Chapter 3 #2
"I wouldn't dream of it." I grin and look around the kitchen, then back at her. "Hey, would you mind walking me to the cottages? I haven't stayed in them before, so I don't really know my bearings. You can give me the full list of things I'm not allowed to do on the way."
She narrows her eyes, and I can practically see her weighing whether I'm worth the effort.
"Fine," she says. "But this isn't social. I'm showing you the cottage and laying down more ground rules, and then I'm coming back to work."
"Completely professional," I say, setting my coffee cup in the sink and following her toward the side door. "I won't enjoy it at all. I'll be miserable the entire time."
"Somehow I doubt that," she says, pushing through the door without looking back.
The late afternoon light hits us as we step outside, and I have to stop for a second to take it in.
The hills roll out in every direction, rows of vines heavy with fruit, leaves just starting to turn at the edges.
Beyond the immediate grounds, the mountains have gone hazy blue in the distance, the whole valley settling into a golden hour glow.
If this is where I'm being exiled for the crime of accepting Jean-Pierre Beaumont's money, I've had worse punishments.
"I need to grab my bag from the car," I say, nodding toward the gravel lot where my rental is parked. "Give me thirty seconds."
She sighs loudly. "Fine. I'll wait."
I jog over to the car and pop the trunk, grabbing my duffel and slinging it over my shoulder.
When I turn back, Isabelle is standing with her arms crossed, watching me with an expression that suggests the thirty seconds I asked for was about twenty-nine seconds too many.
I'm starting to think impatience might be her default setting.
"Ready," I say, falling into step beside her as she starts down a stone path that winds between the main building and the vines.
"The cottages are on the far side of the property," she says, not looking at me.
"There are ten of them. During residencies like this, they house any non local members of the team.
Empty right now apart from me since the team is all from here.
I'm in cottage nine. You're in cottage ten, according to my father. "
"So we're neighbors." I can't help the grin.
"We're on the same property," she corrects. "That's not the same thing as neighbors."
"It's a little bit the same thing."
She shoots me a look that could curdle cream. "It's not."
The path curves around a low stone wall and into the rows themselves, the vines rising on either side of us like living walls.
Up close, I can see the grapes are deep purple, almost black, with a dusty bloom on the skin.
I reach out and brush my fingers against one of the leaves as we pass, rough and warm from the sun.
"Pinot Noir?" I ask, nodding at the nearest row.
She glances over, one eyebrow raised. "Mostly. There's some Chardonnay on the eastern slope, and a small block of Viognier near the creek."
"We source a Viognier from Willamette Valley for Harbor & Ash." I duck under a low-hanging branch. "Really floral, almost like apricots. Great with shellfish. We should compare notes sometime. If that's allowed under the extensive list of things I'm forbidden from doing."
"Wine discussion is not explicitly banned." She says primly. "Yet."
"I'll take what I can get."
We walk in silence for a few paces, and I can see why people pay a thousand dollars a night to stay here. I've been to Solstice a few times, but I always stayed at a little Airbnb about fifteen minutes down the road in the town of Solstice Ridge.
It’s a nice town, and with significantly cheaper lodging than the vineyard estate where celebrities and professional athletes come to escape their lives.
Walking through the actual grounds like this, though, I'm reminded of what they’re paying for.
I glance over at Isabelle, who’s walking a half step ahead of me now, her pace quick and purposeful.
"So," I say. "What else am I not allowed to do? I want to make sure I have the complete list."
"Don't talk to my cooks about technique. Don't rearrange anything in the walk-in.” She ticks items off on her fingers without breaking stride. “Don't offer feedback on plating unless I specifically ask, which I won't. Don't be late to service. Don't get in my way during prep."
I shift my duffel to my other shoulder. "That's a lot of don'ts."
"I have more."
"I believe you. Are there any things I am allowed to do?"
She considers this, tilting her head slightly. "You can breathe. You can exist in my general vicinity as long as you're not annoying about it, which might be difficult for you. You can help out as long as you listen to everything I say and do everything I ask."
"Breathing, existing, and following orders." I nod. "I can work with that."
She lets out a small laugh, which I take as a good sign.
The path opens up to a clearing on the edge of the vineyard where the cottages are scattered among olive trees, their silvery-green leaves catching the late light.
The buildings are small, stone and stucco, each with its own porch that looks out to Napa Valley.
"Are you always like this?" she asks suddenly, turning to look at me.
"Like what?" I shoot back, stopping and meeting her eyes.
"This." She says with a thread of irritation. "Cheerful. Relaxed. Like nothing gets to you."
"Plenty of things get to me. Bad produce. Cooks who don't clean their stations. People who overcook fish.” I shrug. "But yeah, I guess I try not to stress about things I can't control. It seems like a waste of energy."
"And this doesn't matter to you?" She gestures at the vineyard. "My father forcing you to do this before he’ll go into business with you? Having to watch over me?"
"I spend some time in possibly the most beautiful spot in the Napa Valley, and at the end of it I get my restaurant.
That's a pretty good deal for me." I look at her.
"And I meant what I said earlier. You're running a pop-up at one of the best estates in the valley and you clearly know what you're doing.
So I'm not here to screw you over. I think we can both get what we want from this. "
She looks at me for a long moment, like she's trying to figure out if I mean it.
"You know I've heard about Harbor & Ash," she says finally, and her voice is less hostile.
"From that Food & Wine piece last year. And my father told me in our little phone conversation that your tasting menu was one of the best meals he's had on the West Coast. So I guess you're probably not terrible at what you do, and if I think I need a hand I'll… ask you."
The last part chokes out of her like she's physically allergic to the words, and I can't help but laugh out loud. "Well, thank you. I can see that took a lot out of you. I'm genuinely touched."
She rolls her eyes, but she's starting to smile too. "Yeah, well. Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." I grin. "It's already there. Taking up residence. Building a little house. I think it's going to put in a garden."
"You're ridiculous," she says, but there's no heat in it now.
"I've been told." I smile back at her, and for a second we're just standing there in the clearing, the evening light going soft around us, and something shifts. Not a lot. Not enough to call it a truce. But maybe the beginning of one.
"Hmmph." She turns and starts walking again, but I catch the edge of a smile before she does.
We pass cottage nine and stop in front of the porch of cottage ten a bit further down, facing west toward the fading light.
"This is you," she says.
"Pretty great setup." I take in the view and drop my duffel on the porch and turn back to face her. "Thanks for the tour. And the list of rules. I'll try to memorize them before tomorrow."
"See that you do." She stares at me for a long moment. "Prep starts at seven. Don't be late."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Her mouth twitches. "Goodnight, Alex."
"Goodnight, Isabelle."
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as she turns and starts back down the path. I watch her until she disappears around the curve, her chef's coat bright white against the green of the vineyard. Then I grab my duffel and push open the cottage door.
Inside, it's small but perfect. A bed with white linens that look absurdly comfortable, a bathroom with one of those rainfall showers that's probably going to ruin regular showers for me forever, a small couch and TV, and a sitting area with French doors that open onto the porch.
Someone has left a bottle of wine on the counter, a local Pinot, with a handwritten welcome note from the Solstice team.
I pour myself a glass and take it out to the porch, settling into one of the chairs.
The sun is setting properly now, the sky streaked with orange and pink and purple, the whole valley shifting from gold to rose to deep blue at the edges.
I can even hear crickets starting up. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish it out to see Theo's name on the screen.
"Hey," I say, settling back into the chair and kicking my feet up on the railing. "Let me guess, the restaurant is falling apart without me."
"Ha, very funny," Theo says drily, and I can hear Chloe playing with Clara in the background. "No, things are great. Miranda's got it handled. I just wanted to see how your first day was."
"Well, Jean-Pierre didn't tell her I was coming, so she had no idea. She called her dad and screamed at him in French for about twenty minutes." I take a sip of my wine and watch the last of the light slip behind the hills. "So, you know. Great start."
"I knew this was going to be messy." Theo's voice shifts into that disapproving older-brother register. "Jean-Pierre might be a brilliant businessman, but the way he treats his daughter is appalling. What kind of father ambushes his own kid like that?"