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“Don’t forget that special clause in there about great-grandchildren,” Drew says.
“I know, I know. An additional seventy-five acres near Temecula. I don’t know if I even want kids, but for seventy-five acres…that’s some prime real estate right there.”
Seventy-five acres in Temecula? What the hell is she talking about?
“Look, I know I don’t have the kind of money you would’ve gotten after two years of being married to that jock, but we have something better, Amelia. We have love,” Drew says.
She snorts. “Right. Love. Speaking of which, want to go back to your place and have sex?”
“We could just do it in here again,” he suggests.
“Ew, no. It smells like Gracie.” She turns so she’s facing the camera she doesn’t know is capturing her every word—not to mention every facial expression—and she wrinkles her nose. “No thanks.”
Drew follows her out, and the light turns off. I feel like I have some detective work to do, but I don’t want anyone to know I’m digging. And I don’t know where to dig. Or how. Or who to question.
Still…she mentioned seventy-five acres in Temecula, great-grandchildren, and marriage—possibly for at least two years. And a plan to be married to that jock for two years.
Is there some secret clause of Nana’s that says whoever gets married first gets the vineyard?
This place is called Newlywed Vineyard, and I feel like Nana is just eccentric enough to come up with some sort of test to decide who she’ll will the family vineyard to.
How about the responsible one? How about the one who has dreamed of running it since she was a child? How about the one who loves wine instead of the one who won’t take a single sip because she hates the taste and opts for rum instead?
Just a thought.
And if there is a clause like that…how did Amelia find out about it? And not just that, but was she only with Spencer for his money?
God, if that’s true…what a horrible, awful, evil person she is.
These are all things I intend to find out, but considering it’s been three months since I discovered Amelia was cheating on Spencer and I still haven’t figured out why, I’m not banking on my detective skills.
In my defense, I’ve been busy doing my job. It’s April now, and spring break was madness as the vineyard was busier than it’s been in ages. Spencer and I touch base often, and I offered him a bottle of celebratory malbec the next time he’s in town after hearing the news that he signed with the San Diego Storm.
But truth be told…I’m sad.
I’m sad he won’t be with the Vikings anymore.
I’m sad he isn’t coming around here like he used to.
I’m sad we’ve drifted apart over the last few months.
He dumped Amelia, and I don’t blame him for staying away from here, especially given how things ended.
But I feel like I lost my only friend.
Everyone around here is either a colleague or a relative. I live on a vineyard in the middle of nowhere, which isn’t exactly conducive to forming friendships. I’m good at being personable with whoever’s visiting the tasting room, but it’s not like visitors turn into friends. They come, taste some wine, buy a few bottles, and leave.
Several Minneapolis stores carry our label now, too, so patrons don’t even have to come back here to snag a bottle of their favorite merlot or rosé. It makes for fewer repeat visitors even though it makes for a nicer figure on the bottom line.
Maybe I need to get out of here for a while. I could even get an apartment in Minneapolis and commute to work.
But this is home. It’s been home my entire life. And I’m not going to allow Amelia to snatch it out from under my nose because she found out about some unwritten technicality.
I need to learn more about this. It seems like what she knows is hazy at best.
It takes me a few days to gear up for this conversation, in part because I’m extra busy over the weekend with the biggest wedding we’ve hosted.
But I know I have to ask the only person at the vineyard I can trust with anything I say.
