Chapter 8
Jake
W hen I walk into the kitchen early the next morning, Rosa is already there.
She’s wearing old jeans, a concert T-shirt from who knows how long ago—the band broke up sometime in the past five years, so before that—well-worn Romeos, and a baseball cap. Her thick brown hair is in a ponytail somehow threaded through the opening in the back of the cap.
She’s practically bouncing on her toes, ready to get to work.
“Morning,” I grumble, reaching past her for the coffee pot. I need caffeine after last night.
I did not sleep well at all.
There weren’t any middle-of-the-night collisions in the hallway outside the bathroom last night, but that didn’t make it easier sleeping under the same roof with Rosa.
I thought I could do this. Do the job, stay cool and collected, keep my emotions out of it.
Show her what she’s missed.
Instead I’m seeing what I could have had if Geno hadn’t interfered.
If Rosa hadn’t let him.
I grit my teeth and try to leave the past in the past. It’s just not as easy as it was when I didn’t have to see Rosa every damn day.
“Someone’s grumpy,” she teases, taking the pot from me and filling a large-size travel mug. She shoves it into my hands and adds, “Sorry I don’t have a vat-sized mug for you. I know how important caffeine is to your daily existence.”
I huff and take a sip of the coffee. “I’ll have a decent comeback once I’m caffeinated.”
Rosa wrinkles her nose at me. “Come on, whiner. Time’s a-wasting.”
I’m not sure when she became more of a morning person than me, but I dutifully follow her out the back door, grabbing my backpack along the way.
The sun peeks over the horizon as we trudge up to the vineyard. Well, I trudge. Rosa bounces along perkily.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” I scowl down at my coffee. “It’s barely past six.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know…I’m just glad to get out of the house. Feel like I’m actually doing something for Caparelli.”
“Hey.” I stop in the middle of the road, blocking her from moving forward. “You’re working your ass off. You don’t have to be in the fields to be doing something for Caparelli. If you weren’t here, holding everything together on your own, this whole place would be back under Geno’s authority by now. So don’t sell your contribution short.”
She tilts her head and smiles at me. “Thanks. That’s a really nice thing to say.”
“It’s the truth.”
We continue up the road, the quiet of early morning wrapping around us like mist. This is the time of day I love vineyards the most, when the air is cool and the land almost feels like it’s sleeping.
We reach the lowest patch of vines, and Rosa turns to me again. “So, what are we doing today?”
I dig into my backpack and pull out the plat map I sketched up last night, another reason I didn’t get much sleep. Then I hand Rosa a notepad and pen. “We’re going to check the insect traps.”
She nods and clicks the pen open. “Gotcha.”
We spend the morning walking up and down the rows of vines, stopping every dozen yards or so to check the traps. I mark the locations on the plat map while Rosa writes down our findings on the notepad.
“What exactly are we looking for?” She peers over my shoulder at the trap I’m holding. “Is everything fine?”
I nod. “So far, so good. Only the typical insects you’d find this time of year. Nothing invasive, nothing super harmful.”
“How often do we need to check the traps?”
“I like to check every week or so. Just to be on the safe side.” I set the trap back in place and make a note on the map.
“So what’s your favorite part?”
I blink at her. “Of checking the insect traps?”
“No.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Of working on a vineyard. Being in the industry.”
“Oh.” I squint and tilt my head. “Is it cheating if I say all of it?”
“Yes. It’s cheating.” She marches off down the row to the next insect trap, turning around and grinning at me. “But seriously. What’s your favorite job from the past ten years?”
I follow her, trying very hard not to linger over the swing of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the ponytail bouncing from side to side with her stride. “Sorry—the answer is still the same. All of it.”
She waves a hand. “Fine. Why all of it?”
I open the trap and tell her what to write down. Then I answer, “I’ve had opportunities most people haven’t, at least when you look at the breadth of them. I’ve done just about everything—design a vineyard from the ground up, manage a crew, take a crop from planting to harvest to actually making the wine. I’ve learned organic techniques; I’ve worked all over the world in so many different climates and wine-growing regions. That’s why I can’t narrow it down to just one.”
She’s quiet for a little while. “I guess staying in one place and doing one thing must sound pretty boring to you.”
I answer immediately. “It sounds pretty awesome, actually.”
At least if the place was here.
But I don’t tell her that.
Rosa flashes a quick smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and turns back to her notes. “So how are we doing so far, Mr. I’ve Done It All?”
I ignore the obvious discomfort she’s feeling over our conversation and focus on the specifics of today’s task. “Only two more rows to go, and we can break for lunch.”
Rosa’s head whips around, and she stares at me. “Lunch? Is it that late already?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun.” It’s not just a saying—I actually am having fun out here with Rosa. She’s a good worker and a great conversationalist, and the morning really has flown by.
If I’m not careful, I’ll forget how she broke my heart without a second thought.
Rejection isn’t easy under any circumstance, but when the woman you decided you wanted to spend the rest of your life with says she doesn’t want you anymore, it kinda flies past “hurt” like a comet past the earth. After Geno brought me the annulment papers, I was almost comatose for three days. But Rosa…apparently nothing. So, yeah, I have to be way more careful here. Whatever I feel for her, she doesn’t feel for me. Well, except maybe the lust part. But I want more than that from her. And I’m not going to get it.
My mood effectively killed, I clear my throat and take off down the row of vines, Rosa hurrying to keep up with me. I stop at the next trap and wait for her to catch up. This time, she reaches out and grabs the trap, opening it herself. “Ta-da!”
Despite my internal struggle, I find myself smiling. “And the student becomes the expert,” I tease.
“Well.” She squints at the contents. “I couldn’t tell you what most of these bugs are. Except maybe the fly. I can identify a common housefly.”
“It’s a start.” I point at the insects one by one and name them again, then clear out the trap for the next round. Once it’s back in place, we head to the final trap of the day.
“So what do you want for lunch?” She smiles widely. “I can go whip something up.”
“Nothing for me.” I click the pen closed and tuck it into my backpack along with the map, then hold out my hand for Rosa’s notepad. “Need to run some errands.”
Her face falls slightly, but she masks it with another smile. This one isn’t as bright. “Yeah, that’s fine. I should get this data into the computer anyway.”
“You and your computer,” I try to tease, but my heart isn’t in it.
We walk down the road to the house, the easy conversation from earlier replaced with an awkward silence.
By the end of this summer, I’m pretty sure both of us are going to have whiplash.
Can’t be helped, though. I have a job to do, and I can’t let anything interfere.
Back at the house, I drop my pack by the back door and grab the truck keys off the key holder. “I’ll see you later,” I tell Rosa and head for the truck.
See, this is why the place needs other workers. Having Rosa in the fields with me is a terrible, terrible idea.
The more space between us, the better.
* * *
“Thanks for everything.” I stand and reach across Dr. Armstrong’s desk to shake her hand. “I really appreciate it.”
“I should be thanking you, Jake,” she says, handing over a stack of papers. “It’s not often we get intern requests this late in the season, and I always have students looking for field experience.”
I remember those days. I always planned to intern at Take Flight, with my dad and his crew, but after everything with Rosa, I stayed further afield. Transferred as a junior to a different program upstate, which is where I met Dr. Armstrong, one of the top viticulture and enology experts in the field. She helped me get started solo, without depending on Take Flight and the guaranteed job there. Afterward I only came back for holidays and short visits to see my parents.
To look over the fields and wonder what Rosa was up to, then curse myself for still caring.
My parents always wanted me tocome back to Take Flight after college, but I couldn’t do that—not while Rosa was still in town.
Maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently. Not just for me, or even Rosa and me, but for the family business as well.
Well. Probably not. Even if I were around, Mom’s medical bills would have been too much to cover without selling the land.
I still feel so goddamn guilty, though.
Oh well. Nothing to be done about it now.
I was pretty happy to find out Dr. Armstrong moved here a few years back, though. She’s been good for the viticulture program, and we’ve kept in touch over the years.
Sometimes it does come down to who you know.
And I know I can trust her to help us get the right people to keep Caparelli viable.
“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” Dr. Armstrong leans back in her chair. “Imagine finding out that one of my favorite students followed me down the coast.” She glances at the documentation on her desk. “Oak Creek Canyon, right? Practically in my new backyard.” Her grin shows clearly that she’s teasing.
“Actually, I think you followed me ,” I tease back. “I was born and raised here. You’re the newbie.”
“Fair.” She looks out her window, eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight, then turns back to look at me.
She’s got her I can see right through you look on right now. I do my best not to shuffle my feet.
“So.” She adjusts her glasses. “Finally settling down? Or is this yet another short-term position?”
“Short term,” I answer immediately, ignoring the twist in my gut when I say it out loud. “Just helping out a friend.”
She nods. “Well, let me know when you’re ready to move on. I’d be happy to connect you with a colleague or two. Wherever you want to go. I wasn’t kidding when I said you were one of my favorite students. You deserve to find a place where you can put down roots.”
I nod. Once, I expected to put down roots here, tangled with the roots of so many generations of my family. Those days are gone, though.
“I’ll fill the paperwork out tonight with Rosa,” I say, tapping the forms on the desktop. “Gotta be sure these two get all the credits they’ll earn.”
“Perfect.” She smiles and waits until I’m out the door before she turns back to her computer.
One of the best things about having a world-class viticulture program practically in our backyard is that the students aren’t necessarily locals. Dr. Armstrong didn’t blink an eye when I requested the interns for this job be from out of state and planning to work elsewhere after they graduate.
The less we’re connected to the Oak Creek Canyon rumor mill, the better.
We’ll have to work around their class schedules, but neither of them is carrying a full load during summer term, so it shouldn’t be too challenging. And college credits plus a reasonable stipend is a small price to pay to have two more sets of hands helping me in the vineyard.
I swing into the driver’s seat of the truck and pull out of the university parking lot. I’ve got to get back to the vineyard and finish up work on that insect damage before I lose the day.
Get back to resisting the urge to push Rosa against the closest wall and see if her kisses still taste the same.
* * *
Rosa is still in her office when I stop by the house for some more water. It’s hot out today, and hand-trimming vines under the afternoon sun is tiring work.
I’m filling the glass from the tap for the third time when she wanders in. Her eyes look tired, and I wonder if she had as hard a time sleeping last night as I did or if she’s just tired from stomping through the vines with me so early.
Silently, I grab another glass and fill it. She smiles her thanks and downs half of it in one pull.
It’s hot inside, too. In more ways than one.
“So.” She leans against the counter. “How did it go?”
“Finished clearing out the damaged vines,” I say. “Not as bad as I originally thought, either.”
She closes her eyes briefly. “Oh, thank goodness. I don’t think I can take any more bad news.”
“What about some good news?”
I wasn’t going to say anything until later tonight, but might as well give her something positive to hold on to.
“Yeah?” She’s biting her lip, trying not to look too eager.
“We’ve got two workers ready to start. Just need to fill out some paperwork first.”
“What? How? Where did you find them?”
I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think I didn’t hire them in town?”
“Maybe because nobody local will work at Caparelli?”
I hesitate. She’s not wrong.
“Jake, I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t have hired the last guy if he hadn’t been my only option. At the time, I thought it was a gender thing. Like, they don’t want to work for a woman or some bullshit like that. But when you couldn’t find anyone, either…”
Her voice trails off.
I don’t like that look on her face. Sad. Defeated.
Rosa should never look that way.
“Why won’t anyone local work here?” Her voice is low and pained.
I sigh. “I think you know why.”
Her face tightens. “Yeah, I think I do, too. No one wants to be on the wrong side of Uncle Geno.”
I nod. “I’m afraid so.”
“Okay.” She claps her hands together and looks me in the eye. “Where did you find workers for us?”
I shove down the happy little twinge at the word us. It doesn’t mean anything. “I called in a favor from my viticulture prof,” I tell her, pulling the conversation in a happier direction. “She took a local professorship a few years back. And she was able to recommend two upperclassmen looking for field experience. All we have to do is fill out the internship paperwork so they can earn credit, and then pay them a stipend.”
“And by we you mean me ,” she teases, but her smile is genuine. “But are you serious? Just a stipend?”
I nod. “The credit is the biggest part of it for them,” I add. “Well, that and the real-world experience.”
“That’s amazing,” she says. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier.”
I shrug. “Well, I wasn’t kidding when I said I called in some favors. Usually you have to go through a vetting process to bring on interns. But Dr. Armstrong knows me and trusts me, so we were able to bypass some of the busy work.”
“So when can they start?”
“As soon as the paperwork is completed and turned in.” I hand her the packet I’d left on the table earlier and watch as she flips through the pages. Her eyes light up at one spot; I can tell by glancing at it that the stipend amount is making her really happy.
I get what it’s like to work on a tight budget. It brings back uncomfortable memories of conversations with my parents right before they decided to sell.
If I can help it, Rosa and her sisters will be able to hold on to Caparelli as long as they want.Maybe I can do for them what I couldn’t do for my parents: save their vineyard.
She grabs a pen out of the junk drawer and sits down, filling out the forms as she goes. “Are they locals? Not that it matters.”
I shrug and fill my water bottle with ice to take back out into the fields. “Nope, both from out of state. Actually, Emi is from Canada.”
“Cool.” She flips the page, fills out another line. “A lot of vineyards seem to be opening up in northern areas.”
“God bless global warming,” I say, rolling my eyes.
She mock-glares at me. “Bite your tongue.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I screw the top onto my water bottle.
Rosa clicks the pen closed and stands, handing over the completed paperwork. “All done.”
“I’ll get them in as soon as I can.” I turn around and stack them on the counter.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. Seriously, I could kiss you right now.”
Whoa. Sounds like I’m not the only one with kissing on the brain. I can’t help myself—I take a step toward her.
She freezes. “I, uh… Just a figure of speech.”
“Right.” My voice sounds like gravel. “You just keep telling yourself that.”
“I’m sorry. That was so unprofessional and…and wrong. I shouldn’t have said that.” She’s almost babbling now, her eyes wide and her cheeks pink.
“Uh-huh.” I take a step closer.
Rosa swallows, and I watch the movement of her throat. “I just meant thank you .”
“Sure you did.” Another step.
She sways toward me, almost unconsciously, like iron filings to a magnet.
Or maybe she’s the magnet, and I’m caught, drawn forward with every blink of her eyelashes.
And somehow I’m barely a footstep away from her, close enough to feel the puffs of her breath on my face, to see her eyes flutter down.
“You can thank me however you want,” I whisper into her ear, leaning forward so my cheek is almost touching hers.
Her face turns toward mine, and her lips are right there . But I wait, every muscle in my body tight with want. It has to be her choice. She has to make that move.
She closes her eyes, then presses her lips to mine. It’s brief, barely a peck, but I feel it everywhere.
Ten long years.
I kiss her back, a little longer, a little harder, and she whimpers low in her throat. I fist my hands at my sides to keep from pulling her closer. Her mouth is soft and luscious, and I want to stroke my tongue at the seam of her lips, to see if she still tastes the way I remember. I want to pull her close, feel the warmth of her curves against my body.
I want.
I draw in a long breath and step back. “You’re welcome,” I say, and then I do the only logical thing. I grab my water bottle and get the hell out of there.
* * *
The sun is down by the time I finish weeding the far section of vines. There’s another spot I’ll have to work on tomorrow, but most of it is cleared up for now.
What’s not clear is my head. God damn, being this close to Rosa is messing with me in so many ways.
It was easy when there were thousands of miles between us, when I didn’t have to see her or hear about her or think about her for years at a time.
Okay, that’s a lie. I thought about her.
I thought about her a lot.
I resented her for finding it so damn easy to walk away from me, from us , without a backward glance.
I hated her for letting her uncle dictate the terms of our separation.
I hated myself for missing her.
And that’s the hell of it all. I still missed her—after everything. At least after the annulment-that-wasn’t I could convince myself I’d never really known her. That she was never the girl I knew, the woman I loved, the person I married. She was colder, more heartless. Someone who could walk away without looking back.
But now that we’re working together, around each other day and night, I wonder.
And now we’ve thrown a kiss into the mix, which was a horrible idea and totally wrong and something I shouldn’t be wanting to do again. And again.
I definitely want to do it again.
But I’m pretty sure Rosa won’t. She’s always been the practical one, up until I talked her into eloping. And I’m getting the impression that she spent the past ten years paying penance for that decision. Overall, this is not a situation that lends itself to more kissing.
I should take a page out of her book, focus on the here and now and leave the past in the past.
But I know myself. And I have a sinking feeling I’m not going to be able to do that.
I’m playing with fire, and I know I’m going to be the one who gets burned.