Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (11 page)

“I think that would depend on your definition of interesting,” Reid said.

His brother Ward smiled, which Mia assumed meant he, too, had heard the irritation lacing Reid’s voice. “It would be nice if that scarf brought you both some luck,” he said. “Reid just told me that he’ll be working with Mia on building the winery’s business.” He transferred his smile to Mia and it warmed, reaching his eyes. “Welcome to the family, Mia.”

Perversely, Ward’s remark only made Mia feel forlorn. Here he was, welcoming her into the “family,” but he was doing so only because her own, real family was deserting her. And would the Knowleses be as gracious and generous if she failed to produce good wines?

Swamped by a wave of loneliness and anxiety, she managed only a weak smile when Ward, Tess, and Anna excused themselves to go make culinary magic with Jeff.

“That was a good talk.”

Reid’s words startled her out of her depressing
thoughts. She raised an eyebrow, grateful for the spurt of irritation she felt. “No need to lie.”

The corner of his mouth rose. “Okay, it wasn’t a good talk. But at least it got better at the end.”

“Only after everyone had consumed three glasses apiece and discovered that one can drink a fine red with barbecue,” she said drily. As soon as the ladies began to sample, the wait staff had passed platters filled with bite-sized morsels of grilled and barbecued meats. Cheese puffs and miniature fritters had followed.

“Exactly.” Reid nodded. The ghost of a smile played across his lips.

Perhaps it was the smile that prompted her. Perhaps it was the guilt festering inside. Either way, she found herself blurting out, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow in mocking disbelief. “No need to lie.”

“Okay,” she said. “So I meant most of it. I don’t think you know a whole lot about wine.”

“Ah, vintage Mia,” he said. “You’re right. Compared to you and Thomas, I know next to nothing. I don’t pretend to. But I bet I know a whole lot more about what it takes to run a successful business. Can you say the same?”

He had her there. She gave a shrug. “I’m aware your family knows how to run one. I’ve no proof you can.”

“Well, that puts us on even footing, doesn’t it, since I’ve yet to taste any wine you’ve made.” For a second their eyes met. He was looking at her—for once really looking at her—and the effect was just as powerful as she’d imagined. She found herself lost in the dazzling blue, as deep as any sea.

Her heart began to hammer against the walls of her chest.

A stranger’s voice broke the spell Reid had cast so effortlessly. “ ’Scuse me.”

Mia jerked her gaze away from Reid’s. The speaker was one of the women who’d been in the corral with her when Reid had done his rope trick, the one with the scarily tight jeans and improbably large breasts.

The woman reached out and grabbed Reid’s arm. The tips of her fingers ended in bright-red claws. “I hate to butt in,” she said with a smile as aggressive as her talons, “but you’ve been gettin’ a lot of attention from this here cowboy. It’s our turn now.”

From across the room Mia heard the now familiar “Woo-hoo!” as a group of women cheered on their friend. A glance at Reid’s face showed that his easy grin was in place. He didn’t look at all upset to be leaving her.

So maybe Reid and she had reached some kind of détente. So maybe he had actually looked her in the eye for once. So maybe a smile had flitted across his face. That didn’t change the essentials. He was still a womanizing cowboy.

T
HOMAS HAD PROTESTED
. Mia had insisted, arguing that the drive was nothing, a straight two-hour shot. For once Mia got her way. But, as if to rub her nose in it, the traffic to San Francisco International Airport, was, as Thomas had predicted, as unmoving as a clogged drain.

The conversation between them eked out in fits and spurts, with as much being quashed by Mia as voiced. Thomas burbled with excitement.

“Reaching me might be tricky for the next few weeks. Pascale has some friends with a yacht, and we’re going to cruise around the Mediterranean and explore Corsica. There are wild pigs in the hills. At night we’ll dine on board on grilled sardines, olives, tomatoes, peasant bread, and Corsican rosé. Then we’ll continue to the Greek Isles.”

“And if there’s an emergency?”

“I suppose you can try my cell. I just don’t know how good the reception will be. The best bet is the Knowleses.”

Tightening her fingers around the steering wheel, she glanced sideways at Thomas. She understood he was in
love. But did he realize how easily he was cutting his ties to the vineyard, to her, and how much that hurt?

Thomas was still talking, saying something about his complete faith in Roberto and Paul and how Leo and Johnny were good, responsible kids and meticulous about keeping the winery clean as a whistle. They were young, but they loved the wine they helped make. His tone changed, however, becoming tinged with brittle cynicism, when he mentioned her cousin. “If you ever hear from Jay, do let him know my whereabouts.”

She took her eyes off the road, even though other drivers were doing wild and crazy things on I-380. “I thought you’d called him.”

“I did. I left three messages on his cell. Four seemed a shade superfluous. None of my calls were returned. It’s possible he didn’t understand that I was leaving today—more likely he saw no reason to get in touch, since I’d already arranged the money transfer. I should have insisted he contact me so I could outline the terms of the financial settlement and only then deposit his share. But old habits die hard.”

She thought back to the trip Thomas and she had made to Ukiah yesterday to visit Donald Polk, Thomas’s accountant and lawyer. They’d needed her signature on the four copies of the contract Thomas and the Knowleses had negotiated.

The pages of legalese outlining the terms had made her head swim. But Don Polk had answered her questions, so she now knew the basics of the partnership. She was manager of the vineyard and winemaker, Reid its marketing and administrative director. In return for the money the Knowleses invested in the winery, they would receive 40 percent of its profits. Mia would earn a salary in addition to a 30 percent share. Thomas would receive 20 and Jay 10 percent. Thanks to the Knowleses, Thomas had been able to withdraw a lump
capital sum in order to live comfortably in France and a slightly smaller one—but still princely—for Jay.

Mia hoped the cash infusion and the 10 percent cut would satisfy him. She preferred to avoid her cousin. Contact with him left her feeling dirty.

The exit off I-380 with its sign for SFO was approaching, and as they drove the next couple of miles she stared ahead, hating the signs directing travelers to the different terminals.

She flicked the turn signal and eased into the exit lane for the parking garage.

“What are you doing, Mia? You need to go straight.”

“The exit for the garage is—”

“We don’t have time to search for a parking space. The flight leaves in two hours, and I have bags to check. Drive to the international terminal and drop me off. I’ll get a skycap to help me with the bags.”

Mia jerked the wheel to get out of the exit lane and was rewarded with an angry blare of a horn. The driver whizzed by her and gave her the finger. Charming.

“Careful, Mia,” Thomas cautioned. “I don’t want to miss my flight.”

She drew a breath and debated pointing out a tiny fact to her uncle: She’d never been in an accident in her life. But then she decided that silence was golden.

She pulled up to the curb at departures and jumped out of the truck. Thomas was already at the back, unloading his cases. “I’ll go park and meet you at the check-in.”

“No need for that, Mia. Let me say farewell here, my girl, so you can get on your way.” He lined up his suitcases in a row and enfolded her in a hearty hug.

“Thomas, I
want
to come in with you.”

“But why? You have another two-and-a-half-hour drive back. Maybe longer. It’s rush hour now.”

“I’ll be fine. It doesn’t matter.”

“But don’t you have a date tonight? It’s with Andrew, right?”

Dreading the prospect of returning to an empty house and eating dinner alone, she’d called Andrew Schroeder on Sunday and suggested they get together. They were to meet at Aubergine, the restaurant in Sonoma they both liked. The reservation was for eight o’clock, which gave her ample time to get there. Now she wished she hadn’t made the date or mentioned it to Thomas. “Yes, I’m seeing him,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Well, then,” Thomas said, “go have fun before you’re both too busy with your harvests to have any at all.” He hugged her again and kissed both her cheeks. Then he stepped back and gave her a tender smile. “I love you, Mia.”

Her own smile was fierce, beating back her sadness. “I love you, too. Have a safe trip. Call me when you can. And, Thomas—” She paused and swallowed her pain. “Be happy.”

“Thank you, darling.” With a jaunty wave, he picked up his bags and deposited them onto the metal cart. “Air France,” he said to the porter, before turning to Mia with a final smile.
“Au revoir, ma belle.”

“Au revoir,”
she echoed hollowly.

Mia sat toying with the wax drippings at the base of the candlestick. She’d begun fiddling with the wax as a way to keep herself from finishing the bowl of roasted chickpeas the waitress had placed at her table, or from drinking her glass of Zinfandel too quickly, or, worse yet, from checking her watch again.

Andrew was almost thirty minutes late. She’d called as soon as she arrived and left a message on his voice mail that she was at the restaurant. Her cell was on the table, set to vibrate, but it had yet to come alive and
shiver across the polished dark wood. Perhaps he’d received her message just as he was starting out and hadn’t wanted to answer it while he was driving.

Cheered by the thought, she plucked a roasted chickpea from the bowl and munched on it while she cast an eye about the crowded interior. It was a good thing she’d reserved. Aubergine was hopping. The bar was jammed with diners waiting for a free table. She hoped Andrew showed up before the hungry patrons began to complain that she’d been seated before her companion had arrived. When it came to nabbing a table at a hot eating spot, people lost their California cool awfully quickly.

She’d been right to suggest the dinner date. She’d be able to tell Andrew all that had happened, knowing he’d appreciate what she was going through. Looking across the table into his steady brown eyes, magnified by his square horn-rimmed glasses, would banish the image of Thomas’s final wave before he’d followed the porter into the terminal. The sliding glass doors had closed all too quickly, leaving her on the curb, her fixed smile crumbling to dust.

She was sure Andrew would understand how heartbroken she was to have lost her uncle. And being as unadulterated a wine geek as one could find in Sonoma, Napa, or Mendocino, he would totally get the stress of having been handed an entire vineyard and winery to run.

Their dinner would soothe her, and hopefully he’d ease her apprehension about stepping into Thomas’s shoes. If they lingered at the table long enough, she might even stop worrying about the fact that tomorrow she’d have to start dealing with Reid—on a regular basis.

She took a gulp of her wine.

Mia had no idea what Reid had in mind in terms of
promotion and marketing—she’d never liked any aspect of winemaking that didn’t involve the grapes—but Andrew surely would. Sometimes Mia wondered if Andrew ever thought about anything other than how to make, sell, and distribute wine.

Mia’s server had passed her table several times, her glance at the empty chair opposite Mia increasingly harried. This time she stopped. “Can I get you anything else while you’re waiting?”

“No, thank you. I’m good for the moment.”

The phone that she’d set on the table began to hum like a swarm of bees. She picked it up hastily and glanced at the screen. She gave the waitress a quick, apologetic smile. “Sorry—this is my date calling.” Pressing the
ACCEPT
button, she said, “Hello?”

“Mia, it’s me.”

“Hi, Andrew. Where are you?”

“I’m at Jake’s. We’re hanging out with Sonya.”

“Sonya?”

“Sonya Ortiz, our distributor. So I saw you called. What’s up?” The question sounded perfunctory.

“I called because we have a dinner date tonight. You were supposed to meet me at Aubergine at eight. Did you forget?”

“Crap. That’s this week?”

“Yes, it’s this week. Andrew, we spoke only a couple of days ago. You said you were hoping they’d have fried zucchini flowers as a special on the menu. They do. I asked.”

“Sorry, Mia. I forgot. Work’s been insane and then I’ve been showing Sonya around the vineyard. We’re branching out in our exports. Sales are going to go through the roof. So we’re having a little celebration. You know.”

She didn’t, actually. What she did know was that when she made a date with someone, she remembered
and kept it. “I’ve got our table. If you leave now, you can be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll order the zucchini and a plate of—”