Chapter 16 Saffron
SAFFRON
The stack of bills on my desk hadn’t shrunk since I’d moved them from the kitchen table to the winery office.
Equipment suppliers demanding payment. Distributor notices threatening to suspend our account.
Twenty-six days remained until New Year’s Eve, and every envelope felt like another nail in a coffin.
My phone rang, and Mom’s name lit up the screen.
“Honey, we’re coming home tomorrow,” she said when I picked up.
I sat up straight, my heart slamming against my ribs. “Tomorrow? Already?”
“Beatrice is growing like a weed and keeping her parents up all night, and the doctor says she’s meeting all of her milestones on time or early.
” My mom’s voice softened with emotion. “Felicity and Wagner need this time on their own to figure out how to be a family. And honestly, sweetheart, we miss home. We miss you.”
Friday. The wine had been integrating for almost a week, which meant it would be ready to taste on Friday, the same day my parents were coming home.
“That’s great, Mom. I can’t wait to see you both,” I said, hoping I sounded at least a little sincere.
“We should be home in time for dinner. Maybe we can all eat together? I’ve missed cooking in my own kitchen almost as much as I’ve missed sleeping in my own bed.”
“That sounds perfect. I’ll make sure the house is ready.”
After we hung up, I stared at my phone for several seconds before pulling up my text thread with Snapper.
My parents coming home tomorrow.
His response came within seconds. Good timing?
Or terrible. What if it’s not good enough?
Then, we figure out what’s wrong and fix it. We still have time.
What if we can’t fix it?
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then his message came through. Come over tonight. I’ll make you dinner, and we can worry about tomorrow together. Or I can distract you from worrying. Your choice.
The tension in my shoulders eased. Is that your way of saying you’re going to seduce me into forgetting my problems?
It’s worked pretty well so far.
I smiled despite the anxiety churning in my stomach. What’s for dinner?
Whatever you want. I’ll even let you have some of my food since you always seem to prefer it over your own.
I do not prefer your food.
Saff, you’ve been reaching across the table since we were twelve. You’re not fooling anyone.
My smile stretched wider. Fine. But only because you’re a better cook than I am.
I never thought you’d admit it.
Don’t let it go to your head.
Too late. See you in an hour?
I’ll be there.
I set the phone down and looked around the office at the dusty filing cabinets full of records going back three generations.
Faded photos lined the wall behind me, including one of my grandfather standing proudly beside oak barrels, his smile wide and confident in a way I couldn’t imagine feeling right now.
The window looked out over vines my family had tended for decades, and I let myself wonder if we’d still be tending them come spring.
Tomorrow, everything would change. One way or another.
Snapper’s distraction worked exactly as promised.
He made pasta with a sauce he’d learned from his mother, poured wine from his family’s cellar, and kept up a steady stream of conversation that kept me distracted.
We talked about everything except the tasting, everything except foreclosures and deadlines and all the ways this could go wrong.
After dinner, he led me to his bedroom and took his time undressing me, his hands slow and reverent against my skin.
He kissed the worry lines between my brows, the tension knots in my shoulders, and the places where I’d been holding stress without even realizing it.
When I finally fell asleep in his arms, I didn’t dream about losing the winery. I dreamed about him.
I drove home the next morning with my body loose and satisfied and my mind clearer than it had been in days. The memory of his mouth on my neck and his whispered promises in the dark kept me calm while I straightened the house and waited for my parents.
By five o’clock, I was pacing in the kitchen, too anxious to sit still.
When their car turned into the driveway, I was out the door and down the steps before they’d even parked. Dad climbed out first, looking tired but happy, his shoulders more relaxed than I’d seen them in months. Mom followed, already reaching for me with both arms.
“There’s my girl.” Until she hugged me, I hadn’t realized how much I needed it. “God, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Mom. Both of you.”
Dad wrapped his arms around both of us, and for a moment, we just stood there in the driveway, the three of us together at home for the first time in weeks. The late-afternoon sun was warm on my back, and I let myself sink into the comfort of being held by my parents.
“The place looks good,” Dad said when we broke apart.
He glanced around the property with the assessing eye of a man who’d spent his entire life working this land.
His gaze moved from the bare vines to the winery building and to the house that had been in our family for generations.
“Thanks for managing everything while we were gone. I’m proud of you, honey. ”
Guilt twisted in my chest because I hadn’t just been managing the property. I’d been keeping secrets, making plans, betting everything on a whim that might not even work. “Yeah, I’ve been keeping busy. I had help, though.”
My mom’s brow arched. “From Snapper?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Among others.”
My parents exchanged a look that communicated an entire conversation without either of them needing to speak. Dad’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, and Mom’s eyes sparkled with the kind of curiosity that meant she’d be asking more questions later.
“Let’s get your bags inside,” I said quickly, desperate to change the subject.
I busied myself carrying their luggage while they walked through the house, reacquainting themselves with home.
My mom ran her hand along the kitchen counter like she was greeting an old friend.
Dad stood at the window overlooking the vineyard and just breathed for a minute, his shoulders rising and falling with what looked like relief.
I made sandwiches that nobody really ate. We sat around the kitchen table and talked about Beatrice, about Felicity adjusting to motherhood, and Wagner learning to change diapers without gagging. It was a normal conversation that felt anything but because I knew what was coming.
Dad set down his half-eaten sandwich and cleared his throat. “There’s something we need to talk about.”
I knew what was coming. He was going to say out loud what he’d only alluded to at Thanksgiving.
His speech about family mattering more than land or barrels had made it clear he’d already accepted defeat, but he hadn’t actually told me the details.
Hadn’t admitted to his younger daughter that everything was falling apart.
But I couldn’t let him say it. Not yet.
“Actually, there’s something I need to show you first.”
Dad shook his head. “Saffron, honey, please. I need you to listen to me. This is important.”
“I know it is, Dad. And I promise I’ll listen. But later, okay? Right now, we need to go to Los Caballeros. We need to be there by six.”
His brow furrowed with confusion. “Los Caballeros? Why? What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain it here. You need to see it. Both of you.”
My mother reached across the table and put her hand over mine. “Sweetheart, you’re shaking. Whatever is going on, you can tell us.”
“I know. But this is something I need to show you, not tell you. Please just come with me.”
They looked at each other. Then my father said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
We loaded into my parents’ SUV. My dad offered to sit in the back so my mother and I could chat. Not that we did.
My nerves made it impossible to sit still. My knee bounced. My stomach churned. There were too many variables and far too much riding on this single evening.
The drive to Los Cab felt endless even though it only took fifteen minutes. Mom asked questions I deflected. My father’s reflection in the rearview mirror looked older than I remembered, even from Thanksgiving, as he watched the vineyards roll past with a troubled expression.
When we drove through the gates and parked near the caves, my hands were shaking badly enough that I had trouble turning off the ignition.
“Saffron. What’s going on?”
“You’ll know soon. I promise.”
“Then, let’s go see what has you so wound up.”
I led them into the caves and to the main barrel room. Voices echoed ahead of us. Lots of them.
When we rounded the corner, I stopped to take in the scene that Snapper and his family had arranged.
A long table had been set up in the center of the space, glasses were arranged in neat rows, and a barrel mounted on a rack had been tapped. Candles flickered on the ledges carved into the stone walls, casting warm light across the faces of those in the room.
More than thirty people had come together. Snapper’s three older brothers were there with their wives as well as Kick, Alex, and Maddox. Tryst stood with a group of my father’s closest friends in the world.
I watched his expression shift from confusion to recognition as he took in the scene.
“What’s going on?” His words carried an edge of wariness as he approached them. “Why is everyone here?”
“A very special tasting. One we are so happy you’re here for,” Tryst said, welcoming both my parents with open arms.
One by one, the other men approached with warm expressions, joking and laughing, clapping him on the shoulder and congratulating the family on the birth of their first grandchild.