No Way Rose’

An Excerpt…

I’m drunk.

And yes, it’s four thirty in the afternoon and technically I’m trespassing. 

But lucky for me, the new owner hasn’t taken possession yet. And the former Take Flight employees he kept on staff are on the other side of the property today.

I’ve missed this place, even though I’ve been avoiding it for the past ten goddamn years. And this will probably be my last chance to say goodbye.

Goodbye to the fields I could walk with my eyes closed. (And right now, drunk as I am, it might be easier to close my eyes and find my way around. Alcohol-induced double vision is no joke, folks.)

Goodbye to the wide, shady oak on the property line, the one that was the best place to nap on the entire estate. And okay, in my later teen years, “nap” was a euphemism for “fool around with the girl next door.” Which made it even better, in my then-seventeen-year-old opinion. 

It was better. Until it wasn’t. And now it’s even less better than it ever was before.

Worse? What’s the word I’m looking for? 

I sigh and look around. I’m not even sure why I’m here, in the place I love most in the entire world, feeling all maudlin and shit. Get it together, Wright.

Tomorrow. I’ll get it together tomorrow. But today I’m raising a glass—and raising it, and raising it again—to my hopes and dreams and plans. All of them gone at the speed of Take Flight’s fire sale. 

And the worst part is I can’t even be mad about it. The sale of the winery was the last resort. By the time Mom and Dad put it on the market, we all knew there was no other choice. 

If I’d been around, if I’d been here to help out, then maybe…

But I wasn’t and I hadn’t, and by the time I got back, Take Flight was no more. 

I can’t blame Mom and Dad. They did the best they could with what they had.

But out here, by myself, I can mourn the loss of everything I planned for. Expected. Even fucking complained about once in a while, because the weight of expectations were especially heavy for a fourth-generation Wright raised to take over from the third. 

Funny how things work out. All my life, I assumed—along with everyone else around me—that I’d follow in my father’s and grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s footsteps. All that time in school, all those years working in wineries up and down the California coast and in Washington state and Canada and for a brief, shining moment, Italy, preparing for a moment that doesn’t exist anymore.  

And then—poof. No more winery, no more footsteps to follow. Now they’re gone. I feel like—like a dandelion puff, blown on the wind, with nowhere left to land. 

Who knew that a six-pack would turn me into a poet? Maybe that’s the career change I need right now.

I sit down in the shade, just off the property line. This tree should be enough to hide me from the vineyard crew over the next hill. And if not, I’m close enough to the road to get a head start on bailing.

Behind me, I can feel our—No, not anymore—the vineyard, stretched out in straight, wide lines, growing in the late-afternoon sun. It’s hot out. I tip my head back and close my eyes. 

It’s nice here. Quiet. Just me and my thoughts.

And a six-pack. Something poetic about getting drunk on beer while saying goodbye to a winery, don’t you think?

I pull the last bottle out of the cardboard carrier and twist off the top. Time to put it all behind me. 

I glance over my shoulder. Yep, it’s behind me now. Literally. 

I crack myself up sometimes. 

I take a long pull of the beer, which isn’t cold anymore. I’ve clearly been trespassing long enough, feeling sorry for myself. Time to get the hell out of here, walk down to the edge of town to call a rideshare, and figure out what I’m doing with the rest of my life. 

I stand up, dizzy from the heat and the beer, and wipe my palms on my jeans. I’m a little worried because I’m starting to hear voices. 

What the hell? I haven’t drunk that much. 

I look around. There’s a person walking down the road, backlit by the sun, talking to themself. 

Themselves? Grammar is not my strong suit, especially when I’m ine—ineber—drunk.

No, wait. I squint, lifting the hand not currently holding a beer bottle, and shade my eyes from the sunlight. They’re talking on a cell phone. 

That’s slightly less concerning. 

Except now I’m going to get caught trespassing on my family’s former property, while drunk, which is not good.

I’m pretty sure it’s not the new owner. I hear he’s a pro-athlete dude of some sort, and the person walking down the road is clearly a woman.

Too late to run for it, so I sigh, nudge the cardboard carrier filled with empties behind me, and wait for the inevitable embarrassment. 

“…I guess I can place another ad online and see what happens,” the person says, holding her hair up off the back of her neck. “Not many other options right now.”

Oh, God. It’s officially worse than I thought. 

I shake my head, almost laughing at the shit fate has decided to put me through.

The last time I was under this tree, on this side of the vineyard, was ten years ago. And I was watching this same woman—girl, then, really—walk up the road that day as well.

I was nineteen, heart pounding straight out of my chest, a velvet jewelry box in a gift bag at my feet. Back then, she was looking for me as well, her face lighting up when she saw me waiting for her.

Back then, I would have waited for her forever.

I sigh and clear my throat. “Hey, Rosa.”

Her head whips to the side, and I see her rich brown eyes get almost cartoon-character huge the moment she figures out it’s me. “I’ve gotta go,” she says into her phone and clicks it off. 

Silence stretches out between us, and I wait to see if she’s willing to break it first. 

“Hey,” she finally says, her voice faint. 

It’s been ten years since we’ve seen each other, and this is the best we can do. 

God.

She slides her phone into her back pocket, and I do my damnedest to not check out her butt in the process.

It’s tough. She’s got a really nice butt.

“What are you doing here?” She turns toward me and shifts from foot to foot, arms crossed over her chest.

Which I’m also not checking out. 

Oh, hell. I’m totally checking her out.

Damn, she’s grown up.

Rosa pulls her thick brown hair into a high ponytail and wraps an elastic around it to hold it in place. It should make her look ridiculously young, but instead, it works.

Everything about her works. Trim body, curves in all the right places, thick lashes framing wide brown eyes, a sprinkle of freckles on her upper chest that I want to trace with my tongue.

Fuck.

She’s also staring at me, head tilted, like she’s waiting for something. 

Oh, she asked me a question. Right. 

“Just, uh, saying goodbye to the old place.” I gesture vaguely behind me. “You know. Old times.” 

Why the hell did I bring that up? I’m an idiot. 

Or just really drunk.

Maybe both. 

She’s nice enough to ignore my drunken stupidity. “Yeah, I heard the sale was finalized last month.” Her lips purse. They’re full and pouty and look like raspberry ice. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Yep.” I can hear myself pop the p sound, like I’m over-enunciating. Trying to prove I’m sober. 

I don’t think I’m succeeding. 

“I, uh, heard about your grandma. I’m sorry.” I’m not just saying that. Her grandma was one of my favorite people when I was younger. 

“Thanks.” She looks back at Caparelli. 

“So, what are you up to?” Which is trite and awkward, but what the hell.

“Oh, you know.” She shrugs. “Trying to get Caparelli back off the ground.”

Back off the ground? “I thought it was going well,” I say. “I mean, according to my folks, the Carleo from your Cabernet vines is a major hit.” 

Apparently when I find a hole, I keep on digging.  

“It is. Or was, I guess.” She wrinkles her nose and looks away. “But now that we own the vines…who knows.”

“Wait.” I shake my head. “We own the vines—who’s we? Doesn’t your family already own them?”

“Uh. Well.” She rolls her eyes. “I meant we as in Allegra and Bianca and me. Nonna left us her winery. We’ve separated from Belmonte and are trying to make it on our own.”

“That’s—wow.” 

She nods. “Mm-hmm.”

We stare at each other for way too long to be comfortable. Then she coughs and scuffs a toe in the dirt road. “Well. I should go.”

I shouldn’t ask. Seriously, I shouldn’t ask. 

“Is everything okay?”

I don’t even take my own advice these days. 

She nods, her smile obviously fake. “Of course. It’s fine.”

Liar. 

But I lost the right to call her out on that a long time ago.

“That’s, uh, good to hear.” I pick up the cardboard container, the tops of the empties clanking together as it swings. “And good luck.”

“You, too,” she says. 

I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I’d better head out before the new guy’s crew catches me on his property.”

“I won’t tell,” she says, and I believe her. 

But the other part she said, about being fine? I don’t believe that. Not even one little bit. 

I try to go, again, but something stops me. I turn back and look at Rosa. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth. 

“What’s wrong?” My voice is rough, a little sloppy from all the beer, and I can see that it startles her. 

“Nothing…” She shoves a hand through her hair, knocking the elastic holding her ponytail in place to the ground. 

She doesn’t even notice.

Yeah, something’s really wrong. 

Rosa huffs out a breath. “Okay, fine. Our only employee just quit, Uncle Geno’s workers refuse to help us out, I’m completely unable to hire anyone else despite all my efforts, Bianca’s finishing out her contract in Argentina and I will not let her throw away everything she’s worked for by bailing early—although God knows if she’s actually going to come back to stay and help out or if she’s just going to stay there, Allegra is partying her way up and down the European Union, and if I can’t find someone to help me keep the entire place from turning into a smoking crater in the next week, I think I’m going to lose my mind.”

Wow. That was…a lot. 

“So if you know of anyone who’s available and willing to work for, let’s face it, ridiculously low wages to start, I would be really grateful if you’d send them my way.”

Rosa sucks in a breath and blows it out again, her face pink from what I assume is embarrassment.

I don’t know why. She’s impressing the hell out of me at the moment.

“So what are you looking for? A groundskeeper? A vineyard manager? A viticulturist?”

“Um.” She closes her eyes. “Yes?”

“Huh.” I nod to myself. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah, what? You know someone?”

I nod again. Before I can talk myself out of it, I blurt out, “Me.”