Chapter 13
Bianca
R osa and I are out in the yard talking about the capacitor for the forty-year-old press we’re using, which has just broken down.
“Jake’s trying to source one,” I tell her. “But so far no luck. And they’re not even expensive!”
“What’s Jake trying to source?”
We both turn at the male voice behind us. Uncle Geno approaches, wearing his straw Panama hat.
“Hi, Uncle Geno,” I say.
“Hi,” Rosa adds.
He stops, waiting for us to answer him.
“The capacitor on our press is broken,” I tell him reluctantly. The last thing I want to do is share our problems and challenges with him. He already thinks we can’t do this.
Sure enough, he smirks. “Are you reconsidering your decision to keep this place? Since things don’t seem to be going well.”
“Things are going fine,” I reply, resisting the urge to tell him to fuck off. “Just this one little problem.”
“A new press is expensive,” he says.
“We don’t need a new press.” Actually, we do. Forty years is ancient. I spare a brief, longing thought for the state-of-the art pneumatic press back at Castillo Lorenzo, with its touchscreen control and pre-programmed pressing cycles.
“You could always stomp the grapes yourselves,” Uncle Geno says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you here, Uncle Geno?”
“Just checking in on you girls.”
“To see if we need help?” I ask sweetly. “Do you have an extra capacitor?”
He laughs, but doesn’t answer.
I fume, heat swirling in my gut. I glance at Rosa, her cheeks pinker than usual.
“We’ll be fine, Uncle Geno,” she says calmly. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I made banana bread this morning.”
“I don’t have time for coffee and banana bread. It’s harvest.”
“We know that,” I say a little snidely. “Well, we should get back to work, then. Thanks for stopping by!” I grab Rosa’s arm and drag her across the yard.
We both mutter under our breaths.
“I have to go over to Bar Down,” I say.
“Okay. I’ll let you know when Jake’s back if he’s been able to find something.”
I walk over to the neighboring vineyard, still grumbling about Uncle Geno. He probably could have helped us, damn him.
I head straight to the crush pad to see how things are going here. Better than Caparelli. I’ve got my rubber boots on, my legs bare beneath the ragged hem of my cut-offs, and a stained T-shirt that says winey bitch . I wave away a bee drifting in front of my face.
Jansen is just walking toward the crush pad and sees me. His steps quicken and he stops in front of me. “What’s wrong?”
I stare up at him. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit. Has that dipshit Mark been around again?”
My eyes widen, and then the corners of my mouth quirk up. “No. Although he did call the other day to apologize.”
His jaw hardens. “Then what is it?”
I sigh. “Uncle Geno came by Caparelli a little while ago.”
“What happened?”
“I was hoping maybe he’d given some thought to giving us some of their wine. But he said he hasn’t had time. He wanted to check on us and see how we were doing. Like he was expecting us to be floundering.”
“But you’re not.”
“Well.” I bite my lip. “He did come just when Rosa and I were talking about the capacitor for our press breaking down.” I fill him in. “Wait.” My eyebrows snap together. “Is it possible…nah.”
“What?”
“Is it possible he did something to our capacitor?”
“Jesus.” Jansen’s mouth sets in a thin line. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t know. You wouldn’t think he would pull all the workers from Caparelli, but he did. You wouldn’t think he would spread rumors about us and tell people not to help us. You wouldn’t think he would try to sabotage our vines by not watering them and then shutting off the irrigation system. But he did.”
Jansen winces. “Yeah.”
I sigh. “I wanted to tell him to fuck off.”
He rubs a hand over his mouth. “I understand.”
“He just makes me feel like I’m a kid again. Like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You do know what you’re doing.” His tone is assured.
I meet his eyes and he holds my gaze steadily. “Thank you.”
“What can I do to help?”
I huff out a breath and smile. “Do you have an extra capacitor?”
“I have no idea. But I can ask someone.”
“You don’t,” I say. “But thank you.”
“You can use my crush machine.”
“Your crush machine is busy.” I wave a hand. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out. “Rosa.” I answer. “Hi.”
“Jake’s back,” she says. “He’s got a capacitor.”
“Oh my God. How?”
“He went back to Dr. Armstrong at the college.”
Dr. Armstrong is one of the top viticulture and enology experts in the field, and a former prof of Jake’s. She helped him find workers for Caparelli.
“She came to the rescue again,” Rosa continues. “She got hold of someone in the electronic engineering department. They made a capacitor!”
“Oh my God. That’s amazing.”
“Yeah! They’re working on it right now.”
I meet Jansen’s eyes and smile. “Great. Let me know if you need me.”
“Okay.”
I end the call and shove my phone back in my pocket. I relate Rosa’s call to him.
“Jake’s a miracle worker.”
I feel bad about being so hard on him. He’s been amazing. “Okay, one problem solved. Now back to work.”
“You’re working too hard.”
I give him an incredulous look. “It’s harvest.”
“Did you eat lunch?” He frowns.
One corner of my mouth lifts. “Yes, sir, I did eat.”
“Good. Do you need help over at Caparelli? Because I can spare some people.”
I cock my head. “We’re okay. Millie and Miles and Nolan and Ana are there, and they put out the word that we need help so we have a bunch of volunteers. This community can drive me crazy, but also they’re good people. And my ad for people wanting to get a true harvest experience got us a bunch more people. Tourists. They think it’s fun.” I grin.
“Genius.”
“But thank you.” I lay a purple-stained hand on his forearm and look up at him. “Seriously. That’s kind of you.”
After a beat, he nods brusquely. “If you’re sure.”
“We’re good. Really.”
Our eyes meet and we stand surrounded by equipment, grapes, and bees. His gaze drops to my throat where my pulse is fluttering wildly. My lips part involuntarily, my hand still on his arm. I swallow and step back.
“Okay,” he says huskily.
Warmth curls deep inside me. I drag up a smile and scurry away toward the lab.
Later, I’m ready to go home and collapse onto my bed. I just need to check with Jansen about one more thing.
Carol has left for the day, but the tasting room is busy. I pause approvingly seeing the tasting room staff busy serving people who all seem to be enjoying themselves.
I do want to have that some day. I love seeing people coming together, tasting the wine, enjoying it.
I find Jansen in his office, working on his computer. “Hi,” I say from the doorway.
He looks up and his eyes warm when he sees me. “Hey.”
“Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Of course. Come in.”
His desk is built in along one wall, so he just has to swivel his chair to face me. I saunter in and take a seat. “What are you working on?”
“Uh.” He swipes a hand down his face.
“Oh. Sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I got a little presumptuous there.”
“No, no, I can tell you. You might think it’s weird.”
I give him a curious smile.
“I’m reading up on what to do if ICE shows up.”
I blink. “Oh.”
“You mentioned it that day, and I’ve heard from a couple of other people about it. I want to know how to handle it and what my workers’ rights are if it happens.”
“Oh.” I gaze at him, my heart slowly softening. “I see.”
“I talked to Miles about it one day when we were running. He said they can come out and talk to the workers.”
“Won’t that scare them, if the cops show up?”
“It might,” he agrees. “But they would assure the workers that the police don’t have the power to arrest anyone for immigration violations.”
I nod, taking this all in.
“They have a ‘Know Your Rights’ toolkit they can give out.” Jansen goes on. “And a rapid response hotline number, and information about legal assistance.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. That’s good, right? I want everyone here to know we’re looking out for them.”
I suck on my bottom lip. “That’s really great, Jansen. Do you know your own legal obligations?”
“Oh yeah. I know it’s a felony to employ an illegal immigrant.” He meets my eyes.
“Knowingly.”
He smiles.
“I’m impressed. Maybe we need to talk to Deputy Romero again.” Apparently he’s been to Caparelli a few times because of the complaints that we assume came from Geno.
“Yeah. Miles says he’s a good guy.”
I can’t even with this man. My heart is beating unevenly and I want to jump him and lay kisses all over his face for what he’s doing. Highly inappropriate. I clear my throat. “Anyway. I wanted to ask you about new oak or old oak barrels for the pinot.”
He purses his lips. “You should make that decision.”
“It’s your winery.”
“You’re the winemaker.”
I grin. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. Old oak over time becomes more neutral, but new oak imparts a lot of complexity. Pinot loves oak, but you still need to be careful. It’s like seasoning food—too much salt or too much garlic can ruin a dish.”
He nods attentively.
“I want to elevate the pinot but not impose too much taste of oak. I think new oak barrels will be too much, so I think we should use thirty percent new barrels.”
He shakes his head, a hint of a smile touching his lips. “And you wanted me to weigh in on that?”
“I guess I want your blessing.”
“Bianca. I trust you to make the right decisions. To make the best wine.”
My chest fills with warmth. “Thank you. But some of these things are subjective. There are plenty of pinotphiles who love massively oaked pinot noir.’”
“But not you.”
“No.” I smile. “I like a soft, silky finish from oak, but not ‘smoky, toasty oak with touches of charcoal.’”
He laughs. “Now I want to taste both and see what I think.”
I push my lips out. “Really? Because we’re ready?—”
“I just mean out of curiosity. You go ahead and do what you think is best for those beautiful pinot grapes.”
My face relaxes. “Okay! Good talk, boss.”
He snorts as I rise and I walk out of his office with a huge smile on my face.