“Do it quick,” her daughter said. “Before Carson goes off to baseball camp. I don’t want to get stuck being the only one who has to see it.”
“You loved it.”
“You wish.”
Carson yawned. “It’s late, Mom. I’m going to bed.” He hugged her.
Her baby was four inches taller than her already and he still had a lot of growing to do. Of course, she was short, but still.
Avery hugged her, as well. “See you in the morning, Mom.”
“Night.”
She watched as they made their way across the patio and went into their house, then she smiled at her sister. “Having a good time?”
“I was until the engagement.” Lori’s tone was sharp.
“I thought you liked Giorgio.”
“I do, but now everything is going to change.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind you living in the house, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, Mom would never make you move out.”
Lori’s expression tightened. “Oh, please. We both know she’d throw me out in a heartbeat if it served her purposes, or if Mackenzie asked her to.” She exhaled sharply. “It’s not that. Did you see how in love they are? I knew they were happy, but the look on her face when he proposed...I want that.”
“To get married?” Stephanie tried to keep the surprise out of her voice.
“Of course. Everyone wants to belong. Some of us know when we should keep what we have rather than throw it away.”
“Are you talking about my divorce?”
“You had something with Kyle. Maybe you should have stuck with what you had.”
“A cheater who was never home?”
“It was a marriage.”
“We were both miserable. Besides—” Stephanie pressed her lips together. She didn’t need to defend her position to anyone. “It’s better now,” she said. “With us apart. But if you’re interested in dating, I hope you meet someone.”
“Nothing good ever happens to me.”
With that, she turned and walked away. Stephanie watched her go, wondering how she and Lori and Four could be sisters when they were all so different. She supposed it was just one more thing that proved God had sense of humor.
She walked over to an empty chair and sat down. While the rest of the family were allowed to leave any time after ten, she was stuck for the duration. The party was her responsibility and she had to make sure everything was cleaned up and put away. She would be up until at least two in the morning.
On the bright side, she was apparently done with her ex. It had taken ten years and a cosmic slap in the face, but at least it had happened. First thing tomorrow, she would start looking for a job that excited her. She’d finally escaped from the trap of casual sex with her ex. Now it was time to escape from the family business and strike out on her own.
four
Mackenzie carefully studied the wine in the glass before taking another sip. This time she let the liquid sit on her tongue a bit longer before swirling it in her mouth and then spitting it into the coffee mug she’d brought with her.
Barrel tasting was essential so she could keep track of the progress of the wine, but getting drunk while doing so was a rookie mistake. She’d learned early that spitting came with the job. She picked up her clipboard and made a few notes. Later she would transfer the notes to a computer file. Old-school, for sure, but it was how she preferred to work.
This corner of the barrel room held her personal wines—blends she’d created because she’d had an idea and had wanted to see how it played out. The first three times that had happened, Barbara had flat-out refused and then had told Mackenzie to stop asking. Frustrated, Mackenzie had told Barbara that if the wines didn’t do well, she would cover the losses with her salary. But if they sold the way Mackenzie expected, she would get a cut of the profits for as long as the wines were made.
Barbara had agreed, drawing up a contract they’d both signed. Two years later the first of the Highland wines had been released. Highland Thistle—named in tribute to Mackenzie’s Scottish ancestry—had sold out in two weeks. She’d used a more French style of blending the cab and merlot grapes, giving Thistle a softer finish that was appealing to a younger crowd.
The following year Highland Heather, a nearly botanical chardonnay, had sold out before the release. Last year, Highland Myrtle, a Syrah, had done the same. At that point, Barbara had stopped telling Mackenzie no on pretty much anything wine related. Still, the three wines provided a steady flow of money every quarter. The proceeds were currently just sitting in an investment account, but someday she would do something with them.
She reviewed her notes, then tucked the clipboard under her arm and headed for the offices on the second floor.
Bel Après had grown significantly over the past sixteen years. They’d always had enough capacity to produce more wine, but previous winemakers had sold off hundreds of tons of grapes rather than risk creating a new wine that failed. When Mackenzie had come on board, she and Barbara had come up with a strategic plan using the best of what Bel Après produced.
As she took the stairs to the second floor, she glanced at the awards lining the wall. Bel Après had started winning awards with Mackenzie’s very first vintage, and Barbara had been giddy with the success. She’d wanted to enter every competition, but Mackenzie had insisted they be more selective. Better to place in a few prestigious competitions and get noticed rather than win awards no one had heard of.
Bel Après had been written up in journals and magazines, driving sales. Every year they’d expanded production. Ten years ago, they’d tripled the size of the barrel room.
She reached the top of the stairs and paused to look at the pictures mounted there. They showed Bel Après as it had been a generation ago, when Barbara had been a young bride. From there, all the way down the long hallway, photographs marked the growth of the winery and the family.
She smiled at a photograph of Rhys with his three sisters. He looked to be about ten or eleven with the girls ranging from nine to maybe five. The girls were all smiling and mugging for the camera, but Rhys looked serious, as if he already knew how much responsibility he had waiting for him.
He’d grown into a good man, she thought. He worked hard, was a fair employer and came home every night. Rhys was her rock—his steadiness freed her to send all her energy into the wines.
Mackenzie’s parents had died when she’d been young, and her grandfather had raised her. He’d been a winemaker up in the Spokane area of the state, and she’d grown up understanding what it was to wrestle magic from the soil.