Hard pass.
“She’s wrong,” I say, grabbing the wine menu from my sister. “So fucking wrong.”
Milly just smiles at me, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “You hate her. Emma. And you don’t hate anyone. Well, with one notable exception. Which makes me think you like her.”
I busy myself by flipping through the Chardonnay section. Far Niente: butter, melon. Chateau Montelena: lemon, no, lime, medium body, slight acidity (maybe?). “That makes absolutely no sense.”
“You make absolutely no sense. You’re all smiles and swagger for the rest of the world. But with her, apparently, you’re a broody, growly jerk. Yes, I talked to Beau, and yes, he told me how you showed your ass earlier today. Hank said there were some dirty puns being thrown around?”
I draw a sharp breath through my nose. “Y’all are gonna put me in an early grave, you know that?”
Milly’s grin deepens. “She’s pretty.”
“She’s not what the farm needs.”
“She’s staying really close to your house.”
“You know I can do this, right?” I pause my flipping to meet her gaze. “You know I can run this restaurant and fill this cellar, and do it for any other restaurants and cellars we may open in the future?”
Milly’s brows curve upward, making her look so much like Mama that for a second I can’t breathe. Even though she’s well into her sixties, Mama could almost be Milly’s twin.
“Don’t compare this situation to that one,” she replies. “That was just a string of bad timing and worse luck.”
I scoff. “If that’s true, fate must’ve had it out for me. I was the unluckiest asshole in pro sports.”
“Were. You were the unluckiest asshole. That was in the past. Leave it there. This is about our future, Samuel. Think about how lucky you are these days to be working with your kind, loving, amazing family.”
“Did you miss my comment about the early grave?”
Milly just grins. “Of course you can run this place. But that’s not what bringing Emma onboard is about. It’s not about pushing you out. It’s just a way of stepping up our game. When Beau first got the idea for the resort, we all agreed we wanted it to be the best of the best. You don’t get to the top by resting on your laurels. We have to keep pushing forward, always.”
I grunt. “From the feedback I’ve gotten, I’d say we’re at the top already. But if need be, I can always expand the cellar. Get more wine. Better wine.”
Milly shakes her head, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’re gonna burn yourself out working the way you do. That’s another reason Beau wanted to hire a sommelier. To help you.”
“Beau’s worked his balls off for this resort. He’s the one who needs a break, and I think Annabel’s gonna give him one.” Beau’s best friend, Annabel, arrived yesterday at Blue Mountain with her four-month-old baby in tow. Beau and Bel have been in love since they were back in college, but they have yet to admit it to themselves or to each other. “I ran into her earlier, by the way.”
Milly’s face lights up. “You did? I’m jealous. How’s she doing?”
“Well, she cried when she saw Beau, so…yeah, he wasn’t joking when he said motherhood’s been giving her a tough time. And yes”—I hold up my hand—“we are absolutely pulling out all the stops for her. Hank’s arranging a spa day, and I made sure her fridge was stocked with lots of goodies. I’ve got dinner being delivered to her in”—I bend my arm and check my watch—“twenty minutes. I asked Chef Katie to send over four of her favorite entrees from tonight’s menu, plus enough pimiento cheese and crackers to feed a small army. A couple of pints of ice cream too.”
My sister smiles. “I won’t pretend to understand how you can be such a great brother while also being the world’s worst coworker.”
“Isn’t your motto ‘you do you’?”
“It is.” She looks down at a chirp from her phone. A text? Whatever it is, it’s making her smile.
Now that I think about it, she’s been smiling a lot since Nate Kingsley, owner of a famous local whiskey distillery, visited recently.
“Something good?” I ask.
Still smiling, Milly types a quick reply, then blanks the screen with a click. “Yes. Anyway, ‘you do you’ doesn’t apply when you’re being a complete and utter jerk. Give Emma a chance, all right? It won’t kill you, and it would make Beau happy. Hell, maybe it’ll even make you happy too.”
“I am happy,” I growl.
Milly points a finger at me. “Growling isn’t a good look on you. Quit it. And have fun at your tasting tomorrow.”
Fun. Ha.
Like I even know what that is anymore.
Chapter Five
Samuel
“Ready to get your ass kicked?” Emma asks the next night.
No greeting. Just a pretty smile and eyes that burn with a challenge she’s unabashedly excited about.
Why does she enjoy brutalizing me this way?
And how does she look prettier than she did yesterday, even though she’s standing in the same restaurant wearing almost the same damn outfit?
Despite my best effort to avoid her, I’ve seen a lot of Emma over the past twenty-four hours. She’s popped into my office more times than I can count, and was all over the floor last night shadowing me as I selected wines for guests and served them.
She’s thorough, I’ll give her that.
My hand curls into a fist at my side. The sooner we start, the sooner we get this over with.
Taking a quick glance around the restaurant, my annoyance fades. The place is packed. People are chowing down on the food, smiling as they chat with their loved ones and sip their drinks. The waitstaff crisscrosses the floor, arms loaded with trays of beautiful food and bottles of excellent wine. A couple laughs in a booth in the corner. Another hold hands across their table. A family of five digs into Chef’s insanely delicious take on rabbit ragu with homemade pasta and aged pecorino. Hank is chatting with a pair of older women at the bar.
The food, the wine, the people—it all comes together to create this heady buzz that’s heaven on earth.
And to think that I made it happen. Yes, I got lucky hiring some of the best staff on the planet, starting with Chef Katie. Beau was there for every meeting, every round of interviews, and Milly played a big part in planning our food and beverage programs too. But I went from quarterback to food and wine director in the space of a few years. During those years, I studied the hospitality industry like a madman. I traveled all over to spend my Saturday nights in the kitchens of the world’s best restaurants. I took courses, shadowed waiters, washed dishes. I cooked. I networked. I filled close to a dozen notebooks with my notes on everything from the proper way to slice prosciutto to how I wanted our guests to feel while dining at Blue Mountain Farm.
When we finally opened The Barn Door, I wanted to take the position of food and wine director knowing I left nothing on the table. I tried my best.
I still try my best. And I’m damn proud of the result. In that respect, I’ve done my family proud.