Chapter 17 Snapper
SNAPPER
Baron Van Orr set his wineglass on the table. The barrel room had gone quiet enough that I heard the clink of glass against wood.
“I know exactly what’s missing.” He raised his glass again and held it to the light a second time. “It’s missing the Van Orr blend—my grandmother’s contribution.”
Saffron’s head shot up. “By any chance, was her name Ellen?”
Baron’s eyes widened. “Yes, it was. What makes you ask?”
“We found a photo of her with my great-grandmother, Marilyn, and Concepción Avila. No one could identify her,” Saffron explained.
“Then we found an entry in Concepción’s journal that was written in February, two months after the first Christmas Blessing Wine was released. It said, ‘E says she won’t allow us to make the wine again.’ Do you know why?” I asked.
“Sadly, I do.” Baron took a seat at the table. “Your great-grandmothers were the winemakers. They came up with the original formula, and their two families worked together to create the wine. However, when they first tasted it, they knew something was missing.”
“Just like this,” I said, raising my own glass.
“My grandmother was good friends with the two women and suggested what became the final component—an aged blend from the Van Orr family cellars. As far as why the wine was never made again, I didn’t know the full story until I was sixteen,” Baron continued.
“My father sat me down, opened one of the last remaining bottles, and told me everything. He said he was doing it to teach me a lesson. About pride. About ego. About the cost of both.”
No one in the room spoke.
“My grandmother made a choice that my father said brought a great deal of shame to our family.”
“What choice?” Tryst asked.
“To let her pride destroy something beautiful.”
Baron took a breath, and my hand found Saffron’s under the table.
“Marilyn and Concepción’s original idea was to raise money for those struggling during the holidays.
That year had been particularly hard on many families in the valley.
Bad weather, poor harvests, economic struggles.
” Baron looked between Saffron and me. “Your great-grandmothers were brilliant. Winemakers ahead of their time.”
Then his gaze shifted to Tryst. “You remember.”
Tryst’s eyes shone and he smiled. “I do.”
“They developed the formula using their combined expertise,” Baron continued. “California and Spanish ancestral techniques. The carbonic maceration was revolutionary for the time. My grandmother didn’t create anything. She provided access to something that already existed.
“Her father—my great-grandfather—had bottled a particular vintage for family only. By all accounts, it was extraordinary, but the production was limited. Ellen suggested they try blending a little with the wine they’d made.
It wasn’t much, maybe ten percent of the total volume.
But it was the missing piece. The bridge between young fruit and aged complexity. ”
Exactly what our wine was missing.
“The limited run sold out in hours and raised enough money that local families were able to have a nice Christmas. It saved many of them from losing everything.” He paused. “Then a prominent industry publication wrote about the charitable project and praised the wine’s quality.”
My chest tightened when I realized where the story was going.
“The article gave Marilyn and Concepción all the credit, as was only right. My grandmother’s name was never mentioned.”
“That’s why she was unwilling to give them what they needed to make it again,” I said. “But why didn’t your great-grandfather intervene?”
“Both he and my grandfather, Ellen’s husband, were deceased by then, and it was her decision alone.
” He shook his head. “She lost so much because of it, including two of her closest friends.” Baron removed his glasses and scrubbed his face with his hand.
“On her deathbed, she told my dad the story and how she regretted that decision her entire life.”
I glanced over at Isabel, who stood near the back of the room with her arms crossed. She was too far away for me to know for certain, but it appeared she might be crying.
Tryst stepped forward. “Baron, do any of those bottles still exist?”
“A few. My father kept them in our private cellar.” Baron set down his wineglass.
Hope flickered in my chest, and I felt Saffron tense beside me.
“Can we go look?” I asked.
“Of course. Who is coming?” Baron asked.
“Saffron and me for now,” I said, taking her hand.
“We’ll come too,” said Kick, who was following behind us with Isabel.
While I wanted to say no, it wasn’t really my call. We were headed to her family’s cellars.
The drive to the Van Orr estate only took a few minutes.
We parked near the winery and followed Baron inside.
He led us deep into the cellar, to a room in the very back.
We waited while he sorted through several keys before finding the right one.
The lock clicked, and the door swung open with a groan that echoed off the stone walls.
Inside, the space was small—maybe twenty by twenty—lined with wooden racks that held bottles covered in decades of dust. Baron moved along the racks methodically, his finger tracing along labels, searching. His movements grew more agitated as he checked each rack. Once. Twice. A third time.
“They should be here.” His voice was tight. “Right here, in this section.”
He moved bottles, checked behind them, and did the same at the next rack.
“They’re gone.” His face pale and his breathing heavy. “The bottles are gone.”
My stomach dropped.
Baron’s gaze swept across those of us in the space, then locked on his daughter.
A weighted look passed between them.
“Isabel, do you know what happened to the bottles?”
We all turned toward her.
Her composure, which had been so carefully maintained all evening, cracked. Her chin trembled, and tears filled her eyes.
“I—” She pressed her hands to her face.
Kick, who was standing beside her, whispered something in her ear I couldn’t hear.
She shook her head, unable or unwilling to speak.
“Isabel?” Do you have something to say?” Baron asked.
“You don’t understand.” Her words came out choked. “None of you understand what it’s like.”
“What what’s like?” I asked.
She glanced at Kick, then at me. “I know about your little arrangement. How the two of you conspired against me, not just this year but in the past.”
“What are you talking about?” Baron asked.
“For the last five years, Snapper paid to have Saffron bid against me at the bachelor auction just so I wouldn’t win.
That’s how much he didn’t want to take me on a stupid date.
And this year, he was willing to put up seventy-five grand just to avoid what?
Having to sit across a table from me and have dinner?
” Her eyes filled with tears again that she tried to wipe away, but they fell too fast. “Am I really that bad?”
I took a step in her direction, and Kick shifted so he was between her and me.
“What the hell?” I said, glaring at him.
“You—”
Isabel interrupted him. “I don’t need you to stick up for me, Rascon. For all I know, you told me on purpose.”
When my brother’s face turned ten shades of red, I knew she was telling the truth. While I wanted to throat punch him, now wasn’t the time. Later? Absolutely.
“He also told me that, in exchange for saving you from having to take me on a date, Saffron asked you to help her make the Christmas Blessing Wine.”
I clenched my fists at my sides and was moving in my brother’s direction when Saffron put her hand on my arm.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Let her finish.”
“Do you know what people say about me?” Isabel’s tone sharpened. “That I’m desperate. Pathetic. Last year, someone made a betting pool on social media about how much I’d bid—” She stopped. “But I suppose you both knew that already.”
Guilt hit me like a fist to the gut.
She turned to her father. “I found Grandmother Ellen’s journal after Mom died. I was snooping in your study. The whole story was there. What she contributed to the wine. Then I went looking for the bottles that remained and found them in here.”
Baron’s expression was unreadable.
“When Kick told me what they’d been doing, I immediately knew what you’d need to finish it.”
“Is that why you came tonight? To rub our noses in it? Do you even know why Saffron wanted to make the wine? What’s at stake?”
“You’re right about why I showed up at Los Cab.”
“Isabel,” Baron said carefully. “Where is the wine?”
“The night Kick told me the truth about the auction, I was so angry, so hurt, I came here, intending to smash every single bottle. To destroy any chance you’d have to finish the wine.”
The room went dead quiet.
Saffron stood perfectly still beside me, her arms wrapped around herself.
“You said you intended to smash every bottle,” I said quietly, watching Isabel’s face. “What did you do instead?”
Isabel’s expression shifted. “I didn’t do it.” She looked at her father. “Then tonight, when I heard you tell the story about why Ellen wouldn’t give them the wine—” Her voice cracked. “About her regret…”
“Where is the wine?” Baron repeated.
“I’ll show you—”
“Wait,” said Saffron. She’d straightened and dropped her arms to her sides, but her face was deathly pale.
When I reached for her hand, she turned to Isabel. “You’re right. What we did was wrong.”
“This isn’t on you, Saffron. It was me—” I started.
“No, it wasn’t just you, Snapper. I could’ve said no.” Her eyes scrunched, then filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Isabel. For all of it. For making you feel that way. It was cruel, and I’m—I’m so sorry.”
Isabel stared at her, as if the apology stunned her.
“It’s over. We’re not releasing the wine,” Saffron continued. “Not like this. Not when it’s built on hurting someone.”
“What?” The word came out sharper than I intended. “Saffron, you can’t just give up—”
“Some things matter more than the winery. My father knows it, and so do I.” She stepped closer to Isabel. “The cycle of hurt ends here. Tonight.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Isabel said flatly.
Saffron blinked. “What?”
“You don’t get to give up and call it noble.” Isabel squared her shoulders. “That’s not ending the cycle. That’s just quitting.”
“I don’t understand—”
Isabel stepped closer too. “I’m not letting you give up.” Isabel looked between us. “You, me, and Snapper are going to finish what our grandmothers started. That’s how this ends. Not with you martyring yourself. Yes, the cycle of hurt ends now, but not because we quit.”
Saffron opened her mouth, then closed it.
“I heard everything my father said tonight. Ellen let pride destroy something beautiful,” Isabel continued. “I’m not making that mistake. I’m not living a life of regret like she did. And I’m not going to let you either.” She held out her hand. “Partners?”
Saffron stared at Isabel’s outstretched hand for several seconds, then closed the distance between them and hugged her instead. “Partners,” I heard her say.