4. Gemma
GEMMA
The phone started ringing shortly after eight.
“Miss Engel. This is Walt Percy from Percy Ridge. Word is you’re putting together quite an event out at Whitmore.”
“We are. It’s a fundraiser scheduled for November.”
“Bas Whitmore’s a good man. His father was a great one. Put us down for a table.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll email the sponsorship levels this afternoon.”
“I keep hearing about an auction. Some people say it’s a typical silent auction. Others say it’s for dates with bachelors.”
“Both are true. For the bachelor side, you could volunteer, Mr. Percy.”
His laugh was loud enough that I held the phone an inch off my ear.
“Thirty years too late, young lady. And call me Walt. I have a couple of sons who might be willing if I twist their arms hard enough.”
By nine, I had his table, a case of their reserve for the silent auction, and an open invitation to call him directly if any of his fellow vineyard owners gave me a hard time.
The florist rang at half past to push our meeting to tomorrow.
A rental company that had quoted me winter rates in December came in with a higher number and no justification for it.
At half past ten, a woman from one of the caterers reached me about linens, then once I’d answered, asked me a question I hadn’t anticipated but should have.
“So how long have you been seeing Bas Whitmore?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to the conversation.”
“I’m curious. Anyhow, I’ll get you revised numbers later this week.”
I thought about suggesting that getting an updated estimate on linen rental should take less than five minutes, but I let it go for now.
The tent vendor reached me last, a few minutes before noon, with his final quote.
Finally, rather than call, I sent an email to Alex with my updates. Which meant I now had time to look for a new place to live.
There was a listing for a converted garage in Forestville that described it as a charming studio with a view.
I suppose what they meant was it looked out over a vineyard across a busy road, and charming wasn’t an adjective I’d ever use.
The photos showed one room, with a water heater sitting in the corner, near a counter that was a strip of tile between a sink and a hot plate.
The worst part was it was listed for two hundred more a month than I paid now.
Nothing else came remotely close to being affordable—or livable.
My best option was to take Bas up on his offer to live in one of the cottages on the Whitmore property.
I’d never been inside one, or anywhere other than the main house, when Alex and I met with Thomas, but from a distance, they looked cute and well kept.
It was unlikely that more units would be offered between now and when I had to move out.
That, coupled with the idea of strangers traipsing through rooms where all my things were, made me want to get this move over and done with.
Which meant having a conversation with Bas.
I prayed he wouldn’t make me grovel or worse, add another condition to my living there.
There was only one way to find out.
I almost turned around and went home at least three times on the drive to Whitmore. Instead, I forced myself to keep going, because I had no other choice. That wasn’t entirely true. I could move into my mother’s place in Valerius, but honestly, I’d rather take the one-bedroom dump in Forestville.
The house I grew up in had three bedrooms. Before I was born, one belonged to my oldest brother and my two other brothers shared the third.
I had no idea how old I was when I got his room and he moved in with the two other boys.
From that day forward, my having his room was one more reason for them to resent me.
In hindsight, having to share what little food there was with another person would’ve been enough for them to hate me.
Our father left before I was old enough to remember him, and in some ways, I think it made things easier on my mom and the boys.
None of them said so, but a friend I’d made who lived a couple of doors down told me he used to drink a lot and hit them.
At least, she added, that was what she’d heard her parents say.
As far as I knew, none of my brothers were living there currently, but for a while, one of them had turned the barn behind the house into an apartment. I hadn’t been in it since I was a kid, and then it was full of garbage and rats. I couldn’t imagine what it would’ve taken to make it livable.
When I left home at nineteen, I vowed I’d never live there again, even if it meant holding down more than one job to afford a place of my own. Now here I was, close to having to break that promise. Swallowing my pride with Bas was the better of my two options.
“Oh no, not now.” I groaned when the oil light on my twelve-year-old Lexus flickered on, then off, then on again.
I’d bought it when I lived on Edgar Street, in a one-bedroom house that had felt like a palace at the time.
The commute into San Francisco had been the trade-off in terms of rent, but that meant I had to have a decent car.
It had over two hundred thousand miles on it now, and it seemed like something broke every other day. When the air stopped working, I ignored it. The oil light, I didn’t dare to.
I pulled into Whitmore and parked near the vineyards, where I saw two men in the distance.
One looked like it might be Bas. Knowing this was where I’d probably find him, I’d worn a pair of jeans and my oldest boots.
The sun was out and the day warmer than it should have been in January, so I left my jacket in the car before setting off to where he was.
I was within a couple of rows of him when he spotted me.
Rather than stay where he was, like he had when I’d shown up two days ago, he walked in my direction.
“Hey,” I said when we were close enough for him to hear me.
“Gemma.”
“I was wondering if the offer to rent a cottage is still on the table.”
His eyes scrunched. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I shrugged. “Maybe you changed your mind.”
“There are a lot of things I might have a change of heart about, but leaving you with nowhere to live wouldn’t be one of them.”
My mind raced with what else he might be referring to. Had he decided not to host the ball? Or after last night, did he realize he wouldn’t want to be saddled with me as his date for a whole year? “I appreciate that.”
“Do you want to take a look at them now?” he asked.
“Not if you’re busy.”
The guy he’d been talking to when I approached walked past us.
“Hey, there’s somebody you should meet,” Bas said before he got a foot farther.
“I’m Zeke Oberon,” he said.
I shook his hand. “Gemma Engel.”
“Zeke has been the vineyard manager here since before I could drive a car.”
“Legally,” the man muttered.
Bas laughed in a way that seemed more genuine than any I’d heard from him before.
“Gemma is the event planner for that thing I told you we were hosting.”
I raised a brow that Zeke saw, but Bas didn’t.
“She’s also in need of a place to stay. I’m gonna show her the cottages.”
Zeke tipped his hat. “Nice to meet you, miss. Bas, we’ll catch up later.
” He walked toward the winery buildings while Bas led me up the hillside and pointed.
“That one is the biggest and has the best view. The one by the equipment barn is the noisiest. That leaves the one closest to the main house.” He motioned toward it.
“It’s also closest to the event center.”
“Could be a plus,” he said. “Unless you don’t want to think about work.”
“There’s little else I think about.”
“I would’ve guessed that about you.”
Since it didn’t sound like a compliment or an insult, I didn’t respond.
“Let me grab the keys, and you can take a look at all three if you’d like.”
I almost told him not to bother, but if there was something wrong with the first, I wouldn’t want to ask him to make a second trip to unlock the other two.
He returned with all three keys on a ring, and we started with the one closest to the main house.
It was tucked near a stand of oaks and was painted white. There was a two-seater swing on the porch, along with pots that held neglected plants.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, but didn’t step aside, so I had to pass close enough that my shoulder brushed his chest. I hadn’t seen a single room yet, and I knew living this close to him would be dangerous.
Inside were two bedrooms and a third room set up as an office, and there was a claw-foot tub I’d never have time to use in the bathroom.
The kitchen had a gas stove, a butcher-block counter, and a table that seated four.
Above the sink a window looked out over the vineyards.
In the living room, there was a sofa facing a fireplace, plus two more chairs with a small table between them.
Shelves on one wall were lined with books held up by empty vases.
“The other two are similar inside,” Bas said.
“This is really nice.”
“If you have furniture—”
“I don’t,” I interrupted. “I mean, none I’d want to move in here.”
“There’s probably room in the equipment barn if you need to store anything.”
Rather than repeat that I didn’t have much to speak of, I thanked him.
“Do you want to look at the others?” he asked.
“This one is great. Do you have a rental agreement you’d like me to sign?”
“About that.”
Here it came. Earlier, I’d predicted that whatever I asked Bas for, he’d counter with what he wanted in exchange for it.
“Bas—”
“Hear me out.”
I nodded once and folded my arms.
“Since you’ll be on the premises most of the time, what would you think of handling some of the winery events? We could work something out where you’re compensated, but a couple hundred of it is offset by what you would’ve paid in rent.”
I gasped. “A couple hundred?”
“Too much?”
I laughed out loud. “Bas, are you really that unaware of what rentals go for in the valley?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve checked.”
My guess was it was more like never, but I didn’t challenge him on it. “A one-bedroom, one-bath apartment that’s a quarter of the size of this cottage goes for over a thousand a month.”
His eyes flared but only momentarily.
“These three places could bring in significant income if you rented them out, even short-term for vacations.”
“You could manage that too, if you wanted.”
I stared at him. “Manage what?”
“Everything you said. Unless it’s too much with the events.”
I’d been to Whitmore twice this week, and both times, Bas was working in the vines.
After listening to him last night, I knew he was a hands-on winemaker as well as knowledgeable about vineyard management.
I found it ironic that he thought managing a couple of cottages along with helping out with the occasional party or tasting might be too much work.
“Don’t you think you should run this by your event manager first?”
“We don’t have one.”
I cocked my head. “But you—”
“I lied. Izzy was going to do it, but then she got pregnant.”
“I see.”
“Like I said, if it’s too much.”
I folded my arms and raised my chin. “It isn’t. I mean, would there be a budget for me to get help if I needed it?”
“Help?”
“I can’t put on an entire event without catering or a cleaning crew. Unless it’s a smaller one. Then I guess I could handle it,” I added under my breath.
“What kind of outfit do you think we’re running here?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up one hand.
“Whitmore has always offered a competitive salary and benefits package to all our permanent employees, Gemma. And I can tell you that we pay our seasonal staff more than anyone else in the valley does. As far as any help you’d need, of course you’d have a budget for it. ” He shook his head and scowled at me.
He wasn’t offended for himself. He was offended on behalf of every person who’d ever drawn a paycheck from that estate. Men in Valerius spent their whole lives working for owners who’d never once scowled like that on their account.
“My apologies if I offended you. It wasn’t my intention. It’s only that, with the absence of a formal contract, it’s impossible to know what your expectations are.”
“Then, draw one up. My dad said you put one together for the winemakers’ thing overnight and that you did a damn good job on it too.”
I’d called Bas out on enough today, so I wouldn’t bring up the fact that, when I showed up here two days ago, he’d acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about. Now, it was clear he and his father had discussed it.
“Yeah, I lied about that too.”
My eyes met his. “Is there anything else you’re lying about, Bas?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “No. Maybe. Probably. But, not…”
“Not what?”
“The important stuff.”
“Like?” I pressed.
He took a step closer, enough that when I looked up at him, I could see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingertips grazed my cheekbone, and I froze. I should have stepped away, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
“How much I need you, Gemma.”
He turned on his heel and stalked out of the cottage. I stood where he’d left me with my hand pressed to the spot he’d touched, unable to remember a single one of my rules.