summer, the jewel-toned fruit heavy on the vine. In the peak of harvest, giant bins full of grapes popping with color, conveyer belts carrying mounds of fruit past workers checking for quality, the bright red juice coming off the pressing machine. Even the winter was starkly beautiful, with its acres of plants lying still, in wait, with the promise of new life. It was a marketing gold mine—one Leah intended to take full advantage of. With Bridget’s help.

“Do you think Sadie will come up again to visit?” Bridget said. “Then I can get all three of you.”

“I’d settle for finding my mother at this point.” Vivian had disappeared.

“Angle yourself a little lower so I get the grapes in this shot with you.”

They had mapped out a social media calendar starting with harvest and going through next spring. The one idea Leah didn’t share with Bridget was her thought about highlighting the rosé—if there was a rosé. She wanted to chronicle the creation of their first vintage from the minute the grapes were fermenting to the cork in the first