Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) Page 3

  “Marc?” Trey asked, his voice sounding a little desperate.

  “I filled in for you last year and, I believe, three years ago as well. Plus, Lexi is really looking forward to this, and I am looking forward to her in red.”

  “Nonna expects me to brush up on my ballroom. By taking dance lessons,” he explained.

  Marc flashed a smug-ass grin and added, “Time to man-up, Trey.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Gabe said before Trey even had the chance to look his way. “Regan is convinced that this is her last time to dance before she looks like a beached whale, her words not mine, because if you ask me, when she’s pregnant—”

  “I’m not asking you, nor have I ever asked you, so can you—not.” Trey held up a hand. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t listen to one more detail about married, pregnant sisters-in-law who rocked his brothers’ worlds. Tonight was supposed to be bro-time. And bro-time didn’t include talking about feelings, swollen feet, or color palettes—ever. “Bottom line is, I can’t stay.”

  “It’s three weeks, Trey,” Nate said as though Trey could just clear his schedule at will.

  “I don’t even have three days. I walked out of a meeting with one of our biggest French buyers, and if I don’t get back to Paris ASAP, they might decide to go with someone else.”

  Gabe shrugged. “Do it by phone.”

  Was he even serious? “And get the kind of numbers you guys are expecting? No way. Not to mention, I’m meeting with a company in Long Beach to take over all of our domestic shipping and tracking. I need to get down there and see their setup before we can finalize the contract.”

  Last summer his brothers had signed a deal with one of the nation’s largest retailer food and beverage distributors, and as a result, DeLuca wine was available in supermarkets around the globe. Making sure the wine got to its destination on time was becoming a hundred-hour workweek on its own, meaning Trey was falling behind on their other customers. Which was why he was meeting with a logistics company, hoping to outsource some of the work—and outsource some of the burden.

  “I can do it,” Marc offered, sucking his drink through a dainty little straw. “I’ll be in Santa Barbara the week after Valentine’s Day. I’m taking Lexi on a little babymoon.”

  “Nice, man,” Gabe said, as if Marc were making complete sense.

  “This isn’t just something you can tack on to a few days away,” Trey said. “I’ve been researching this for months, know the process, know what to ask, what to negotiate.”

  “It isn’t rocket science,” said the guy who was just getting all girly over a freaking babymoon—whatever the hell that was.

  “Maybe not, but it’s my job and I can’t drop everything to hang out here and take dance lessons. I have plans.”

  “Yeah, well, change them,” said Abigail, his sister, sliding up to the bar next to him. She was so tiny that even with him sitting and her standing, she barely reached his chest. “I need you to help finalize the sale for the Fairmont Hotel and make sure everything runs smoothly for a big delivery in Santa Barbara.”

  “As I was just explaining, I am kind of strapped for time right now. At the rate DeLuca Wines is growing, there’s no way I can take on Ryo.”

  Four years ago, Nonna ChiChi and Abby opened Ryo Wines, a boutique winery in the valley. Female-owned, female-run, and female-branded Ryo Wines was estrogen in a bottle. Every time Trey set foot in that office, he felt his nuts shrivel.

  “Sorry, sis. Your sale, your mess,” Trey said. “And last I checked, I have too much penis to be a part of your woman-run company.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Marc choked out and Trey slid him a wanna-go-there? look.

  “Come on, when have I ever asked you for a favor?”

  She had a point. Abby hated when her brothers interfered with her life. So of course, the DeLuca brothers had mastered interference. But this time, she was here on her own.

  “I have some deals already on the table that need finalizing. In Europe,” he explained.

  “Please?” Abby begged, batting those big lashes his way.

  Oh, hell no. This was a no-lash-batting-allowed, Y-chromosome-required event.

  “No. And since when do you join in on guys’ night?”

  He’d already lost his brothers the other six nights of the week, but Thursdays were their nights. If they broke man-night code for Abby, it wouldn’t be long before the wives started coming. Immature or not, he didn’t want to share.

  “Since a Mr. Rossi e-mailed me about a perfect piece of property in Italy.” Abby pulled up a stool and slid a packet, complete with photos, across the bar. “It’s fifty hectares.”

  “About one hundred and twenty acres,” Nate said picking up the photo and studying it. “And it looks to be nearly all planted.”

  “It is,” she went on, her face one big smile. “Half Sangiovese and half Barbera grapes. It’s located right on the coast, making it a perfect destination-villa. Think about it: I could design it, Marc could oversee the facilities end, and you three could add the vineyard to the DeLuca umbrella.”

  Great, more wine to sell.

  Trey spread the aerial photo of the property out on the bar top. It was an incredible piece of land. And Abby was an incredible designer, specializing in wineries, but lately the only jobs she’d been getting were small remodels. This was the kind of project that would put her on the map. It would also mean some serious family time with everyone working together.

  Another reason to say no.

  “Abby,” Gabe said quietly. “This is amazing, it really is, but there is no way we are in the position to expand right now. Not into Italy.”

  “I know that this isn’t the best time with all of the new contracts and Nate’s new property.” Abby shrugged. “I figured, what’s the harm in checking it out? The owner promised he would give us first option, but that generosity expires at the end of February.”

  “No way.” Trey could barely manage his schedule now. Fitting in a trip to Italy, on top of the meetings he already had to reschedule because of his unscheduled trip home, was out of the question. At the rate he was already pushing himself, he’d need a permanent vacation from his life. “I can’t fit in another trip.”

  “No one is asking you to,” Abby said.

  “Not that he’d have time, what with Nonna looking at dance shoes online. Men’s dance shoes,” Marc said, and Italy suddenly seemed doable. “Wing-tipped ones. Black and white. Very Fred Astaire.”

  The corner of Gabe’s mouth tilted up. “She was bragging to all her friends about how she is going to out-waltz Deidra Potter. With you on her arm.”

  “Will you two stop?” Abby said, reaching around and smacking Marc on the shoulder. Eyes back on Trey, she said, “I am just asking you to cover a few of my meetings this week so I have time to do more research and check out the land. And if I think it is a good move for the family, that you all back me.”

  Gabe opened his mouth, no doubt to say hell no, when Marc sat up straighter, his eyes going wide. “This is the same town that Great-Grandpa DeLuca grew up in.”

  “It’s the same property. The house where Great Grandpa was born is still there. It needs some love, but it’s still standing.”

  Her statement was like a fist to the gut. There had been a time when Trey would have loved the idea of creating something with his family. Even as a kid he’d had a clear vision of how the family business would grow, and where he’d fit into it. Things were different now that his parents were gone, and being around his family, especially while reconnecting with their roots, would be a constant reminder of what he’d cost everyone.

  “That house,” Marc said, pointing to the map, “right there?”

  “Yup,” Abby said, a little hope back in her voice because, just like that, Marc was in. She knew it. Trey knew it. Hell, the whole damn bar knew it. “When
his parents moved to the United States, they sold the family’s vineyard to Mr. Rossi, who owned a neighboring vineyard, and it has been in the Rossi family ever since. Only now, they are looking to sell.”

  “That’s a lot of grapes,” Nate pointed out and Trey allowed himself to sit back and relax. There was no way Nate would sign off on this. Not after he’d recently sunk over seven million dollars into a piece of land that was only worth five.

  “They’re DeLuca grapes,” Abby explained. “Half of the plants are from the original DeLuca vines. The others are the Rossis’.”

  “No kidding.” Nate smiled and, Jesus, the guy looked like he’d just gotten a pony for Christmas.

  Two down and Gabe to go. And in Gabe’s hormonal, my wife-is-pregnant-so-I-have-to-be-a-sensitive-prick state, it probably wouldn’t take much. Meaning, Trey would have to be the bad guy.

  “I was thinking that we could build the vacation destination here, and a smaller house, just for the family back here so it would be private.” Abby leaned across the table and pointed to an empty patch right by the cliff’s edge—overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. “You know, a place where we could all visit. Vacation together as a family.”

  “How did you find out about this?” Gabe asked. And yup, he was on board. Any hesitation about being stretched too thin, international headaches, and cash flow were replaced with Holly and Sofie running down to the beach with their cousins, pails in hand, the Italian coastline at their backs.

  “I’ve always dreamed of designing a place in Italy and thought it would be special if it was in the village where Great Grandpa was born,” she explained, really piling on the family-history and roots BS. “A few years ago, I found out where he grew up and contacted the owners. At the time, the Rossis weren’t interested in selling, so I made them promise to call me if they ever changed their mind.”

  “And they changed it?” Marc asked.

  Trey sat back and shook his head. Couldn’t they see that Abby was using the same magic she wove when they were kids?

  “What about the new vineyard Nate just bought, or the distribution deal we signed last year? I think we have enough going on,” Trey pointed out, trying to be the voice of reason. But when his brothers just glared, he knew he was the odd man out.

  “One week, Trey. That’s all I need.” Then Abby went and said something that nearly broke his heart. “It’s what Mom and Dad would have wanted us to do.”

  And damn if Trey didn’t have an answer to that.

  “Twenty-five hundred dollars?” Sara asked over the sound of the air compressor. She stared down at her engine, wondering how there was so much damage. “It’s a bumper.”

  “The bumper isn’t the problem,” Stan O’Malley, the local mechanic and owner of Stan’s Soup and Service Station, called out from under the car. “It’s the blown head gasket.”

  She had no idea what a head gasket did, but for that much money, it had better make her coffee in the morning. What she did have though, was a better idea of why her insurance company was being so difficult. A lost bumper claim was not two-and-a-half grand.

  “How long did you say you were driving around with that log sticking out of your grill?”

  “It was more of a twig,” she clarified, and Stan rolled the dolly out far enough so that only his forehead and eyes could be seen—eyes that were calling her a big fat fibber. Sara took a sip of latte and admitted, “Okay, maybe it’s a branch and since Monday night.”

  She hadn’t lied when she said the minivan was fine. She’d just left out that, in order to avoid hitting it completely, she must have jerked the wheel, because when she got out to inspect the damage, her car was partially up on the curb, its front end making nice with a giant shrub.

  “Well, that branch went through the grill and pierced your radiator.” Stan rolled the dolly all the way out and slowly stood. The man was agile for being somewhere between seventy and one of the original settlers.

  Grabbing a work rag he wiped off his bald head then dragged it down his face and shaggy beard, making more of a mess than anything. “Which means you’ve been driving around town with a cracked radiator for the past four days. Surprised it didn’t blow sooner.”

  He tapped what she assumed was the radiator.

  “I should have just called you.” Or let Trey take a look at it, she silently admitted. But she’d had a sleepy son to get home to and an embarrassing situation to run away from, which included the sexy do-gooder whose sense of chivalry she’d mistaken for interest. “How long will I be out a car?”

  “Let me go see how soon I can get the parts, but best guess is a week.”

  “A week?” How was she supposed to get Cooper to school, buy groceries, do all of the things that single moms did, without a car? Not to mention, a week’s worth of damage sounded like a whole lot more than she could afford.

  Stan must have seen the panic in her eyes because he gently patted her on the arm and said, “Don’t worry, Sara, we’ll get you fixed up. But while I’m checking on the parts, could I interest you in a bowl of my famous chili? On the house.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, holding up her coffee.

  “Suit yourself.” Stan stopped at the door to his office. “But if you change your mind, I’ve got a box of sweets on the tool bench.”

  With a heavy sigh, she walked to the pink box—just for a peek. And—well, look at that—it was a mouthwatering selection of pastries from the Sweet and Savory across the street. Thankful she had on her dance pants with the elastic waist, she settled on her favorite, a lemon drop cupcake, and walked back over to her car. Licking off the icing, she peered into the hood, trying to locate the head gasket without much luck.

  She didn’t know a lot about cars. Didn’t have to. Garrett could fix anything with wires or wheels. For all she knew, a head gasket cost eleven dollars and Stan was short two grand to his bookie. Although, with his bushy eyebrows and stark white beard, he looked too much like Father Time to take advantage of her. At least that was her hope.

  “Well, now I know the secret to getting a peek under your hood,” a low, mellow voice said from beside her.

  Sara looked up from the radiator, past the broad chest beneath a dark-blue button-up, past the faint stubble that shadowed his face, and into a set of deep-brown eyes that had her heart crashing to the garage floor.

  Taking in her cupcake, he leaned a casual elbow against her fender and Sara forced herself to swallow a huge bite of frosting because it wasn’t just any man. It was the hot man whose car she’d “gently tapped,” then asked out to coffee, only to flee the scene after he helped her out of her clothes.

  The same man who had called three times over the past four days, and she still hadn’t found the courage to pick up the phone. Was that the equivalent of a dating hit-and-run?

  “Stan is a licensed professional,” Sara said, dragging her gaze to his face. “He also bought me coffee.”

  Trey leaned in and the movement caused the collar of his shirt, which was unbuttoned at the top, to open and his slacks to pull taut in the back.

  Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

  So of course she let her eyes wander down to take a peek and, whoa, he sure could fill out a pair of pants.

  “Pumpkin-spice latte?” He sniffed. “Good choice.”

  “My favorite.” Sara forced her gaze to his mouth, which was turned up in an amused smile.

  “And if it was credentials you wanted to see, you should have said so. Under-the-hood assessments are my specialty. I’m also good with wet rain slickers.”

  Sara found herself smiling, just like the other night. Trey had an easy way about him that was infectious. And after a long chat with her insurance company, and then hearing Stan’s preliminary estimate on her car, she needed a reason to smile.

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked.

  “The sign
on your studio said, ‘Gone to Stan’s, be back in ten minutes.’ That was an hour ago.” Which explained the wet hair and shoes. “And since you don’t seem to be returning calls, or at least my calls, I figured this was the best way to see you.”

  “I am so sorry, I’m not avoiding you.”

  He raised a disbelieving brow.

  “Okay, I am avoiding you, but not because I don’t intend to pay you for any damages. I do. And I know how this must look, but to my credit I was waiting to get Stan’s assessment before I called, because my insurance company is being impossible.” She took a breath and went for honesty. “And because I was too embarrassed to ask you if we could avoid the insurance company all together and make some kind of deal, you know,” she lowered her voice and peeked to make sure Stan wasn’t around, “just between us.”

  “Between us,” he rolled the words around and leaned even closer, enough that she could smell the rain on his skin. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Me too,” she admitted, her heart in her throat, because, she was flirting. And she was pretty sure that he’d started it.

  “But if we’re going for honest, I came here to cash in my rain check for coffee.” His eyes dropped to the cup in her hand. “But it looks like I missed out, once again.”

  “What about your car?” Every message he left specifically referenced the minivan.

  “Not a scratch. I was using it as an excuse to see you.” His eyes sparkled with a boyish gleam and something crackled between them. It was definitely chemistry—and completely mutual.

  Before Sara could process what that meant, or the way it made her thighs tingle, Stan came out of his office with a printout in hand. “All right, the parts are on order. I put a rush on ’em so they should be in by Monday. And your car will be my top priority.”

  “Thanks, Stan,” Sara said, taking the bill and choking. Apparently the twenty-five hundred had been for parts only.