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“Well, you’re reading the wrong space because in no way, shape, or form was I calling you out.”
“Are you sure about that? I know what people say. I’m a trust fund baby who has the least vital job at the winery. Everyone else earns their share and I—”
“Do more than your fair share,” I bit out. He always did that. Always downplayed his importance to the success of the winery. So he didn’t make the wine or oversee the day-to-day operations. He ran that tasting room like a well-oiled machine, making everyone’s experience a pleasant one. Even when they were crowded and shorthanded, he worked his ass off to accommodate everyone's needs without alienating a single customer.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m a glorified bartender.”
Frustration turned to empathy. My heart cracked, and if I wasn’t driving, I would have thrown my arms around him and assured him he was so much more than that.
Instead, I rested my hand on his knee and squeezed. “You have no idea, do you?”
“What are you talking about?”
A horn beeped behind us, and my eyes refocused on the space in front of us. I eased off the brake and rolled forward.
I glanced back at Nero, then focused on the traffic. “You act so confident all the time. I’ve been jealous of you, wishing I could have a sliver of your self-assurance. And you don’t realize how amazing you really are.”
“I don’t need you to blow smoke up my ass.”
I waved my hand in the air. “I’m sorry, do you see smoke anywhere? I sure as hell don’t. There’s nothing to blow. I’m speaking facts. You aren’t a glorified bartender. You are the heart of that winery. People come there again and again because you’re behind that bar.”
“People come because Franc makes world class wine with Rhone’s help. Laurent and Chardonnay run a tight ship that reflects positively on all levels of the place. Sherry executes amazing events. Rose is a master at PR and getting our family run business out to the country and—”
“And you charm the hell out of every single person who comes up to that bar for a tasting or a glass. You provide them with detailed knowledge for each wine on the menu while also giving them someone to converse with and maybe even unload their burdens of the day. You are just as important in the winery’s success as anyone of your siblings, so knock that shit off.” Frustration and anger swirled inside of me as each word came out more determined than the last. If he wouldn’t see himself for who he truly was, then I would let him know I saw him, and I wouldn’t let him diminish himself in front of me. Not now and not ever.
“What is with this fucking traffic?” he blurted.
And because I knew him, I knew he was done with this conversation. My stomach dipped in disappointment. Any outsider would think Nero loved himself. Classic case of a narcissist. But what they didn’t see was it was all just a mask he wore to deflect.
“You’re never going to make it in time.” He thrust his hand through his hair and let out an angry sigh.
“Why do you think I left extra early? I anticipated traffic.”
“This isn’t traffic; this is a goddamn shitshow.”
“I’ve been in worse. One time, Austin and I had to deliver a cake to Jersey. There was an accident on the turnpike where a tractor trailer carrying cases of oranges flipped on its side and the cases all wound up in the roadway. It was shut down for hours.”
“You’re making this up.”
“I absolutely am not. Then there was the time we drove down to Ocean City, Maryland and there was some car race going on in Delaware, and we got stuck on this road for three hours at a complete standstill. The people next to us popped their trunk, took out lawn chairs, and set them up right there in the street. So until I see lawn chairs, I’m not worried.”
Nero turned his head toward the back. “Is the cake going to be okay?”
“It’ll be fine. It’s not like it’s the middle of August. Worst-case scenario, I’ll have to put the AC on a little higher. I should have told you to bring a sweatshirt.”
“Have you looked into getting a refrigerated truck?”
I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling. “I can’t even afford to fix this vehicle. What makes you think I could afford a refrigerated truck? Do you have any idea how much they are? I don’t even think selling body parts on the black market would help.”
“I’m sure you could find a used one at a reasonable price.”
“I still wouldn’t be able to afford it. Besides, I couldn’t possibly take out another loan. My credit score is already in the garbage from the last loan.”
“I can give you the loan; then it won’t show up on your credit score.”
“You know. I thought you changing the subject meant you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. But you just didn’t want to talk about yourself.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The glint in his eyes said differently.
