Chapter Eleven
After dinner, they all moved to the family room. His dad had been quiet while they ate, and Reaves desperately wanted to cheer him up. He was bursting with just how good Alara's new designs were. They were perfect—there was no other word for them.
But before they'd sat down, his dad had announced that he'd been busy noodling through business problems all day, and if no one minded, he wanted to take a break from it this evening.
The disappointment that flashed across Alara's face had broken Reaves's heart. It’d only been there for a second—she'd covered it quickly—but he knew what it cost her.
If he was bursting with the need to show his dad her designs, he could only imagine how she must feel.
Zia had tried to excuse herself from the table at one point, and Reaves knew she wanted to go and get her gift for his dad, but Alara had asked her to stay.
No doubt she was trying to save his dad from having to muster up enthusiasm for whatever gift Zia had made him—but Reaves suspected she'd missed the point.
Not that he would tell her that. A gift from Zia was probably exactly what his dad needed.
He smiled to himself. He would never have guessed that a glitter-covered, sequin-studded pom-pom keychain would give him so much pleasure.
Until Zia had presented him with it, he would have sworn up and down that he'd never attach such a thing to his keys.
He put his hand in his pocket—it was already attached.
While his dad settled into his armchair, and Zia scrambled onto the end of the sofa closest to him, Reaves went to the liquor cabinet and raised his eyebrows. "Sherry for you, Dad?"
Charles nodded. "Thanks, I think I will."
"What's sherry?" Zia piped up. "I thought you liked wine, Grandpa Grape."
"It is a kind of wine," his dad explained. "It's just sweeter." He seemed to search for words, and Reaves felt bad when he landed on, "And a little old-fashioned, I suppose."
He was grateful to Alara when she sat down beside Zia and said, "I'm not sure you're right about that, Charles.
I think it did fall out of favor for a while.
But it seems to be gaining a new following these days.
I've noticed people talking about drinking it online, as though it's something new and trendy.
" Reaves loved the way she met his dad's gaze and held it as she added, "It's a whole new vibe. "
His dad chuckled. "I'll have to take your word for that. You know I haven't mastered this whole vibe thing."
Reaves held his breath, hoping that Alara might dare to take the conversation where it needed to go—to her new designs. But before she got the chance, Zia asked, "What does it taste like?"
His dad looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure I can describe it. It's… sweet."
"Like Rolos?" Zia asked, wide-eyed.
Alara glanced over at Reaves, and he smiled, still pleased that she'd included him in that.
"As a matter of fact," said his dad, "that's not a bad comparison, young lady. It is sweet. Some of them can be quite caramelly. And…" He nodded. "Yes. Kind of like Rolos." He smiled at Zia.
"But I can't have one, since it's a kind of wine, right?" Zia asked.
"No, I'm afraid it'll be a long time before you can drink it," said his dad.
"That's okay, I can wait. And when I'm old enough, you'll let me have a drink. You'll share your sherry with me, won't you?"
That heavy weight in Reaves's stomach suddenly seemed to weigh a ton.
When he saw the sadness flash across his dad's face, he couldn't bring himself to think about it.
It'd be fifteen years before Zia was of legal drinking age.
Would his dad still be around? He swallowed and cut through the moment, because he had to.
"I'll tell you what, Z—if you're lucky, you might get to taste it early. Dad let me try when I was younger." He shot Alara an apologetic look as he added, "But only because wine's our family business."
Zia nodded. "I don't mind waiting. I can have Rolos. And even though you can't give me sherry, I have something I want to give you. Is it okay if I do it now, Mom?"
"Okay. Yes, you can. Where is it?"
Zia was already sliding down from the sofa. "I left it in your office. Do you want me to bring your pictures too?"
Alara glanced at his dad. "I don't think so. Not tonight. Grandpa Grape’s…"
His dad raised his eyebrows. "Is there something you'd like to show me?"
Reaves felt bad for her when she dropped her gaze before looking back up. "There is, but it can wait. You said no business tonight, and I don't want—"
His dad held up a hand to stop her. "Then I'm sorry.
I didn't explain myself clearly enough. What I meant was that I don't want to focus on the business issues.
Not while we have the chance to spend a family evening together like this.
This is far more important to me." Reaves's throat tightened when his dad added, "But your work is part of who you are.
And you are part of this family." He smiled before turning to Zia, who was waiting in the doorway. "I think you should bring it."
Alara leapt to her feet. "I'll come with you, Z."
When they returned a few minutes later, Zia stood behind Alara, who was clutching a large portfolio. His dad got to his feet. "Is that what I think it is?"
"It is. And I think… I hope…"
Reaves followed them to the game table in the corner where Alara laid down the portfolio.
"You can think and hope all you like," his dad told her. "I know. I know this is going to be wonderful. So please, if you will."
Zia pushed in to stand beside his dad and take hold of his hand. "It's very pretty, Grandpa Grape. And it's very…" She wrinkled her little nose. "Grown-up, too. Grown-up things aren't usually pretty, you know."
His dad chuckled. "Yes, I'd noticed that myself."
While Alara unzipped the portfolio, Zia grasped a paper gift bag behind her back. She caught Reaves looking and nodded emphatically before saying in a stage whisper, "This is my gift, but we can't tell Grandpa Grape yet. He needs to see Mom's pictures first."
"Are you ready?" Alara asked.
Reaves noticed the way her hands shook as she reached in to slide the papers out.
It landed right in his chest when he understood: she wasn't nervous about the designs. When she’d shown them to him, he'd loved her confidence as she'd explained them.
Her nerves now weren't about her work. They were about how his dad would receive it.
His dad drew in a deep breath, seeming to brace himself as he nodded. "Let's see it, then. Show me how you plan to drag me kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century."
Alara's hands stilled. "Stop. No, Charles, that's not what this is about.
There's no dragging, no kicking, no screaming.
My intention here is to pave the way—to roll out a red carpet in front of you and the House of St. James as you stride into the twenty-first century and claim your rightful place. "
Reaves could barely breathe as he watched his dad take a handkerchief from his pocket and dab at his eyes before turning to Zia and saying, "Well, that's me put in my place, isn't it?"
Zia patted his hand. "That's what Mom does. She sees people. And flowers. And everything, really. And then she puts them into pictures and designs that help everyone else see them the way they really are."
His dad shot Reaves a glance and cleared his throat. Then he turned back to Alara. "Then show me how you see me."
She didn't flinch. She opened the portfolio gently and slid a single sheet across the table toward his dad.
"This is only the concept. We can change anything you don't like.
But my whole aim wasn't to change anything.
Only to blow the dust off what was already there.
It's the same vintage, the same name. But now the truth of it shines through.
" She touched the edge of the paper, almost shy.
"I gilded this one by hand. The real bottles—we'd do it properly, but I wanted you to see it the way I saw it.
Warm. Made by someone who cares, not stamped out by a machine. "
Reaves looked down. This first one was the label.
The House of St. James stood proudly at the center, beneath a delicate vine motif, the lettering serif and elegant, not a trace of trend in it.
But it was the gold that caught him. She'd laid it by hand—he could see that now—the leaf not quite machine-perfect, catching the light where her fingers had pressed it, so that the whole thing seemed to breathe.
And in small script beneath the crest: Rooted in Stillness.
His dad stared for a long few moments. Reaves could tell that he was blown away. But Alara looked worried.
"That 'rooted in stillness' thing—I can take it away if you want.
We can choose something different. But to me, that's the whole point.
The vines are rooted. The stillness is the timelessness.
Everything's flowed on, around. Life has carried on.
Gotten busier. People have gotten more distracted.
Attention spans have gotten shorter. But this place.
The wines." She met his dad's gaze and smiled.
"You. You're all… still. Timeless. And people are starting to seek that out again.
Starting to understand. The value. The worth.
" She rested her hands on the edge of the table and stood up straight.
"But I'll stop talking. What do you think? "
His dad swallowed visibly. "This is it. Alara, thank you. This is … perfect." His voice cracked on that last word. "It honors the wine," he said after a moment.
Alara reached out to touch his arm. "It honors you, Charles. That's the whole point."
Reaves was blinking furiously, trying to swallow the emotion, when a sudden flutter of movement distracted him. Zia had climbed up onto the chair beside his dad, and Reaves's heart squeezed in his chest when he noticed the glitter sparkling in her hair as she held up her little bag.
"I made something for you too, Grandpa Grape. It's for your desk. It'll help if you get sad sometimes. That's what it's for. But even when you're not sad, I hope you'll like it." She thrust the bag at him.
Charles took it, still looking a little overwhelmed.
"Go on, open it. I think you'll like it."
Reaves exchanged a smile with Alara as they watched his dad fish inside the bag and then hold up a little square that Reaves knew had once been no more than a humble coaster. His dad stared at the mess of sequins, glue, and what had to be at least seven googly eyes stuck to it.
Reaves held his breath. Zia leaned forward eagerly. And they let out a collective breath when his dad chuckled—a dry, cracking sound, like old wood in the fireplace. Charles held up the coaster carefully, as if it were a crystal decanter.
"This is perfect too, young lady. Thank you so much." He glanced around at them. "I do get sad sometimes. But since the two of you have been here, those days are getting fewer and farther between."
Zia held her arms up to him, and Charles bent so that she could hug him while she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Grandpa Grape."
Reaves inhaled sharply. And Alara froze.
His dad kissed the top of Zia's head and said, "I love you too, sunflower." When he straightened up, Reaves saw his eyes were wet. "I'm glad to be the first grown-up who gets to say the word that—thanks to you—is starting to fill this house again."