Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

18. Marisa

CHAPTER 18

Marisa

A NEPO BABY

N otebook? Check. List of questions? Check. Phone? Check. Pens? Double check.

I get to Ledger Winery with three minutes to spare before 2:30, which is when I scheduled with Ethan’s admin to conduct the interview. She was perfectly sweet on the phone. Part of me was expecting him to back out, but he stayed true to his word. So far, at least. We’ll see how the interview goes. There’s still a fifty percent chance it’ll end in a standoff.

There’s a hostess standing at a podium off the entrance. “Hi, are you here for a tasting or to dine in?”

“Oh…um…neither. I have a meeting with Ethan Ledger. I’m with the Red Mountain Herald .”

She gives me a customer service smile. “Okay, let me call up. Just a moment.” As she’s punching in the number, she points to a chaise lounge-style sofa. “You can have aseat while you wait.”

I take a seat andeavesdropon her call.

“Hi,Tawny, this is Gwen from the hostess station.There’sa reporter from the Herald here to see Ethan…mm-hhm…okay…will do…bye, thank you.” She hangs up and says, “Someone will be by shortly.”

A few minutes later, a woman with a jet-black Anna Wintour bob and thick, black-framed glasses comes down the curved staircase.

“Hi, Marisa?”

“That’s me.” I hold up my notebook, as if it somehow makes me look more official.

“I’mTawny. We spoke on the phone.Come on up.”

I follow her up the curved, wrought iron staircase.

When we reach the top, she turns back to me. “His office is down the hallway, straight ahead. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Wine?”

“Water would be great, thank you.”

The nerves tickling my throat as I walk toward Ethan’s office make me thankful I asked forwater;though wine would’ve done wonders for myoveractive heart rate.

I’m even more thankful I asked for water when I catch sight of Ethan. Seated behind anintricately carved wooden desk, he’s wearing a button-down flannel and backward cap.

A backward cap.

It’s my kryptonite. And wow, does he wear it well. I swallow the nonexistent saliva in my mouth, my throat burning from the action.

Sweat forms a sheen over his face, causing his flushed skin to glisten under the overhead lighting and highlighting the contours of his high cheekbones. It’s evident that he’s been outside most of the day. The stubble lying outside of his shave line creates a shadow around his normally trim beard, giving him a slightly undone look. A bead of sweat slides down from his temple, rolling down the curve of his neck before disappearing under the collar of his shirt. My tongue slips between my lips, and the desire to lick that trail catches me completely off guard.

“Is everything okay?” Ethan asks, a crinkle of concern resting between his brows.

Of course he’s concerned. I’ve just been standing in silence, staring at him.

I recover with a nod and an attempt at an easy smile. “Can I have a seat?”

“Yeah, come on in.” He gestures his arm, welcoming me to take the chair across from him.

As soon as I’m seated, Tawny walks in with a glass of water. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks me.

“I’m good, thank you.”

“Anything for you, Mr. Ledger?”

A sharp burst of air hisses from Ethan’s nose, followed by a guttural chuckle. “What the fuck did you call me?”

She busts up, roaring with laughter. “Sorry,” she says between bursts. “I was trying to make you sound important for your interview.”

My eyes ping-pong between the two as they exchange humorous looks. Clearly, there’s familiarity between them. Ethan looks relaxed in her presence, displaying a noticeable ease.

In fact, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen him look this relaxed with another person. And she’s a woman. A hot, green slurry begins to simmer below the surface of my skin. Ignoring it, I force a smile and try to join in on their shared joke, but my smile strains, and my eyes wander over to Tawny, immediately playing the comparison game. Is she his girlfriend? Has he had a girlfriend this entire time and I didn’t notice? My stomach tightens, and my lunch rolls, turning sour. I’ve flirted with him. It was innocent, but still. I never would’ve had I known. And he’s kind of flirted with me, too. He literally got down on his knees for me. Did I imagine how sexually charged that moment felt? Maybe it was just me.

Willing myself to stay composed, I fist my hands, the sharp daggers of my nails digging into my palms.

Even when they seem like they’re not the type, they are.

Ethan, still gleaming from laughter, looks at me, seeming to suddenly remember I’m still in the room. “Marisa, this is Tawny, my cousin.”

Cousin.

I’m an idiot.

“Your cousin!” My body jolts, shocked by the screech of words that flew out of my mouth.

Tawny does a half wave. “Only a relative would put up with his cranky ass.”

I feel silly, stupid, honestly, for allowing myself to get jealous. And for what? I have no claim to Ethan. I hardly know the man, and up until a few days ago, we couldn’t tolerate each other. I’m not even the jealous type. Brandon used to brag to his buddies that I was such a cool girlfriend because I never minded if he went out without me. He was always the only guy in his friend group who didn’t have a wife or girlfriend blowing up his phone trying to keep tabs on him during long trips and guys’ nights out. It truly never bothered me. I’m starting to wonder if it’s because I blindly trusted him that much or if I didn’t like him enough to care. Evidently, I’m still carrying around the trauma of my ex cheating on me with his admin; I automatically assume all men behave this way.

“I’ll leave you two to do your interview thing.” Tawny turns her attention to me. “If you need anything, give me a holler, and if he’s being an ass, come grab me and I’ll put him in his place.” She winks and then leaves us alone, the door closing behind her with a loud click.

“She seems nice.”

He snorts. “Me, her, and my older brother Gavin are the oldest kids on my dad’s side. We’ve always been close.”

“Must be nice having such a large family.” I can only imagine how much brighter and less lonely my childhood would’ve been had I grown up surrounded by siblings and cousins.

His chin dips, and his lips pull to a tight smile. “Chaotic, but a good kind of chaotic.”

I look away, worried he’ll notice the wistful look in my eyes, and bury my head in my bag.

“Do I have your permission to record this interview?”

When I glance up for confirmation, he nods stiffly, and then rolls his neck like he’s getting ready for a match in a boxing ring.

I set out my supplies in front of me, turning my phone on to record, and ready myself with my pen and notepad to write down additional notes. Thanks to Suzy, I have a pretty solid question set. “Should we get started?”

His face contorts, and I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what he must’ve looked like as a petulant child. “I guess,” he groans.

Pressing my lips together, I bow my head slightly to mask the giggle I’m holding in. That was kind of adorable.

“I promise not to bite.”

His eyebrows raise, hazel eyes darkening in a flash before he clears his throat. “I’m pretty private, so this is a big deal for me.”

I note the catch of breath in his throat, the fidgeting of his hands, and feel an overwhelming need to reassure him that everything will be okay.

“We’ll start with questions about the winery. Get some history and background. I’ll save personal questions for the end. You don’t have to answer anything you’re not comfortable answering. I’ll even make sure you get the first copy, fresh off the press. You’ll be the first one on the delivery list, if that would make you feel better?”

The creases around his eyes soften. “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised.

“Sure, I’m not trying to get on the bad side of one of the founding families.” I waggle my eyebrows at him, trying to lighten the mood.

He angles his head, not smiling, but definitely looking less pensive than he was a moment ago. “I see you’ve been getting your fair share of gossip from the nosy townies.”

“It’s called research.”

“Riiight,” he drags. “Trust me, it’s not as fascinating as it sounds. Just because my great great whatever decided to build his pioneer shack in the middle of the desert doesn’t make me or my family all that special.”

I make a show of my eyes looking around. “I wouldn’t call this a pioneer shack by any means.”

He chuckles. “This is ostentatious as hell.” His jaw slacks slightly. “My mom has a thing for France. Naturally, my dad took that into consideration when they built the estate.”

This is exactly what I wanted to happen. I didn’t want to sit here and ask him question after question. I wanted the information to flow naturally. Just two people having a conversation. “Is this not the original winery?”

“No, the original winery was an extension built off the house my parents live in. It used to be my grandparents’ house, and when they transitioned from wheat farming to growing grapes, they started with using their home and eventually built a separate addition.”

“I’d love to see it. Maybe take some pictures. That is, if it’s okay with your parents.”

He nods. “I’ll talk to my mom about it. She would love to show you around. It shouldn’t be an issue.”

“So, how did the winery begin? What’s the story there?”

His lips compress, and his head tilts. “My grandfather started the winery in the late seventies. Wheat wasn’t providing well enough for the family, and he was willing to try anything to start turning a profit. Around this time, there were already whispers about the unique soil of Red Mountain and being in the rain shadow allowed for an easier control of water. He took a gamble and planted the first vineyard on some fallow land, which is land left unplanted so the soil can rest. From there, he learned everything he could, and it took off. He replaced all the wheat with vineyards the following year, and the winery was born.”

“Smart man,” I comment.

“Very smart.”

“That makes you a third generation, then?”

“Yep, a third-generation vintner.”

“So, you’re a nepo baby.”

His face twists. “A what?”

I can barely contain the laugh that wants to escape. “Nepo, as in nepotism. It’s a fairly common term these days, Grandpa.”

He gives me a good-natured eye roll. “You sound like my little sister, Elyse.”

I perk up slightly. “Oh, yes, we’ve met. We’re actually going out this Saturday for country night at The Jackalope.”

His eyes nearly bug out. “You’re going out with my sister? That’s a recipe for disaster.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, looking undoubtedly stressed.

“What’s wrong with your sister?”

“For starters, she finds trouble everywhere she goes.”

“How much trouble can one find in a small town?”

He cocks his head, eyes leaving mine and landing on my lips, where they linger for a moment before he clears his throat. “You’d be surprised.”

I shift in my seat, ignoring the heat starting to coil in my stomach. I continue, asking about how much of his family is involved in the winery. Apparently, nearly all of his family works for the winery in some capacity. All of his siblings, a majority of his cousins, and his aunts and uncles are on the board. It’s a complete family business.

It turns out Ethan can string together quite a few words and speak in great detail when he’s not the focus of the topic. The further into the interview I get, the more relaxed he becomes.

I learn a little of the winemaking process, and he has Tawny schedule a time for me to take a look at the original winery tomorrow. He explains the grape varieties and why they’re chosen and how they manage sustainability. He tells me about successes and failures they’ve experienced over the years and how they’re constantly having to adapt to keep up with competitors.

By the time we’re through, my brain is in overload mode. I feel like I got a crash course in starting my own winery.

“And now for the personal questions.”

He blows out an exhale. “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, and these questions are mild compared to the ones on dating apps.”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

My pen slips, dropping and rolling across the floor, under the desk. Ethan bends in his chair to retrieve it and hands it back to me. The very slightest contact of his skin touching mine, fingertip-to-fingertip, has me nearly dropping the pen again.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Re-straightening in my chair, I ask the question that’s begging to jump out, even though it has nothing to do with the interview. “You’ve never been on a dating app?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, never felt the need to.”

Oh, right. Of course. When you’re ruggedly handsome with a job, that ticks off a majority of the criteria most women have.

“I get it. The women come to you. That makes sense.”

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head like what I said is ridiculous. “Just the opposite. I’m awkward enough in real life. I don’t need to add to that by being even more awkward behind a screen.”

“So, you don’t date?” The question falls out of my mouth before my brain can think twice at holding it in.

His head jerks back a little, eyes wide. “Uh, not really. I was with someone for a while, but it didn’t work out. I haven’t been serious with anyone else since.”

The once comfortable flow we had going is long gone, replaced with palpable tension.

Way to go, Marisa.

“Is this part of the interview?” he asks, jaw tightened.

“Oh, um, no. Sorry about that.” I giggle and it sounds dolphin-y. Great. “Anyway,” I say, trying to recover. “I’ll just read off my handy notebook.”

Handy notebook? Ugh, kill me now.

I decide to start with an easy one. “What’s your education and background?”

Some of the tension in his jaw releases. “I studied finance in college. I had always planned to work my way up in the accounting department. That’s what I was doing before I started this position.”

I can see him in that role. Something behind the scenes, not quite so front and center.

I set down my pen and close my notebook. It doesn’t feel right to continue. He doesn’t like to be the center of attention, and I have the ability to make the article less about him and more about the winery.

His brows furrow, and his eyes dart between me and the closed notebook.

“I think I have enough information.”

“But you only asked one question?”

I shrug. “Yeah, and I think I have enough information about the winery that it’s not necessary to ask you a bunch of personal questions that you’ll hate answering.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

His shoulders visibly relax. “You have no idea how relieved I feel.”

“Do you mind if I walk around the property and take some photographs for the article?” I ask now that we’re through my question set.

“Go for it.”

I get up from my seat and feel him moving behind me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going with you. Like I’m going to let you walk around by yourself. We both know how prone you are to property damage, and getting lost.”

Oh, so now that the tension between us isn’t so awkward, he’s got jokes.

“That was so funny, I forgot to laugh.”

He smirks, looking pompous, and a little zing zips up my spine. Hillary was wrong about my type. It’s definitely not tech bros.

Heat radiates behind me as he follows me out of his office and down the stairs to the lobby.

“Let’s go this way.” His hand practically brands the middle of my back as he steers me in the opposite direction from where I was heading. It made contact for a second if that, but I continue to feel it long after it’s gone. Meanwhile, he’s fine. It’s not like he stopped my heart and gave me a third-degree burn or anything.

“Where are we going?”

Rather than answer, he steps in front of me, taking the lead. I have to half-jog to keep up with his long strides. He looks back at me and notices, so he slows his steps.

“The crew should be harvesting the cabernets. I figured you’d want some pictures of the action.”

“Good thinking.”

He signs a clipboard and grabs a jacket hanging on a hook and leads me out to the back parking lot.

“We’ll take abuggy. It’s quickerthan walking.”

“What’s abuggy? Is that like a horse-drawn carriage?”

A loud, boisterous sound comes out ofhim,and it takes me a second to realize it’s a laugh. He’s laughing. Full on, bent over, laughing.

A smile tugs at my lips. “Did I say something funny?”

He takes a few seconds, his breath catching in the cusps of dying from laughter. “I don’t think anybody has ever asked me that before. Caught me off guard.” He walks further into the parking lot along a sidewalk lined with golf carts. “Abuggyis a golf cart.”

“Why not call it a golf cart then?”

He shakes his head, the remanence of laughter pulling at the corner of his mouth. When he’s smiling and laughing so freely like this, he makes it hard to look at anything else but him. If he was like this all the time, I would be done for. “We just do, couldn’t tell you.”

I stare at the old-looking golf cart. “Is this thing safe?”

He’s already seated, the soft whirr of the motor sounding. “Are you scared or something? You’ll be fine, I can’t be any worse of a driver than you.”

Is that his second joke in less than a few minutes?

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Wait!” He jumps out of his seat and comes around to my side. “You’re going to get cold once we get moving.”

He takes the flannel-lined canvas jacket he grabbed from the backroom and drapes it around my shoulders, the size of it swallowing my slacks and silk blouse. I’m immediately engulfed in a smell I’m beginning to associate with Ethan—citrus and laundry and something unidentifiable, completely unique and distinct. I resist the urge to bury my nose in the fabric. I should protest and tell him that sixty-five degree weather isn’t what I would consider cold, but I find myself too entranced by the small gesture to care about getting overheated. Our eyes meet as he settles the jacket collar across my clavicle, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. The faintest brush of his thumb along the exposed skin near my shirt collar sends my stomach into a dip, and my breath hitches at the contact. He smiles, a small, subtle smile, but it feels like it’s just for me.

“There,” he murmurs softly. “All set.”

I nod as I try to steady my racing heart. “Thank you,” I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible over the air caught in my throat.

He steps back slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. For a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world. The air is thick, charged with something unspoken. Something neither of us is quite ready to acknowledge. Or maybe I’m imagining the electricity buzzing between us.

“Ready?” he asks, breaking the spell. His tone is hesitant, as if he, too, isn’t sure of what’s happening.

I break eye contact first, feeling like if I stared into his forest eyes much longer, I may get drunk off of them alone. “Yeah, let’s head out.” I take my seat and keep my attention focused on the surrounding landscape.

A squeal flies out of me when his foot hits the pedal and the cart jerks into motion. Soon we’re racing down acres of vineyards. The terrain is hilly and rough, but the sight is breathtaking. I feel like I’m being transported into some kind of dream sequence, where clouds sitlow in the autumn air and plump grapes hang from the vines. It’s too beautiful to be real.