Chapter Twenty-one Remi
Chapter Twenty-one
Remi
The interior of the tasting room had begun to transform as contractors moved around, measuring and planning.
The place was finally coming together after weeks of work.
The vision was slowly taking shape. Sunlight beamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the polished concrete floors.
The scent of fresh paint was still in the air.
Remi walked the space slowly, running her hand along the edge of the custom walnut bar—a design she and Paloma had dreamed up, after a long evening of tasting wine blends.
She wanted something that would cause people to linger for hours, and this bar was it.
She passed by the shelves, where bottles would soon stand, the wall where a mural would be painted by a local artist, and at the far end of the room, where tastings would occur.
Remi exhaled and stopped in the center of the room.
She reflected on how she had poured everything into this place—her money, her energy, and all her hope.
She turned as the foreman entered with a clipboard.
He gave her a few updates on the plumbing.
Remi nodded, but her thoughts had drifted.
She thought of Mila. It was a few days since that brief text: “Made it, Aunt Remi. I’m okay. ” But there had been no follow-up.
She wondered if Mila had seen her mother yet.
If they’d sat down and talked. If she’d told Bianca about what she’d gone through over Christmas break.
Remi tried not to worry, and she certainly didn’t want to intrude.
She wanted to be a part of Mila’s next steps, to help her through it, but it wasn’t her place to interfere.
It was up to Bianca to help navigate her daughter’s healing, and she hoped that she would.
She sent her a text: I hope you’re okay, sweetheart. Just checking on you.
She turned away from the window and headed toward the storage area in the back.
She picked up the stack of mail and sorted through it.
A colorful postcard inviting her to a winery networking mixer was the first to capture her attention.
The words, “wine tasting, light eats, and an opportunity to connect with other industry professionals,” were sprawled across the front of it.
She took a picture of it and sent it to Paloma, with a simple text: Let’s go!
Her response was swift: Got the same invitation. We’re there!
Remi smiled to herself. Working with Paloma came naturally. Their partnership was built on trust, mutual respect, and open communication—qualities Remi deeply valued. She’d learned so much from her. And they jived. They always seemed to be on the same page about things.
As she tossed the postcard aside and reached for a roll of blueprints, her phone buzzed again. It was a reply from Mila: Everything’s fine, Aunt Remi. I saw her. We talked. I’ll tell you more later.
Remi exhaled, relieved. When she looked up, Leo was peering into the window. She waved him in.
He stepped fully inside, the door closing behind him. “Thought I might find you here,” he said.
“This has become my home of sorts. So much needs to be done.” Remi gave him a warm smile.
He looked around, taking in the space—the bar nearly finished, the walls freshly painted. “It’s really starting to look like something,” he said, walking slowly. “Like you.”
Remi let out a small laugh. “A little unfinished, you mean?”
Leo smiled with warmth in his eyes. “No. I mean beautiful in a way that doesn’t try too hard.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That was dangerously close to a compliment.”
“I live on the edge,” he said, his smile like sunshine as he paused near the wall where the mural would go. “That mural is going to be a nice touch.”
“Incredibly nice. I can’t wait for it.”
“I know you’re busy here, but I was wondering if you’d like to take a drive with me,” he said.
“Where to?”
“San Francisco. I have a stakeholder meeting there in a few hours.”
Remi looked around the winery. There was nothing pressing that needed her attention.
“Sure. Why not?” She shrugged. “Let me freshen up and let Zoe know where I’m going.”
“Cool. I’ll meet you at your house in thirty?”
“Perfect.”
Leo’s car moved slowly down Highway 29, the vineyards blurring past in shades of green and gold.
It was early enough that the sun was just starting to spill across the valley.
Remi sat in the passenger seat, her elbow resting on the window ledge, fingers tapping against her knee in an absent rhythm.
Her thoughts were a million miles away. The quietness of the drive took her to a place that made her tense—the conversation between her and Bianca the night before she left for New Orleans.
The betrayal. The confrontation that had pretty much ended their friendship.
The truth was, she missed her. She hated to admit it.
Not Bianca per se—but the friendship. The camaraderie.
The peace of having someone who was a constant in her life.
It depressed her in a way that she couldn’t quite explain, even to herself.
Leo drove in comfortable silence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift.
The stereo played soft jazz, something mellow and contemporary.
As they merged onto I-80, the vineyards gave way to rolling hills.
Remi watched as the scenery changed, and she felt the shift.
Her thoughts were still caught between the winery and Bianca, between what was unfinished and what had already been undone.
Leo glanced at her. “You hungry? We can stop before we hit the city.”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe later.”
He nodded and kept driving. They passed the familiar markers—Vallejo and Berkeley, and then the curve of the Bay Bridge rose ahead. The San Francisco skyline loomed in the distance.
As the car crossed the bridge, Remi finally spoke. “I keep thinking about Bianca, and everything that went down.”
Leo didn’t look away from the road, but his voice was soft. “Has to be pretty devastating.”
She stared out the window. “It’s like … I don’t recognize my life anymore.”
“Understandable. Grief happens in many forms. Not only are you grieving Gerard’s death, but now you’re also grieving your friendship with Bianca. Whether you fix it or not, it’s still painful.”
Remi gave him a look. “There’s no fixing this.”
Leo shrugged, as if he didn’t believe her words, as if they had no meaning.
Remi nodded slowly. “It’s overwhelming.”
Leo reached for her hand, gave it a tight squeeze. They were quiet again as the bridge carried them into the city. San Francisco welcomed them—the hills, the noise, the hustle and bustle. As they exited the Bay Bridge and merged into the city streets, Leo leaned forward, scanning for the next turn.
“My meeting is in SoMa,” he said referring to San Francisco’s South of Market neighborhood and glancing at his watch. “Not until noon, but I figured we’d get here early.”
Remi nodded and watched the city come alive around them. Cafés opening for lunch, cyclists weaving between parked cars, people in business suits walking briskly down busy sidewalks, coffee cups in hand.
He glanced at her. “You can come with me or hang out nearby. There’s a bookstore around the corner.”
“I’ll take the bookstore,” Remi said with a faint smile. “I don’t feel like being charming today.”
Leo laughed. “Fair enough.”
They drove a few more blocks before pulling into a small garage. As they exited the car, the city’s noise wrapped around them with car horns and voices.
Leo slipped the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder. He looked at her with care. “You okay to kill an hour on your own?”
“I’m good,” Remi said. “I’ll find some coffee and a good book.”
They walked together down the block, Leo pointing out the café where he would meet his contacts. He paused outside the quiet bookstore with a faded awning and a small window display of local authors and new releases.
“I’ll text you when I’m done,” he said.
Remi nodded. “Go be brilliant.”
Leo smirked. “I’ll try.”
She stepped inside as he walked away, the bell above the door chiming.
She wandered past fiction, then poetry, her fingers trailing along spines of books until she reached a quiet corner near the window.
Somewhere between the rows of books and the city moving outside, she found peace.
She sat with a cup of coffee that she’d picked up at a nearby café.
An hour and a half later, the early afternoon rush was forming. Remi waited outside the bookstore, a small paper bag of books in one hand, her phone in the other. A minute later Leo rounded the corner, sunglasses on his face, his jacket flung over his shoulder.
“Hey,” he said. “How was the bookstore?”
“Quiet but dangerous,” Remi replied, holding the bag of books in the air. She fell into step with him. “How was your meeting?”
“Good. Very productive,” he said, then nudged her with his elbow. “Now I’m starving.”
“I could eat,” Remi admitted. “I saw a place a couple of blocks back. A tiny spot with a handwritten menu. Looked like a hole-in-the-wall.”
“Those are the best ones.”
Ten minutes later they were seated at a small table on the patio of a taqueria. The waitress brought over chips, salsa, and a pitcher of margaritas with tajin-dusted rims.
“This is what I needed,” Remi said, squeezing lime onto her taco. “Something simple as tacos and margaritas.”
Leo raised his glass. “To simplicity.”
They clinked glasses and took a sip. Before long, the table was littered with lime wedges and crumpled napkins. They had laughed heartily all afternoon, talked about everything, and finished off two pitchers of margaritas. Leo was easy to be with.
“Want to walk a bit before we head back?” Leo asked. “I think we’ve both had a few too many.”
Remi said, “Let’s walk.”
And they did, side by side through the noise of the city—neither one saying much, but both feeling just a little lighter than before.
The drive home was quiet. The music was soothing, maybe a little too much.
She slipped her sandals from her feet and reclined in the passenger’s seat.
The sun beaming down on the windshield made her drowsy, so she dozed off.
When she awakened, Leo was pulling the Mercedes in front of her house. He looked over at her.
“We’re here,” he said.
She straightened in her seat. “Wow, I was out of there.”
“Thanks for the company.”
“Thank you for getting me out of the city, taking my mind off things.”
“Anytime.”
He jumped out and rushed to her side of the car. Ever the gentleman, he opened her door. She stepped out and gathered her bag from the bookstore and the sandals in her hand. She walked to the door barefoot. He shut the door and leaned against the car.
She turned back. “What?” she asked.
With a wide, beautiful grin, he said, “Nothing. Just watching you walk.”