VIP guest? Early? Who was she talking about?
“Or rather, we have a visitor whose boss is right behind her. Like five minutes behind.”
“Who’s the visitor?” I asked.
“The more important question is, Who is the visitor’s boss? And the answer to that would be, Sarah Gibson.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
neo
On one hand,it was the best of us on display.
After Min had sent the text that Sarah Gibson was here, more than a week early after having apparently everted her schedule, the entire family was on alert. My parents, who had been mostly staying away in their attempt to let us run the show since they retired, were on their way. Dominica had gone into the courtyard to intercept Ms. Gibson. Cosimo tidied up the tasting room, not that it really needed it, and Marco was on his way back from a run into town.
We hadn’t selected a wine yet, and the consensus was that I should do it. So I was sifting through the reserve bottles and older vintages in the back barrel room, frantic over Thayle’s last text, not knowing what it meant, precisely.
We’re done.
Not three seconds later, the SOS came through in a separate, group text. Thayle was in that one too, so I knew she’d be there, as would the entire staff, when Sarah arrived. I wanted so badly to text her back, ask what she’d meant by that, but now wasn’t the time.
I took a sip of three wines, still undecided. And then I had an idea. I looked at my phone. They were supposed to message when she arrived, so that meant I still had time. Heading out the back door, I full-on sprinted to the house I shared with Marco—a lakefront, on-property cottage, one of three log cabins. The cabin next to ours, separated by enough greenery to make each cabin fairly private, was occupied by Cos and Brooke now, and the third cabin, down a little from the others, was rented out during the summer along with the other cottages on-site.
By the time I’d grabbed what I needed and headed back, I’d gotten the text.She’s here.
I raced back into the barrel room, grabbed the wines, and then rushed into the tasting room where everyone was gathered around the largest of the counters. In the middle of my siblings was the wine critic surrounded by four other people, including a reporter and photographer. My parents were just coming in the front door.
One person who wasn’t here? Thayle.
Cosimo was already talking, introducing everyone. As I stepped behind the bar with him, placing the bottles on the counter, he introduced me. Or started to when I saw them. The couple from Mirabeau, Laura and Mark. The two people we’d hung out with one night in the courtyard.
Both smiled at me, as I began to understand what I hadn’t realized when we first met. They’d failed to mention they were a part of Sarah’s team, but they had known full well who I was. After Cos finished introductions, Mark reached across the bar to shake my hand. “Good to see you again, Neo.” Laura did the same, saying, “Neo, how are you?”
Sarah looked between us. She was a smart-looking woman, with a short gray bob, her pants suit marking her very much an out-of-towner, but she looked the part of British wine critic perfectly. Whereas the others had no accents, she did, asking us how we’d met.
“Every year at least one member of our family heads to the other lakes after harvest to reacquaint ourselves with some of the other vineyard owners. This year it was my turn, and we met at Mirabeau.” I couldn’t help but mention, “Though I had no idea you were associated with Ms. Gibson.”
“That was on purpose, I’m afraid,” Mark said. “Sarah likes to keep things a bit quiet and a bit mysterious. As you can see”—he swept his hand—“from our early visit.”
Laura added, “We work for her publication here in the States.” She looked around the room. “Where is that lovely woman you were with? The wine club manager?”
“Here,” Thayle called from the door. No one had heard her enter the Cellar, including me. She made her way up to the bar. “So sorry I’m late,” she said, standing next to Min. Clearly as surprised as I was to see the couple, the wife explained to Thayle that they worked for Sarah’s publication here in the States.
Thayle looked my way, and our gazes met momentarily before we both turned our attention to the others. My dad and Cosimo were tag-teaming questions about the winery. And then Sarah turned to me.
“Tell me, Antonio.” She smiled kindly, but I wasn’t fooled. The woman was a viper among wine critics, and though she might be nice in person, if she didn’t like the wine, she would not hold back in her review. “I would call you Mr. Grado, but it seems there are a few of you by that name here.”
Like most Americans, I was a sucker for her accent and could listen to it all day.
“Antonio is perfect,” I said. “We are casual here. A family.” I waved my arm to the gathered group. Our wine associate, Perry, had just moved away to attend to another customer group. Unfortunately, we were missing a few people from the team. Mac was off today, and our vineyard manager, Peter, was currently taking a much-needed vacation. He’d kick himself when he found out Sarah Gibson had come during his absence. “Every single person here is family, whether their last name is Grado or not.”
I looked pointedly at Thayle but couldn’t read her expression.
“I can see that,” Sarah said. “And as you know, it takes a team to create a good wine, but...” she paused, “. . . great wines are made in the vineyard. And you are young for the position, are you not?”
My mother jumped in. “Our previous vintner had been with Grado for many years. When we lost him unexpectedly, Neo stepped up to the plate.”
“As I’ve been told. And what precisely is it that makes a good wine, in your opinion, Antonio?”