Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,79

big proponent of deadlines. He felt meeting deadlines—like being on time in general—was not only a practical issue but also a reflection of character.

“I mean, worst-case scenario is I lose my spot in the honors program.”

His brow creased. “But that was the whole reason you chose that school. To study under those professors.”

“I know,” she said, trying to feel the urgency she was supposed to feel. “Dad, it’s going to be fine.”

He stood up. “I don’t want to push you. But think about coming back to the city.”

She nodded, knowing she had zero intention of leaving anytime soon. A month earlier, she woke up in the morning thinking only about Susan Sontag.

Now she woke up thinking only about Mateo Argueta.

* * *

The winery’s oak room was a place where Leah used to feel like she could get lost as a young girl. Filled with hundreds of oak barrels that her father imported from France, row after row, it was like a forest of aging wine. The smell of the room hadn’t changed a bit, the magical alchemy of sugar and yeast permeating the air. Beyond the oak room, the tanks where the wines fermented and processed. She tried to let herself feel lost in the room once again, to forget the way Steven had looked at her before driving away a few hours earlier.

Leah had some questions for Chris, the senior winemaker working under her father. The day before, while she was planning the wine and cheese pairings, the absence of rosé had been glaring. And it was going to be a big hole in her class. She knew if she brought it up with her father, he wouldn’t take it seriously. But surely, Chris had to realize it was long overdue to have a Hollander rosé. She just didn’t know if they had enough red grape crop to spare, and if so, when the decisions about what to do with the reds had to be finalized. Despite a common misconception, rosé was made completely from red grapes, not from red and white combined.

“Do we have enough reds for rosé?” Chris said. “And still produce our Malbec and Syrah, etcetera?” He looked around the room and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “It’s doubtful. But then, half these barrels are empty.”

“What? Why?”

“We only have a finite capacity to grow grapes. If we wanted more, we could buy them for production, but your father would never do that. We’d lose the estates designation.”

“But the winery would be able to increase revenue.”

“Red wine still requires at least a year in the barrel. If you want to increase revenue quickly, you need something you can bottle in a few months. Get it on the shelves. So that would mean bringing in white.”

Or making rosé, which could also be bottled and on the shelves in a matter of months. With red wine, you spent a lot of money and then had to wait for your return on that investment. Not so with rosé.

Chris excused himself and walked off to the loading dock. Leah stared after him, then looked back at the barrels. She was distracted by a noise coming from the tank area. Something that sounded like sobs.

She rounded the corner and found Bridget, who was perched on a small wooden bench, a loose hose and small puddle of water at her feet.

“Bridget? What are you doing in here?”

The woman practically jumped out of her skin. She quickly wiped her tear-streaked face.

“Oh. I was just . . . I wanted to be alone,” she said, standing and brushing off her denim skirt.

“Is everything okay?”

Bridget bit her lip. She looked so young, with her dyed red hair in a messy ponytail, her smeared mascara, her bra-strap tan lines. Leah felt oddly maternal. Yes, she was technically old enough to be the mother of the woman her big brother was marrying. Why didn’t he ever date women his own age? Was a mature woman that undesirable? Conversely, she never had to question why these young women dated Asher. At forty-eight, he was still an extremely handsome man. Men didn’t get old—they became distinguished-looking. And he was wealthy. Well, used to be wealthy. It wouldn’t be long before that little secret was public knowledge. She was surprised it had stayed out of the press this long. Her father’s controlling nature did have its upside.

“No, everything is not okay,” Bridget said. “And you know it’s not.”

Leah was confused. Had Asher told her what was going on? He’d