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The tractor shifted gears, and I jogged beside it, hoisting myself onto the running board. “Thanks,” I said over the engine.
The American flag pin Albert always had secured to his person adorned his plaid shirt. His hat was a reminder to everyone he was a veteran and damn proud of it. “Where’s your car?”
“The winery.”
Albert nodded and continued toward my family’s vineyard.
“What are you doing out this early?” I asked.
“Early?” He shook his head. “Working. Now stop talking.”
Albert wasn’t much of a talker first thing in the morning. Hell, he wasn’t much of a talker most of the time. Only if he had something important to say, or to rip someone a new asshole. He was good at that, and I swore he thrived on those moments.
We drove in silence the rest of the way, and when we got to the parking lot, I jumped down. “Thanks for the lift.”
He grunted, which was more than I expected.
“I’ll have that stuff for you later,” he grumbled.
This year for Albert’s scarecrow display, he wanted to have a Halloween Tree based on Ray Bradbury’s book. When I heard him discussing it with the other veterans, I volunteered to fabricate it. No one knew about my metal work, not even my own family, but once the idea came into my head, I couldn’t let it go. He was going over my sketches, and I was waiting—impatiently—for the approval.
“Sounds good. Always a pleasure seeing you first thing in the morning.”
“One of these days, your dick is going to fall off,” he announced.
“Then we wouldn’t have moments like this, and how sad would that be?”
A wicked smile curved his usually flat lips. “I can’t wait for the day when you meet your match.”
“Never going to happen. I’m going to be single for the rest of my life, just like you.”
Sadness—an emotion I didn’t think Albert was capable of—flashed in his eyes “Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” He tipped his head and headed out of the parking lot, leaving me way too confused for the ass crack of dawn.
There was nothing like a busy Friday night behind the tasting room bar to jumpstart my weekend.
The bottles were flowing, laughter was rich in the air and there were not one but two bachelorette parties. I gave a wink to the woman in the bride sash as I handed her the next tasting in her flight.
She smiled and blew a kiss before returning to her group.
“The sash says bride-to-be in case you didn’t notice,” Lanes, my sister’s best friend joked from her stool. She’d sat there after meeting with my brother Laurent and his fiancée about the cake she was making for their wedding.
“To be, are the keywords there,” I said as I unloaded a rack of freshly cleaned glasses.
She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her favorite wine, a Sauvignon Blanc that was a little on the dry side. As a cake maker who indulged in confections all day, she preferred something crisper and less sweet.
“I swear you just ask for trouble,” she said, a glint in her eyes.
“Maybe I do.”
After all, I was considered the bad boy amongst my brothers, but what did my parents expect giving me a name like Nero? Sure, all our names had to do with wine. But Nero? Really? The name was synonymous with evil. Not Nero d'Avola the grape I was actually named after. Though it’s the most important grape planted in Sicily, it was definitely not what people thought of when they heard the name Nero. No, they only thought about the tyrannical, murderous psycho who played the fiddle while Rome burned.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t run the entire show like my oldest brother, Laurent, or was a world-renowned winemaker like my other brother Franc, or even training under Franc like our baby brother, Rhone. To my family, I was the tasting room manager, but let’s be real. I was a glorified bartender.
My job had its advantages, though. It was the perfect place to meet women. Most were tourists looking for a good time, and I was always willing to show them exactly that. Nothing more. Even if it did result in me having a standoff with an underwear thief. It was all part of the lifestyle, and I wouldn’t give it up for the world.
One of those stage five clingers materialized in front of me. I hadn’t even slept with her. Hell, I hadn’t taken her out on the town. I’d flirted with her like I flirted with every woman in a pair of tight jeans.
This was her second night visiting the tasting room. She’d shown up Thursday night with a group of friends. I winked at her a few times, shared a few stories and maybe flashed her the Grasso charm. But I went home with Jennifer-slash-Jessica instead for this very reason. She didn’t give off fall in love and marry me vibes like this woman in front of me.
