“Very.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay up in the main house?” With a bemused smile, she swept the kitchen with a look. “We have food there. A staff to prepare it. Without those things to worry about, you could focus more on writing.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather have the quiet.” They sipped in silence. The watch on his wrist ticked. Not audibly, but he could feel the gentle drift of the second hand as it rounded the midnight-blue face. “Operations are running smoothly at Vos?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t they be?” Corinne set her glass on the counter with a touch too much force and folded her hands at her waist, pinning him with a look that made him oddly sentimental. It called to mind the times his sister, Natalie, got them into trouble around the vineyard as kids. They would return home to find Corinne waiting at the back door with a pinched forehead and instructions to clean themselves up for dinner immediately. By no means could his family be termed close. They were simply related. They carried the weight of the same last name. But there were instances in the past, like showing up at the back door just before dark covered in mud and sticks, when he could pretend they were like every other family. “There is something I want to speak with you about, Julian, if you have a moment.”
Mentally, he deducted fifteen minutes from his next writing sprint and added it to the final one of the day, bringing him up even. Right on schedule. “Yes, of course.”
Corinne turned her head and looked out at the acres sitting between the guesthouse and the main one. Land filled with row after row of Vos grapes. Lush green vines wrapped around wooden posts, pops of deep-purple fruit warmed and nurtured by the Napa sunlight. More than half of those support posts had been there since his great-grandfather founded the vineyard and the distribution side of Vos Vineyard in the late fifties.
The other half of those pillars had been replaced after the wildfire four years prior.
Also known as the last time he’d been home.
As if he’d recalled that hellish week out loud, Corinne’s attention snapped back to him. “It’s summer in Napa. You know what that means.”
Julian cleared his throat. “Enough wine tastings to turn St. Helena into drunk Disneyland?”
“Yes. And I know you’re busy here and I’m not trying to interrupt. But there is a festival coming up in just under two weeks. Wine Down Napa. It’s a ridiculous name, but it draws a lot of attention from the media, not to mention a crowd. Naturally, Vos will have a significant presence there, and it would look good, in the eyes of the press—and the Valley as a whole—if you were there. Supporting the family business.” She seemed fascinated by the crown molding. “If you could be there from seven to nine in the evening, that should suffice.”
The request gave him pause. Namely, because it was a request from his mother, and Corinne didn’t make those. Not unless there was a very good reason—especially with favors pertaining to the vineyard. She took great pride in managing the operation solo. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling something was off. “Does the family business need some additional support?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” Her expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker in the depths of her eyes. “Nothing to be alarmed about, of course, but there is a lot of competition in the Valley. A lot of new flash.”
In Corinne terms, that was tantamount to admitting to trouble. What degree of trouble, though? Julian didn’t know, but the subject of the winery had been closed to him four years ago. Forcefully. By his father. Still, he couldn’t very well ignore the buried note of distress in his mother’s tone, could he? “What can I . . .” He cleared his throat hard. “Can I do anything to help?”
“You can be present at the festival,” she said without missing a beat, a smile returning to her face.
Given no choice but to back away from the subject for now, Julian dipped his chin. “Of course.”
If Corinne was relieved, she showed it only briefly by dropping her clasped hands and shaking them out. “Wonderful. I would tell you to mark it on your calendar, but I suspect it’s the first thing you’ll do when I leave.”
Julian smiled tightly. “You’re not wrong.”
Maybe the one thing the Vos family could be counted on to know about each other was their individual quirks. Their faults. Corinne hated relying on anyone but herself. Julian needed an airtight schedule. His father, though gone now, had been obsessed with cultivating the perfect grape to the point that everything else fell to the wayside. And his sister, Natalie, was never not scheming or planning a prank. Good thing she was off terrorizing the population of New York City, three thousand miles from Napa.