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Even though it’s January, it’s still busy at the vineyard. The close proximity a little over an hour southwest of Minneapolis means lots of tourists during football season, and the production staff is hard at work aging wines in barrels while the winery hosts various events and prepares for the upcoming busy season.
Aside from the wine, though, what really made this place famous is the wedding venue, the Grand Hall and Gardens. Brides find the name to be good luck, and the old wives’ tale that couples married at this venue have never gotten divorced seems to have spread far and wide.
And it’s true, by the way.
Maggie and Steve Senior were married here, and they were married until Amelia’s grandfather passed away eleven years ago. Maggie’s parents were together until death, too.
Amelia and Grace’s parents were not married here, and now they’re divorced.
Amelia wants to have the wedding here sometime this year despite my wishes to wait a few years. Grace said the venue is booked solid—thankfully. Amelia reserved the first opening, which isn’t until November of next year—nearly two full years away.
I think we can go ahead and cancel that.
Or, that’s my plan anyway. Until I park behind her bungalow, get out of the car, knock on the door, and find my would-be future bride wearing a white bridal gown as she opens the door.
A sharp puff of air escapes my mouth.
She looks beautiful—there’s no denying that.
I can’t let this throw me off course.
“Oh, Spencer! I didn’t know you were coming!” She rushes out of the room and returns a beat later with a blanket wrapped around her. “It’s bad luck to see the bride in the dress!”
“Is, uh…is that the dress?” I ask.
She nods as her eyes move up to mine. “It’s one I’m thinking about. But now you’ve seen it, so I’ll have to pick another one.”
I press my lips together. Why is she wearing a bridal gown at five o’clock on a Friday? This is one of the busiest times at the tasting room. Shouldn’t she be working?
I don’t ask.
“I’ll, uh…give you a minute to change.”
I walk around Amelia’s place and across the road toward the tasting room.
The first person I see is Grace. She’s leaning over the counter as she talks to Maggie, who’s serving the samples from behind the counter this evening on one side while Delilah serves the other side. She’s laughing at something Maggie just said along with the customer Maggie is serving, and that’s not unusual. The woman is always saying something totally inappropriate, and it’s part of her charm. Hell, it’s part of the charm of this entire place. She’s really built an empire here, and I know what it means to her entire family.
But none of us know what her intentions are with this place once she can no longer run it. She hasn’t been running it for years. From what I understand, she’s not ready to give it up even though Steve is the president and has been the head winemaker for at least a dozen years.
Amelia has expressed her interest in wanting to be the next president, and I think it was part of her motivation in quitting her teaching job. She wanted to prove she belonged here.
But from everything I’ve witnessed over the course of our relationship, I can’t help but feel like the only reason she’s interested in it at all is because her sister is.
I’ve never once seen Amelia interacting in the tasting room with customers the way Grace is. I’ve never seen Amelia hop in to help at the restaurant when someone called in sick. I’ve never seen Amelia fire up a tractor. I don’t even think she knows where they keep the keys, to be honest. But I’ve seen Grace do all those things.
She glances over at me as if she can feel my eyes on her, and her smile broadens as she straightens to a stand and walks over to me. She gives me a hug that feels warm and welcoming.
“Hey,” she says softly.
I clear my throat as I take a step back, pulling out of the hug early. “Hey.”
“Glass of malbec?” she asks.
I glance over at the customer, who’s looking curiously at me. He definitely recognizes me, so I offer a smile and a nod of my head.
“I’d love it—maybe after seven.”
She chuckles as I name the time the doors close in just a half hour from now. “I’ll be here. And I can snag us a flatbread from Pete.”
