The Vineyard Crush (Vineyard #1)

1. Emma

One

Emma

I stood in the middle of my empty apartment, taking in the bare walls and bare floors one last time. This had been my home for the past four years of college, the place where I had nested and carved out a space for myself in the bustling city. But as I gazed around, I felt no sense of disappointment or sadness about leaving it behind.

In fact, I had a big smile plastered on my face. Unlike my two former roommates, who had both shed tears about moving on, I was bursting with excitement. I guess I had never really been a city girl at heart. The constant noise, the crowded streets, the overwhelming stimuli - it all drained me. I much preferred the quiet tranquility of nature, the earthy scents, the wide-open spaces.

And that was exactly what awaited me on the other side of this drive. I was headed back home, to the state of Maine, to help my family run their vineyard bed and breakfast. It was a venture my brother had embarked on after I left for college, and I had yet to see it in person. But from the photos and video calls, it looked like a little slice of heaven.

I am officially a collage Graduate. A week ago, I walked across the stage with a cheering section loud enough to rivals the roars of Millions of indian fans when Mahi enters the ground. All of my extended family had showed up and now I can’t wait to join Ethan and help him grow his Wine business.

With one last glance around, I grabbed my bags and headed out the door, ready to begin this new chapter of my life. As I slid behind the wheel of my car and started the engine, a thrill of anticipation coursed through me. The open road stretched out before me, leading me back to my roots.

The drive will take around five hours, and about halfway through, my phone rang. I immediately recognized the familiar voice that came through the speakers.

“Emmy, have you eaten at all today?” my best friend Daisy asked, her tone laced with concern.

I winced guiltily. “Nope,” I admitted. It was all too common for me to forget basic self-care tasks like eating or cleaning when I was absorbed in something. My ADHD brain just had a habit of hyper-focusing and tuning out the rest of the world.

“Well, I packed some granola bars in your purse,” Daisy said sternly. “Eat one, and if you see a diner, pull over and have a proper meal. We can’t have you fainting while driving!”

I chuckled, “What would I do without you?” I asked.

“Crash and burn,” she replied dryly, and we both laughed.

I opened my purse and found the stash of granola bars Daisy had left for me. As I unwrapped one and took a bite, I said, “Come to Maine with me, Daz. We can run the vineyard together! It’ll be fun.”

Daisy sighed. “I wish I could, sweetie, but you know I have to finish this internship. And your brother might end up murdering me if I came to work with you two.”

I pouted, knowing she had a point. My brother, Ethan, and Daisy had never exactly seen eye to eye. “Suit yourself,” I grumbled. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Sure enough, as I continued down the road, I spotted a charming little diner called Moonlight Diner. The bell dinged as I pushed open the door, and an older gentleman greeted me with a warm smile.

“What can I get for you, darlin’?” he asked.

I ordered a sandwich and a coke, settling into one of the booths to refuel. As I was taking my first bite, the bell dinged again, and a little girl came bounding in, followed by a tall, handsome man who looked about Ethan’s age.

“I wanna have a chocolate milkshake, Uncle J!” the girl exclaimed excitedly.

“Just don’t tell Daddy, and you can have whatever you want, Lil’,” the man replied with a grin, scooping her up to order at the counter.

I couldn’t help but smile at their playful interaction. The little girl’s boundless energy and joy were endearing, and the affection between her and her uncle was so cute. It made me feel nostalgic of time in Melody Creek with my Uncles, Aunts and Cousins.

Once I’d finished my meal at the charming Moonlight Diner, I bid the kind owner farewell and got back on the road, embarking on the final stretch of my journey. As I drove through the winding country roads, I watched in awe as the landscape gradually shifted before my eyes. The suburban sprawl gave way to rolling hills and lush greenery, and I could practically feel the tension draining from my body, replaced by a deep sense of calm.

The winding country road curved around a bend, and a sprawling ranch emerged into view—an architectural marvel that seemed plucked straight from the glossy pages of a home decor magazine. Rustic timbers framed the multi-story facade, the rich patina of aged wood complemented by the soft, rolling greens of a meticulously manicured lawn.

I barely had a chance to drink in the breathtaking details—the stone chimney stacks reaching heavenward, the wrap-around porch beckoning with its inviting rattan furniture—before my gaze snagged on the next landmark up ahead. Glossy maroon letters arched over an ornate wrought-iron entryway, proudly announcing my brother’s beloved establishment: “Aimer les vins.”

A nostalgic smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I eased my car through the grand entrance and headed down the shaded lane. Ethan would have insisted on the fanciful French phrasing; despite being as American as apple pie, my older brother had always embraced our paternal roots with gusto, especially when it came to his passion for wine.

I could easily envision him now, shirtsleeves rolled up and forearm muscles straining as he hefted cases of fresh Merlot into the climate-controlled cellars, that roguish half-grin of his firmly in place. For as long as I could remember, winemaking had been his singular obsession, his life’s purpose. One he inherited from our beloved late father, along with those chiseled cheekbones and that glint of mischief that always danced in his silvery eyes.

While Mom claimed her side of the family contributed his appreciation for the finer things—her ancestors operated Indian diamond market in India for generations—Ethan preferred to wax poetic about Dad’s romantic tales. The dashing young French vintner, visiting a winery in Napa Valley. The feisty, sharp-tongued business manager who instantly set his heart aflame with a scathing lecture about overindulging before the crush.

Dad swore he fell in love with Mom in that exact moment, her raven curls tumbling over one irate shoulder and those whiskey-brown eyes flashing with all the fiery passion of her heritage. The story never failed to set my parents chuckling and exchanging those conspiratorial looks that made us kids groan with embarrassment, but which I’d come to recognize as the signs of an epic love for the ages.

As the gravel drive opened up to the main winery—row upon row of leafy green vines heavy with deep purple bounty. The sweet, familiar aroma of fermenting fruit washed over me as I rolled to a stop in a convenient gravel alcove and killed the engine.

Stepping out into the warmth of the late summer afternoon, I allowed myself one indulgent moment to simply bask, head tipped back and arms outstretched as I savored the dry, earthy breeze whispering through the trellises. Home, at long last, after nearly half a decade away. And the first chance to appreciate the fruits of my brother’s lifelong dream with an adult perspective.

Ethan was leaning against the porch of the vineyard’s offices, his familiar cheeky grin spreading across his face as soon as he spotted me. Before I could even fully get out of the car, he had bounded over and enveloped me in a tight hug.

“Emmy, I missed you so much!” he exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion.

I melted into his embrace, wrapping my arms around him just as tightly. “I missed you too, big brother,” I murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

It had been far too long since I’d seen Ethan’s face in person, rather than just on a video call. We had always been close, ever since we were kids, and the distance between us during my college years had been difficult. But now, standing here in the tranquil setting of our family’s vineyard, it felt like no time had passed at all.

As Ethan released me from the hug, he stepped back, his eyes sweeping over me with a mix of pride and affection. “Look at you, all grown up and ready to take on the world,” he said, his tone teasing but warm.

I felt a slight blush creep up my cheeks. “Well, I had a pretty great role model to learn from,” I quipped, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Ethan chuckled and draped an arm around my shoulders, guiding me towards the vineyard’s main building. “Come on, let me show you around your new domain,” he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

As we walked, Ethan filled me in on all the progress he and our brother had made since purchasing this property. He spoke passionately about the wine-making process, the intricate care and attention required to coax the perfect flavors from the grapes. I listened, enraptured, eager to learn everything I could.

When we reached the charming farmhouse-style inn, Ethan gestured proudly. “This is where the magic happens – our little slice of hospitality heaven,” he said with a wink.

I looked up at the inviting structure, taking in the weathered wooden siding, the wraparound porch, and the flower boxes adorning the windows. It was exactly the kind of cozy, inviting atmosphere I had envisioned when my brother first told me about their plans to open a vineyard bed and breakfast.

“It’s absolutely stunning, Ethan,” I breathed, my eyes shining with wonder. “You guys have really outdone yourselves.”

Ethan beamed, clearly delighted by my reaction. “Wait until you see the inside,” he said, ushering me through the front door.

As he gave me the grand tour, I was struck by the attention to detail, the seamless blend of rustic and refined. The main lobby was warm and inviting, with plush furnishings and a massive stone fireplace. The guest rooms were spacious and elegantly appointed, each one offering a different charm and character.

But what truly captivated me was the view from the back patio – row upon row of lush, thriving grapevines, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the entire landscape, and I felt a deep sense of peace wash over me.

“This is incredible,” I murmured, my gaze sweeping across the vineyard. “I can’t believe you and Mom built all of this while I was away.”

Ethan chuckled, draping an arm around my shoulders. “It’s been a labour of love, that’s for sure,” he said. “But we knew it was the right move, especially with you coming back to help us run it.”

I turned to him, a grateful smile spreading across my face. “I’m so excited to be a part of it, Ethan. This is exactly where I want to be.”

And I meant it, with every fiber of my being. After years of feeling out of place in the bustling city, this tranquil oasis felt like a homecoming. The sights, the sounds, the rhythms of country life – it all resonated with me on a deep, profound level.

As Ethan continued the tour, pointing out various aspects of the vineyard’s operations, I found myself drinking it all in, eager to learn and contribute in any way I could. This was my chance to be a part of something truly special, to put my skills and passions to work in a setting that nourished my soul.

By the time the tour was over, I was buzzing with energy and enthusiasm. Ethan could clearly sense my excitement, and he grinned, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Welcome home, sis,” he said, his voice warm and affectionate.

I beamed up at him, my heart swelling with gratitude and anticipation. “I’m so glad to be here,” I replied, and I meant it with every fiber of my being. As we entered the main house, there stood my mom, beaming with joy.

“Emma, darling!” my mom exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug. “We’re so glad you’re here. Welcome home!”

“Hi, Mom,” I said, hugging them back fiercely. “It’s so good to see you. This place is absolutely stunning.”

“We’re thrilled you’re going to be helping us run it,” my mom said, clapping me on the back. “Ethan’s been doing a wonderful job, but he could use an extra set of hands.”

We chatted for a while, them filling me in on all the details of the vineyard and the B&B, and me sharing stories from my time in the city. Tomorrow I start to see the business side of things, talk to some of my contacts and start developing a better marking plan.

After dinner my brother showed me to the cozy house where I’d be living, it was at the end of the property closer to the offices, while my brother’s was closer to the Vineyard’s distillery. Here, I could breathe, I could thrive, I could be my true self.

I spent the night reading on my iPad and didn’t sleep until 3 am. I jolted awake when I heard loud barking and a bubbly laugh. Groaning, I went to the window of my bedroom to see what were the noises that woke me up. Since the shed house is single-level, my bedroom is on the first floor and my window looks into the ranch next door.

As I peered out, I saw a girl—the same dark-haired little girl from the diner yesterday, face alight with unbridled joy as an energetic golden retriever enthusiastically lapped at her rosy cheeks.

The scene was so idyllic, so quintessentially wholesome, that I nearly turned away, reluctant to disturb the moment. But then movement near the old shed caught my eye, and the breath stalled in my lungs.

Emerging from the weathered structure with the unhurried gait of someone in no particular rush was a man—no, a force of nature given human form. Even silhouetted against the slanting rays of late afternoon sun, his sheer physicality was impossible to miss. Broad shoulders strained against the confines of a well-worn henley, hinting at tightly leashed power coiled in those bulging muscles. Each prowling stride emphasized the aggressive V of his torso tapering to a narrow hip, every sinuous movement radiating an aura of coiled intensity.

With the casual grace of someone well-accustomed to handling precious cargo, he cradled a tiny bundled form protectively against the wall of his chest. One of his massive hands dwarfed the bundle completely, callused fingers gently brushing over the soft fabric in soothing strokes. And my heart was thudding an unsteady staccato against my ribcage just looking at the scene. An unfamiliar warmth blossomed low in my belly, slowly suffusing outward until my skin prickled with a dizzying flush of pure, molten awareness.

Each prowling stride the man took across the sun-dappled grass, his rugged features seemed to sharpen into clearer focus, like a camera lens finally finding its mark. Chiseled features seemed carved from granite, from the straight slash of his nose to the sharp jut of his jawline dusted in a careless five o’clock shadow. High cheekbones threw his rugged, lived-in countenance into stark relief while tousled ebony locks peppered with silver at the temples framed that beautifully brutal visage.

But it was his eyes, visible even at this distance, that seemed to single-handedly steal the breath from my lungs.

Shielded by thick fans of sinfully long lashes, they were a tempest of green and blue and cloudy jade, swirling with layers of unreadable depth that snagged my stare and refused to relinquish it. Intense, all-consuming, as though that penetrating gaze could bore straight through to the most sacrosanct corners of a person’s psyche.

The man was undeniably striking from a purely genetic standpoint. But the genuine softness that transformed his harsh features in the presence of that swaddled newborn transcended mere physical perfection. In that singular moment, this stranger achieved a state of true beauty I’d never witnessed before—rugged and powerful yet infinitely gentle, like the most glorious statue rendered in contrasting elements.

I should have looked away, averted my eyes from such an intimate scene a stranger had no right to witness. But I found myself utterly transfixed, rooted to the spot and unable to look away if my very life depended on it. The rest of the world could have ceased spinning in that instant and I wouldn’t have stirred. All that mattered was drinking in every nuance of the rawly masculine yet shockingly tender tableau unfolding just on the other side of the glass.

Without conscious thought, my palms flattened against the warped wood as I leaned in closer, as though by some cosmic force I was being pulled into that spellbinding orbit.

“Daddy…” the little girl exclaimed, scampering over to him and wrapping herself around his leg. He smiled down at her, his large hand gently stroking her back, tenderly.

“Morning, Lil. You’re up early,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff, sending chills down my spine.

“Scooby woke me up,” she replied, and I had to suppress a sheepish grin. If I was being honest, that dog had woken me up too, with his rambunctious antics interrupting my restless slumber. But I couldn’t bring myself to be annoyed, not when it had led me to this captivating sight.

“Oh, my poor little Lily, want me to tuck you back to sleep?” the man said, his tone soft and soothing.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I imagined him offering that same gentle care to me. Would he hold me close, his strong arms enveloping me, his touch igniting a fire within me? What the hell am I thinking? You don’t even know the guy Em get yourself together. I forced myself to look away, closing the window in a futile attempt to regain control of my rampant thoughts.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was already 6 am. Three hours of sleep – more than I’d had during my first year of college, but still not enough to shake the lingering effects of my restless night. With a resigned sigh, I decided a shower might help to clear my head.

As I made my way to my brother’s house, I found Ethan already out on the porch, lacing up his boots. “Hey, Ethan,” I greeted him, plopping down on the swing beside him.

“Hey, Emmy. Excited for your first day?” he asked, flashing me that familiar, infectious grin.

“You know I am,” I replied, my voice tinged with enthusiasm. And it was true – I was thrilled to be here, to be a part of this family venture. But there was a part of me, a growing, persistent part, that was distracted, preoccupied with thoughts of the man next door.

Ethan’s voice sliced through my dazed musings, all business once more as he rapidly typed commands into his computer. “There, I’ve granted your login full administrative access to the company databases and financial records.”

He punctuated the statement by rotating the monitor toward me with a casual swivel of his wrist. Sure enough, rows of neatly organized file folders filled the screen, each one neatly labeled with an innocuous heading—payroll logs, vendor contracts, manufacturing specs. The inner workings of the empire he’d built, now lying prostrate before my tentative authority.

“Go ahead and poke around, get your bearings.” Ethan made a vague gesture of permission as he began extracting himself from his leather desk chair. “If you have any questions, I’ll be just a holler away.”

I nodded, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. Torquing his solid frame halfway toward the door, my brother paused and raked a hand through his tousled blond waves. A rueful half-smile played at the corners of his mouth as our eyes met and briefly held.

“There’s been some issue with the new centrifugation equipment.” His voice pitched lower, adopting that gruff timbre I recognized as his shift into problem-solving mode. “I’m going to go check on the latest hang-up myself before anyone in processing operations can completely botch the transfer sequence.”

I couldn’t help but return his wry grin with one of my own as he pivoted on his polished oxfords and strode toward the door with his usual easy confidence. Even now, having ostensibly handed over the reins of his life’s work into my inexperienced hands, Ethan refused to loosen his firm grasp on the day-to-day operations. Probably because that’s his favourite thing about these Vineyards.

There was no sugarcoating the fact that Aimer Les Vins was a multi-million dollar operation, with tendrils spanning multiple states and a corporate umbrella of satellite interests and investments. But now that I am here he plans to turn the Vineyard into a Resort which I am very excited about.

Squaring my shoulders, I inhaled a fortifying breath and centered the cursor over the first file folder with my name on it.

Better to dive in headfirst and start getting my feet wet….