Chapter 2
“Don’t tell me you’re going in to clean the tanks, too.”
I look up as I’m about to slip into a pair of rubber boots, a man with a cane slowly making his way down the rows of stainless steel vats.
“It relaxes me,” I tell him. “Helps me think.”
“You’re a better man than me,” Grady replies with a deep chuckle, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “When I was just starting out, it was my least favorite thing to do.”
“There’s something therapeutic about getting in there and scrubbing away every last trace of what was in there before.”
“A clean slate,” he remarks.
“Exactly.”
He knows better than most people how much I like the idea of a clean slate.
Unfortunately, I’ve learned past mistakes aren’t as easy to wipe away as the sediment in these steel tanks.
“I’m assuming you made some progress in the lab, then?”
“Sure did.” I move toward a long metal table against the wall and grab a test tube, handing it to him.
He brings it to his nose, taking a moment to inhale the rich aroma before taking a sip, allowing the flavor to settle on his tongue. It’s not mature yet, but it’s important to sample the wine throughout the process. You work as a winemaker long enough, and even those early tastes give you an insight into how the final product will taste once it’s had time to age in the barrels.
“Nice job, son,” Grady remarks with a twinkle of pride in his eyes.
“Thanks.”
I take the tube from him and return it to the table. I’m about to yank on my gloves and join the rest of my crew in the tank when he places a hand on my forearm.
“Can you spare a few minutes? I need to talk to you.”
Something in his expression tells me whatever he needs to discuss is serious. Grady isn’t a man of many words or long, heartfelt conversations. He’s been a father figure to me nearly all my adult life, especially after my own dad passed away from ALS, but we’ve never had the type of relationship where we sit down and talk about our feelings.
Then again, I don’t have that type of relationship with many people.
I prefer a more…solitary life.
It’s one of the reasons I love my job as head winemaker so much. I oversee dozens of employees, but most of my days are spent checking on the vines or in my lab experimenting with different combinations of flavors to enhance this year’s product.
“Sure thing.”
I set the gloves back on the surface and signal the rest of my crew to carry on without me. Then I follow Grady into my lab, his cane echoing against the cement floor.
“What’s up?”
I pull out a stool from underneath the gleaming steel table that stretches along one side of the room. Test tubes line the wall, each one identified with various percentages for my reference. Sheets of paper are littered over the surface, filled with tasting notes and my own thoughts in the hopes of improving the next round of experimentation.
Being a winemaker is so much more than just growing and picking grapes. It requires a great deal of chemistry, as well as luck.
Despite the long hours and sometimes back-breaking work, there’s nothing else I could imagine doing. Nothing brings me more joy than seeing someone’s face light up after tasting one of my creations for the first time.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately,” Grady begins, leaning against the desk opposite me.
At seventy-six, he still has a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, probably because he never married or had kids. Instead, his vineyard is his life, and each wine release is like a child to him.
What more could anyone want?
“I didn’t come to this decision lightly.” His weathered features betray a hint of hesitation.
“What decision is that?” I ask guardedly.
“I’m selling the vineyard.”
My heart plummets in time with my stomach as air whooshes out of my lungs.
“What? To who?”
I knew there would soon come a day that Grady wasn’t my boss, but I didn’t expect it so soon. I thought he would die here, on this land he’s poured his heart and soul into. Without him, there is no Vivanza Estates.
“I’ve had quite a few offers from various Napa and Sonoma wineries that want to expand their reach into this area. As well as a few development firms, hoping to turn this place into a combination vineyard and boutique hotel. When they first started approaching me several years ago, I had no desire to sell. But these days…” He pushes out a sigh as he nods at his cane.
“I’m not getting any younger, Beckham. It’s time for me to slow down and enjoy life. I’ll be reaching out to everyone who’s expressed an interest in buying over the years to see if they still are. I just wanted you to be the first to know.”
I stare at him, unsure how to respond. All I can think is that I hate the idea of some commercialized vineyard destroying everything Grady worked so hard to build here.
That I worked so hard to build here, too.
“I don’t want you to worry about a job. I?—”
“How much?” I interject.
Grady blinks, confusion knitting his wrinkled brow. “Excuse me?”
“How much do you want?”
“Beckham, I?—”
“Just tell me. What’s your asking price?”
“I’m not only selling the land. I’m also selling the years I put into cultivating these vines.”
“I understand that.” I cross my arms in front of my chest and widen my stance. “What are you asking? You have fifty acres plus on-site processing, cellar, and tasting room. And the house I’ve been living in. I’m guessing five million.”
“Seven and a half.”
I run a hand through my hair, blowing out a subtle laugh. While I’m in a better financial position than most people my age, thanks to my lack of personal relationships and Grady giving me a share of the profits every year since I became head winemaker, I still don’t have that much money.
“Would you take five?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling another long breath. “I worried this might happen.”
“What? That I’d want to buy this place so someone doesn’t come in and ruin it?”
“I’d love to sell to someone who will treat the land with the same care and respect as we have.”
“Then what’s the problem? Other than the fact that I’m severely low-balling you?”
He waves me off, as if that has nothing to do with it. “When your father was sick, I swore I’d always look out for you. Especially after…everything.”
“And you have. You gave me a job when no one else would. Taught me more about wine than I would have ever learned in college.”
This vineyard has been more than just a job to me — it’s been my home ever since Grady hired me, giving me a chance no one else would. He’s taught me everything he knows about running a successful winery. Even sent me to vineyards all over the west coast and Europe to learn different wine making techniques that I could use to make our product even better.
For the past thirteen years, this vineyard has been my life. I can’t stomach the idea of someone destroying it.
“I gave up a lot to keep this vineyard running,” Grady continues. “Owning your own business, having people depend on you, it can be extremely stressful. For years, I lived and breathed this place. Hell, I still do.”
“And it shows in the wine you’ve created.”
“But because of that, I missed out on a lot of other things.” His words are laced with regret.
“Like what?” A sinking sensation forms in my stomach.
“A wife. Kids.”
“Grady, I?—”
He holds up his hand. “I kept telling myself I’d get around to it when things slowed down. But things never did. Here I am, a seventy-six-year-old man with nothing to show for it.”
“What are you talking about? You have plenty to show for it. Your wine is consistently ranked among the best varietals every year. And each release gets better and better.”
“There was a time when I thought that was all that mattered. But you know what they say. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, and all that.” He approaches me, gently squeezing my bicep. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. Don’t want you to miss out on having everything you deserve. If I sold you this vineyard, I fear that’s precisely what would happen. You’d end up just like me. Old and alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I argue. “You’ve been a part of my family for as long as I can remember. Plus, your employees love you.”
“I have no one to share my life with. I don’t want that to be you. Your father wouldn’t have wanted that to be you, either.”
I don’t say anything for several protracted moments, speechless not only over the idea of him selling, but also the fact he won’t sell to me because he’s worried I’ll miss out on certain things.
Things I don’t even want.
Maybe I did once upon a time. Once dreamed of having a wife and kids.
Not anymore.
“I’ll let you get back to the tanks,” Grady says. “I just wanted to let you know.”
My eyes follow him as he makes his way toward the door. But before he can disappear, I blurt out one last question.
“What if I were married? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
He faces me, his brows scrunched in contemplation. “If you were married, and I was confident you were putting your family first, then yes. I’d sell you this place, even at a lower rate. But seeing as you haven’t gone out on an actual date in years, it’s a moot point.”
I remain silent, in no mood to get into the technicalities of my dating life with him.
Or anyone, for that matter.
“Don’t worry, Beckham. You’ve been the head winemaker here for several years. Anyone who buys this place will no doubt want to keep you on, especially with your expertise.”
“What are you going to do with all your free time?”
“Something I haven’t done since I bought this land thirty years ago.”
“What’s that?”
“Take a much overdue vacation.”
I can’t deny he deserves to spend the rest of his years doing absolutely nothing.
But I still hate that someone else will soon own the land I’ve worked with my own hands.
Unless I get married.