Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,9

and Sauvignon Blanc.

“Nothing against the Cabernet, Dad, but a glass of rosé would be perfect right now,” Leah said. Like a lot of their friends, she and Steven had fallen into the habit of drinking the crisp, pale wine all summer.

“This winery will make rosé over my dead body,” her father said. “You know how I feel about trendy wine. Fads come and fads go, but quality is forever.”

She knew, and yet she couldn’t help but prod him to change his mind. “Dad, come on. Rosé isn’t a fad. Last summer the Hamptons literally ran out of it, people were drinking so much.”

“That’s a red flag. One year the vineyards can’t produce enough, then the next year you get stuck with stock you can’t move. I’ve seen it happen.”

She let the subject drop. It wasn’t her business. It wasn’t her problem. He’d made that clear a long time ago.

Growing up, she believed the winery would be her life’s work. After graduating Barnard with a business degree, she’d been prepared to return to Hollander Estates and work alongside her father. With her brother disinterested in the winery, she was the heir apparent.

Apparent, that was, to everyone but Leonard. The wine industry was rife with sexism. Her father, a vintner who learned how to cultivate grapes from his immigrant father, believed that a winery was a man’s world. When Leah realized the full implications of this, it had been painful—so painful it had taken her a few years before she could visit the vineyard. By that time, she had met Steven and had a demanding job in Manhattan working for the legendary cheese purveyor Murray’s. She rationalized that things had happened for a reason: if she had stayed on the North Fork, she wouldn’t have met Steven.

“Fine. I’ll have the Viognier,” she said.

She would never understand her father. He refused to produce rosé, and yet he devoted time and energy to Viognier, a very old, difficult varietal to grow. He’d told her once that the rough translation of Viognier was “the road to hell.” But oh, how it paid off. Every season, Hollander’s light white wine, with its notes of jasmine and white peach, was her favorite. When the vintage was most fresh, it was so clear it almost looked like water. As the months passed, the color deepened and the flavor changed. That was the amazing thing about wine: It was never one thing. It had a life cycle.

“The Viognier is too light to pair with the meat,” her father said.

“Leonard, indulge us. We’re philistines,” Steven said. There was the slightest edge to his voice—just enough for Leah to notice. To be fair, she had no one to blame but herself for his cynicism about her parents. When she and Steven first met, her feeling of betrayal at being turned away from the family business had still been fresh. As they began dating, the portrait she’d painted of her family over long walks and dinners had not been flattering. Stung by her father’s refusal to bring her into the family business, she told Steven how she had been turned away unfairly—disregarded because she was a woman.

By the time Steven finally got to know her parents, it was too late for him to form objective opinions about them. He saw them as selfish people who had turned away the woman he loved from her birthright. When they married, one of his vows had been “I promise to put you first. To create a family where you never feel shut out or second place. You will always be my priority, Leah.”

When the wine was poured, Leonard stood and raised his glass. “A toast: to the start of the summer season.”

It was his traditional toast every year at that time. “To the start of the summer season,” everyone echoed. Leah sipped her wine, relishing the familiar notes. She might have left the wine business, but, as she often told the customers who crowded in the back room of Bailey’s Blue for her classes, cheese and wine had one very important thing in common: both were made with the philosophy of terroir, or the taste of a place. And this wine tasted like home.

Vivian launched into an anecdote from the previous weekend about a limo full of bachelorettes who showed up for a wine-tasting already drunk.

“We need to ban limos,” her father said.

“Aww, that’s no fun,” said Bridget. Leah looked at her and smiled. She had a vivacious energy about her, and it was clear