Tasting Notes (7 page)

He stood and stretched, his joints stiff from sitting in one position for too long. His stomach rumbled with hunger, and he realized he had been so caught up in research he forgot to eat. There was no Scarlet here to bring him lunch and remind him he needed to take care of basic human functions.

Having been in town for a little more than a week, West had already exhausted most of the restaurants nearby. Almost all were good, but tonight he didn’t feel like sitting alone at a table in the corner, being stared at by curious townspeople wondering what the hell he was still doing in their little village. He had seen a grocery store not too far from his new property, and although cooking wasn’t something West did often, he was sure he could scrounge something up that would be very nearly fit for human consumption.

He grabbed his jacket and keys and set out for the store.

THE PARKING
lot at Gleason’s Market was nearly empty when West arrived. He parked off to the side and climbed out of his car. After grabbing a cart near the front entrance, he pushed it through the automatic door with more effort than should have been required to keep the hunk of metal on a steady course.

This was the first time he’d been there, but it was set up much like the grocery stores he’d shopped at once or twice in Chicago. He proceeded to fill the basket with everything he thought he would need for the rest of the week. Coffee was on the top of the list. He hadn’t had a latté since he left Chicago, and since he doubted very much Starbucks had a location in Canyon Creek, he needed something to soothe the deep-seated craving for caffeine. He made a mental note to look into buying a proper coffeemaker he could use to make his lattés, but for now, plain old drip would have to do. Desperate times.

He still didn’t know what he was going to throw together for dinner, and parking himself in front of the meat counter didn’t yield any new ideas either. He didn’t know how chefs did it. To come up with a variety of different dishes seemed both daunting and horrible. Coming up with one was bad enough.

He wandered up and down the freezer aisle, hoping something would jump out at him. Eventually he grabbed a box of frozen meat loaf. The directions on the back of the package seemed easy enough. All he had to do was throw it in the oven and wait. Even West could do that. Now all he needed was something to go with it.

He migrated to the produce section and picked up a bunch of carrots and a bag of potatoes. He was fairly certain all he needed to do was boil those to make them edible. He felt accomplished, throwing them into the cart, like he had somehow mastered the art of domesticity with those small gestures. He knew that was far from the truth, but it was the closest he’d ever come.

He surveyed his choices and realized the potatoes would be bland without butter or sour cream. Backtracking to the dairy case, he easily located the butter. The sour cream was on the top shelf, and when he reached up for it, he heard someone call his name.

Surprised, he dropped the tub, and it crashed down at his feet, splitting open and spraying thick cream up the front of his pants.

“Uh, never mind,” Rush said, staring blatantly at the spattering of white across West’s groin. “I can see you’re otherwise occupied.”

“No, it’s… you startled me.”

“I startled you?”

“Caught me off guard. I didn’t think anyone else was in here.”

“Maybe you’re not aware of how grocery stores work. I’m sure back home, you have people who shop for you, but here we all do our own shopping, so just so you know, often you’ll see more than one person in the store at a time.” His tone was snide and abrasive.

West shouldn’t have been surprised by the snarky comments. After the way Rush reacted to him at his house, the sarcastic remark was downright neighborly in comparison. But this wasn’t something West was accustomed to. People didn’t speak to him that way. Ever. His anger began to build. He opened his mouth to say something when Rush reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

“Here,” he said, offering the small square to him. “Get yourself cleaned up. Small towns are notorious for being rumor mills, and as sexy as I am, we don’t want Mrs. Blumenfeld thinking you came in your pants at the sight of me.”

West accepted, successfully smearing the sour cream into a bigger mess than it had been. He could hear the throaty chuckles coming from the dickhead standing in front of him as it became clear there was no salvaging the situation without a dry cleaner’s help. He handed the handkerchief back, mumbled a “Thanks anyway,” and walked away.

LATER THAT
night, West sat in the living room, his feet propped up on the heavy wood coffee table, a glass of wine in his hand. It was one of the perks, him being a winery owner now, all the wine he could drink. And tonight he needed more than a glass or two.

He still hadn’t figured out Rush’s problem with him, and he could admit it made him more than a little crazy thinking about it. It was probably for the best anyway. The man was infuriating, and West had only spent a little under ten whole minutes in his presence. If he had accepted West’s request for help, he might have drowned himself in one of the vats of wine by now. He’d dodged a bullet for sure.

He hated the way Rush’s eyebrow inched up, just slightly, when he was talking to him, like he believed everything that came out of West’s mouth was bullshit. He was cocky and arrogant and so goddamn
big
. West wasn’t small, and Rush towered over him, making him feel downright dainty in comparison. West had never been easily intimidated, but Rush held some unknown power over him. Maybe it was the knowledge that if he wanted to, Rush could break him in half like one of those overly dry breadsticks at the Italian restaurant he ate at a few nights prior.

Whatever it was, it put West on edge, and he didn’t like it. The carefully held control he always maintained slipped a little when Rush was nearby.

He poured himself another glass of wine and settled back into the sofa. He let his eyes drift shut, and there in the darkness, all he could see was Rush’s face. West hated that his heart sped at the sight of him. He was affected by him; that much was true. He just wished it wasn’t.

West’s thoughts turned to his grandfather. He wished his grandfather were still alive. He would have loved Canyon Creek. Although they lived in Chicago, his grandfather was from a small town originally. He used to tell West about it, stories from his youth, and how wonderful it was growing up in a place where everyone knew everyone else. West always wondered why his grandfather hadn’t moved them back there after West’s parents died, but he supposed there were more opportunities in Chicago. Certainly that was true once West set out on the business path.

He finished the open bottle and popped the cork on the next one. Since leaving on this trip, he’d been more emotional than ever. Thoughts of his grandfather stung, the memories as potent as they were the day he died. West missed him, fiercely and completely. He was out of his depth, and without his grandfather for guidance, he felt utterly lost.

RUSH SET
the lettuce into the crisper, trying not to get the leaves caught in the drawer when he shoved it shut. The image of West’s face seared itself into the recesses of his mind, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake the memory of West, his guard down, the carefully constructed control slipped clean away, standing in the middle of Gleason’s Market with sour cream on his crotch. Rush laughed. It was the highlight of his day.

He finished putting away the groceries and pulled a beer from the fridge. It was still warm, but what’s a guy to do? Retiring to the living room, he fell back onto the couch. Casper appeared a moment later, jumping up and resting his head in Rush’s lap.

He brought the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, letting the warm carbonated liquid pour down, and thought about the conversation he had with his mom. He still couldn’t quite believe she was leaving. Yeah, Palm Springs was still in the same state, but California wasn’t tiny. It would be at least a ten or eleven-hour drive to get there, which meant the chances of him seeing her and his dad more than once a year were slim. He was going to miss them fiercely.

They had a right to be happy, though, and he could certainly understand their desire to simplify their lives with retirement. If anyone knew how much work went into running the boutique winery, it was him. He’d felt guilty when he left for school, knowing they’d have to absorb his portion of the workload until he was back for the summers.

Suddenly, and completely unbidden, he felt a little bit guilty for not at least hearing West out about his request for help. The guy was clearly an asshole, but he was an asshole who was now the person who could destroy Lennox Hill if he didn’t get it right. Wine making could be a fickle business, and someone like West, who likely wouldn’t know a Cabernet from a Coke, could fuck it up so easily. Rush felt a sense of anger at the thought of someone destroying his parents’ legacy.

He couldn’t let that happen. He had a duty to them to help preserve the business they worked their whole lives to build. They may not own it any longer, but it was built on their blood.

“Looks like we’re going to Lennox Hill tomorrow, bud,” Rush said, patting Casper’s head.

THE DRIVE
over felt the same as it always did. Rush thought his truck probably could have found its way anywhere in town, but the trip to Lennox Hill was one he’d made at least a few thousand times. It was weird to think the property no longer belonged to his family. Enough of his sweat had soaked into the soil that a part of him lived in that land.

He parked his truck in the same place as always and opened the door, calling to Casper to jump out before closing the door behind him. The door to the main structure was closed and locked. Rush peered through the windows of the wine room as he walked past, but the lights were off and the space was abandoned. Rush and Casper followed the pathway toward the house. Casper sat down as Rush knocked, waiting patiently for an answer. When none came, he knocked again with a little more force. West’s car was parked in the driveway, so unless he had decided to walk somewhere, he should be here.

A moment later, the door swung open and West stood there, naked from the waist up, his hair disheveled and his cheeks pink.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

Rush saw red, which was a blessing because it kept him from seeing the way West’s body looked beneath his clothes. The guy was sleeping, and it was nearly noon. He’d owned the vineyard for less than a week, and he was already slacking off.

“Can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

West stepped to the side to let Rush enter. Rush looked around. Everything was the same as he remembered it. The house was warm and comfortable, begging visitors to come in and stay awhile. Rush had always loved this house. He peered into the living room, noting the two empty wine bottles on the coffee table.

“Is that a fucking wolf?” West demanded, breaking Rush out of his train of thought.

“What? No. That’s Casper. My dog.”

With a subtle nod from Rush, Casper sat next to his master, his eyes glued to West, but quiet.

West narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I came to offer my help. You said you needed help, and my mom told me you didn’t know a fucking thing about running this place, so I figured I’d bail you out.”

“Why?” West looked awfully mistrustful. Rush couldn’t blame him. He didn’t trust West either.

“Because they’re my family, and you’re the dickhead who bought the place they poured their hearts and souls into. I’m not going to let you run it into the ground because you have some romantic fucking idea about being all sophisticated and worldly, owning your own vineyard. Not going to happen.”

“Look, what is your fucking problem with me?” West asked, crowding Rush’s space. “You’ve been nothing but a complete bastard to me since the moment you laid eyes on me. I haven’t done shit to you, and you’re giving me a rough time for no goddamn reason.”

Casper growled, but Rush calmed him with a gentle pat to the head. “Sue me if I don’t like spoiled little rich kids. You blow into town in your tricked-out sports car and think you can do whatever you want here because you have a shit ton of money. You take what you want without any regard for the people around you.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, but you think you’ve got my number. Well, you can go fuck yourself. You saw my car, and you made a snap decision about me. You didn’t bother talking to me or getting to know me at all before you rushed to judgment. Maybe you should give me the benefit of the doubt before you tell me who I am.”

“I don’t need to. I know exactly who you are. I’ve met guys like you. You’re arrogant, spoiled, and selfish. You put on a good front, pretending to be this philanthropic nice guy, but when it comes down to it, you’ll choose your money over everything else.”

“Oh, for fuck sakes. You storm in here, waking me up and screaming at me. In case you missed the memo, this is my home now. You’re on my property. What gives you the right to show up and give me shit about something you know nothing about?”

“Your name may be on the deed, but that’s as far as it goes, asshole. Lennox Hill is in my blood, and the last thing I want is for you to completely destroy it out of sheer ignorance.”

“Well, then there’s something we agree on. It’s why I came to your house in the first place, in case you need reminding about that. I don’t want this place to fail any more than you do, so how about you get your head out of your ass, stop being such a fucking prick, and help me?”

Rush stared at him, not saying a word. He hadn’t anticipated the conversation taking this turn. Hell, he hadn’t anticipated this conversation, period. There was something there, behind West’s eyes, a kind of rawness Rush hadn’t expected. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on West’s. He felt drawn to him like a compass to north, locking onto that flicker of something unnamable.