9. Bas #2
When she whimpered and nipped at my lower lip, I pulled away enough to look into her eyes. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get a helluva lot more than I think you’re ready for.”
Gemma raised her chin. “Like what?”
I tightened my hold on her neck enough to feel her pulse quickening and rested my forehead against hers. “I’m breaking a rule, Gem.”
She leaned away, and her eyes searched mine. “What rule?” Her voice was as breathy as mine was rough.
“The one that says I can’t kiss you.” I walked my fingers from her throat down her sternum and stopped when I got to her breast. “Or do this.” I pinched her nipple between my thumb and index finger.
“No such rules,” she said right before her mouth crashed into mine.
I was about to lift her so her legs wrapped around my waist when I heard the main door open.
“Where you at?” I heard Zeke call out.
“In here,” I hollered over my shoulder. When I turned around, Gemma had scooted out from where I had her pinned and was through the door that led into the meeting room.
Seconds later, she crossed the threshold into her office and shut the door behind her.
Since all the walls were made of glass panels, I could see her when she sat at her desk and put her head in her hands.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, knowing I’d crossed a line that might result in me losing her completely.
Zeke came in through the hallway door. “Don’t tell me you finally decided to move in here.”
“It was Gemma’s suggestion. When we need to work on…” My voice trailed off when I saw her walk down the hallway toward the door Zeke had used.
“Hey, guys. I’ll see you later.”
She was outside before either of us could answer.
“Did I interrupt somethin’?” Zeke asked.
“Nah, I’m cleaning up so I can move my stuff in.”
Zeke looked at the door she’d left through, then at me. “It’s been warmer than average. I walked the chardonnay this morning, and the buds are bigger than they should be this early in the year.”
He had my full attention. All winter, the vines were bare wood, and the buds were the small, hard knots spaced along every cane.
Each held the beginnings of the shoot, the leaves, and the grapes.
In warm weather, the knots fattened fast, and once a bud opened, the new growth was tender enough that frost could kill it.
If that happened, we were done for the year, with no grapes to press.
“How far along are they?” I asked.
“Far enough that I want the frost fans tested this week.”
The machines that stood out in the vineyard were basically steel towers taller than the rows, each with an engine at the base and a propeller at the top.
On a cold, still night, warmer air sat in a layer above the vines, and the propellers pulled that layer down and kept it moving so frost never settled on the new growth.
“I marked a few of the fans for maintenance. Those need to be done now,” Zeke added.
“Understood. And you know you don’t need my permission.”
“Got it.” He paused. “If the buds open sooner, frost season lasts longer. Do we split the night watches the same as last year?”
“Whatever you think works best.”
Every night when the temperatures were predicted to fall below freezing, either Zeke or I would trade off, staying awake, reading the thermometers, and deciding when to turn the fans on.
If the vines were ahead of schedule, everything behind them moved up too, all the way through harvest and crush.
“Anything else?” I asked when I realized he was studying me.
“You know what you’re doing?” he asked in a softer tone of voice.
“Fuck no.”
He smiled and squeezed my shoulder. “Didn’t think so.”
I locked the event center after Zeke and I left. He went in the direction of the equipment barn while I headed to Gemma’s cottage.
She opened the door before I knocked, with her laptop balanced on one arm. She’d changed into a T-shirt and leggings, and her feet were bare.
“Bas—”
“Hear me out. Zeke walked the chardonnay blocks this morning. The vines are budding ahead of schedule, and that means my spring has drastically changed. If you’re still willing to help, I need to get as much sorted in the study today as I can.” I put my hands in my pockets. “So, are you in?”
She looked past me at the main house. “Let me get my shoes, a jacket, and my bag.”
I’d left pretty much everything where it was since the first time I set foot in here after my dad died.
The only thing I’d removed was the coffee cup that still had something in it.
I didn’t wash it. I’d walked it out to the dumpster and tossed it in.
Since the bin had recently been emptied, when the cup hit the bottom, it shattered.
His reading glasses sat on the blotter where he’d left them. The file cabinets ran the length of the wall, and every drawer in them was full.
“Should I ask where you want to start, or would you prefer I make a plan?” Gemma asked.
“If you wait for me, we might as well lock it up and throw away the key.”
She smiled. “In that case, I say we box by year. How quickly that goes will be dependent on how he kept his files. I’m guessing you have storage areas where we could keep what we pack away, labeled, in case we need to go hunting for something.”
I shrugged. “That all sounds fine. In terms of how the files are kept, I have no idea. I’m really not a paper guy.”
“This is a high-speed scanner,” she said, pulling what looked like a small printer out of the bag she’d slung over her shoulder when we left her cottage.
She set it on a table, along with her laptop.
“I can program it to save by year or vendor or whatever is easiest.” When she started to laugh, I realized I’d zoned out.
“Sorry. It would probably be best if I handled whatever heavy lifting is required.”