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I plow forward. “I think we need to open up the Grand Hall to more events than just one wedding a week. I know we’ve traditionally done only one, but why are we limiting ourselves to one event a week if events are our biggest profit margin? And it doesn’t have to be limited to weddings, Dad. We could do charity events, birthday parties, anniversary parties, retirement…you name it, if someone wants to pay our fee, we’ll host it. And I also think we need to raise our rates. People will pay it. Trust me.”
My dad remains quiet on the other side of the line, and eventually he sighs. “If you’re the future of this place, then I trust you to do what you think is right.”
“Can I ask why you’re hesitant?”
“You can, and it’s a fair question with a complicated answer. I like that our venue has the reputation it has. I like that it’s hard to get in, and couples book out up to two years in advance. I like that it’s exclusive and small. And I like that my own mother and father were married here, and all the couples who have been married here have had successful, happy marriages. I worry that expanding could kill that for us, and sometimes the hope of more success isn’t worth the growing pains.”
Oh.
I didn’t realize it was an emotional reason. His parents were married there, and he thinks of it as a sacred place because of that. He wants to keep it in the same state it was in when they were married there.
But just because he has an emotional reason for it doesn’t mean it should stop us.
“I think we have to separate emotion from these types of business decisions, Dad,” I say quietly. Even as I say the words, I realize I’m not living up to them. This marriage between Spencer and me was only ever supposed to be a business decision, and here I am, fully emotionally invested. I clear my throat as I add, “We can still make it an exclusive venue even with an expansion.”
“I know you’re right. It’s just…sometimes success can breed other challenges we weren’t expecting.”
I glance at Spencer, who presses his lips together and glances out the window. I get the impression that he gets that side of it, too. But I’m confident that we have the resources to take on new challenges—especially if Spencer is by my side.
“I get that, but with Spencer by my side, we’ll face those challenges head-on,” I say.
He tilts his head a little as his lips tip up, and his gaze returns to me. He nods resolutely, and I know I have an amazing ally in my corner.
“I believe you will, too,” he says.
I guess that means it’s time to get to work.
Chapter 39: Spencer Nash
Race You There
A Week After the Wedding
It’s rare to find Amelia in the tasting room, yet she’s there when I walk by later in the afternoon.
“Do you have anything less…sweet?” the customer asks her, and she seems to glance around wildly before her eyes land on me.
“Oh, look! It’s Spencer Nash, formerly of the Minnesota Vikings!” she tells the man and woman she’s working with.
She knows I fucking hate when she does that, which is obviously why she chooses this moment to do it.
I offer a wave and a smile to the guests, and I step into the conversation because, as much as I want to see Amelia fail here, in particular in front of Maggie, who’s talking to some guests on the other end of the counter, I don’t want the vineyard to fail.
“We’re huge fans,” the man says to me. “Best of luck in San Diego. We’re sad to see you go.”
“I appreciate that,” I say with a friendly nod. And then to get the heat off me, I switch back to the reason why these people are here. “The pinot noir here is my favorite.” I walk behind the counter to grab the bottle from where I know it’s kept.
Amelia does not know this fact, and if Grace hadn’t just taken nearly a week away from this place, I know she’d be down here chatting with these customers. Instead, they got stuck with Amelia.
I get her trying to put in the effort, but even Maggie must see through it.
Except…it doesn’t appear she actually does, which is a total mystery to me.
She doesn’t see Amelia’s near-flub. Instead, she walks over as Amelia is about to tip the pinot over the same glasses that still have a bit of moscato in them.
“New glasses,” I mutter at her as I reach under the counter to produce those as well.
“Oh! Right.” She tips the bottle over the new glasses.
