Page 6 of Work and Play
“Yeah, just a few more months. But this isn’t the real opening. Just a soft one. Until we start making all of our wines on the premises, I won’t consider it open.”
She tsks me in that way only mothers can. “Finn. You have realized your dream. Why will you not let yourself acknowledge that?”
“Because we aren’t a real winery until it’s my tanks that are filled with fermenting juice.”
I know she’s rolling her eyes at me, and the truth is, Pierre does the same thing. Neither one of them understand that for me, the dream is to make my own wine on my own land. Only then will I consider myself a true winery owner. I don’t discount how lucky we are to be able to use our grapes and make wine using equipment at another site, but it isn’t the same. It’s a temporary solution and one I hope will be unnecessary very soon.
“Fine, my stubborn boy. I won’t argue. You get that from your father, you know, that steel resolve.” Her voice is laced with love for both me and my dad. Their marriage is one for the ages.
“Yeah, I know,” I say with a smile as I unlock my truck and climb in, turning on the engine to warm up the cab. My mother’s voice fills the truck when my phone switches to Bluetooth, and I put the truck in drive to start heading out to the winery.
“When do you arrive for Christmas, mon cher?”
“The twenty-third. And before you ask, no, I can’t stay longer than a week.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll take what I can get. I had better go, your father has made omelettes for breakfast. Je t’aime mon cher.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
I hang up the phone and turn onto the road that leads outside of town where the winery is located. Just down the road from us is the turnoff to Oceanside Resort, which is owned by Ethan’s fiancée Summer. It’s a really cool place, and she’s spent a lot of time and effort cleaning it up. She opened in August and has had every weekend booked steadily.
When I get to the winery, Pierre’s car is already there, but I don’t see another vehicle, and I realize I’ve got a few minutes to try and convince him to keep costs down and skip the designer. Sure, we’ll meet with her, but I know how much Pierre has invested in this place and how much I have. And let’s just say if I want to keep things even remotely even, we can’t afford any more major costs. Correction, I can’t afford for us to have any more major costs.
Inside the empty tasting room, Pierre is seated at the table with what I know is an almond milk latte in front of him.
“Morning,” I say as I hang up my coat.
“I was worried you would not make it in time; Ashley took a wrong turn and is running late. Which I suppose is a good thing, since now we have a few moments before she arrives.” Pierre takes off his glasses and looks at me studiously. “I know you’re worried about things.”
I sit down slowly, uncertain where he’s going with this.
“When I asked you to be my partner, I knew that I was asking you to take on more of the work that will happen once we are open and running. I also knew that I would be taking on more of the financial burden leading up to that point. My beautiful wife pointed out to me last night that perhaps you needed a small reminder of that. And perhaps you need to hear me say I still consider you my partner, even if I am writing the cheques.”
A heavy silence hangs between us. He’s right, or I should say, Renée is right. Even though the rational part of me can recognize that our original agreement entailed him fronting most of the money, and me handling most of the hands-on work. This will allow him to step back as a silent investor once we’re up and running. It’s hard for me to remember that I’m still considered his partner.
“I suppose it is hard to remember that sometimes,” I reply slowly. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate our agreement; you’ve given me an opportunity I would have never realized on my own. But it’s important to me to feel that I’m pulling my weight, you know?”
Pierre lets out a small sound of agreement.
I straighten in my chair, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. If I truly am his partner, then I need to say my piece. “Regardless of who’s paying for what, or who is doing what work, the fact remains that we don’t need a fancy tasting room right now. Not until we have a full compliment of wines available, not until we decide about the bistro idea, just not now. All we need is something clean, simple, and classy. And I still maintain that we don’t need a designer for that.”
Pierre leans back in his chair, nodding his head. “A valid opinion, and one I do respect. Truly. Yet simple does not stand out. Simple does not make a statement. And we want to make a statement, do we not? People will not come to see us if we do not give them a reason to. Why, when they can buy the wine in a store, would they travel to the winery, if we do not stand out as a destination? Do you not remember visiting the other wineries with me? They were simple and classy. They were boring. La Lune Rouge will not be boring.”
When he finishes his speech, I know I’m fighting a losing battle. And I have to grudgingly accept he has a good point.
“No, it won’t be boring,” I acquiesce. “But just tell me you agree — it doesn’t have to cost us a fortune to make a statement.”
Pierre raises his eyebrows at me over his latte and shrugs his shoulders. “We will see what Ashley says. We need to be open-minded with her, Finn.”
I open my mouth in a last-ditch effort to make my stubborn partner understand when the door opens, effectively ending our conversation.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, these roads are not well marked and I just got so turned around.”
That voice makes my dick stir in my pants.
It’s her. Coffee girl.
And seeing her up close again only reinforces for me how fucking beautiful she is. She’s got the girl next door vibe going on, and the combination of her looks paired with that sexy skirt and blouse combo makes me sit up straighter. Her long hair isn’t down anymore, now it’s wrapped up in some kind of twist, and it shows off the column of her neck perfectly. I can tell the instant she recognizes me. Her eyes widen and she tugs her lower lip between her teeth. Damn.
