He grunts and says to me, “You started it. Go ahead and tell her what happened.”
“Your grandmother almost disowned your dad when they started dating,” I say to Ivy.
She gasps. “No way! Why?”
I don’t answer her this time. After a minute, Richard says, “She thought your mom was too old for me.”
Ivy’s mom Olivia was fifteen years older than Richard.
“How come you guys never told me about it?” Ivy asks her dad, her eyes widened.
Richard huffs. “It’s nothing to brag about.”
“But it was so romantic!” she says, grinning. “Obviously, you fought to be with mom. And you were not disowned. What did you do?”
Richard unscrews the lid and gulps down half bottle of the ice tea before he speaks. “Same thing you just did. I told your grandma nothing would stop me, that I loved your mom.”
His voice trembles a bit, but he quickly clears his throat. “I guess you’ve got my rebellious genes, baby girl.”
Ivy grins. “I love you, Dad!” She walks over to Richard and hugs him.
The man hugs her back and smiles despite the tears in his eyes.
After Ivy returns to her chair, Richard says to me, “I’m sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. Is your nose all right?”
“I’m fine, Rich.” I chuckle. “You weren’t angry enough to land a knockout blow.”
“Don’t push your luck,” he says, giving me a warning look. “If you ever mistreat her, I’ll let you have it!”
“I promise,” I say, “You’ll never get the chance.”
While Ivy is rolling her eyes, I stand up and walk to her side. From my pant pocket, I fish out a velvet box I got this morning from downtown. I meant to ask her earlier at the river but got sidetracked by the amazing blow job.
I go down on one knee and take her hand. She gasps, and her eyes widened. “What’re you doing?” she glances at her dad, who’s as shocked as her.
I open the velvet box and present her the ring. Her eyes sparkle like the diamond in front of her. “Ohmygod!” Her hand flies to her mouth.
“Will you marry me, Ivy?” I ask, my throat feels tight and I’m having trouble breathing. Damn. Should I have waited until we were alone? Even if she said no, I wouldn’t be too embarrassed. But in front of Richard and probably my curious employees, I’m nervous. I regret my impulsive behavior momentarily, and I wait breathlessly for her to make up her mind.
The girl who spoke passionately just minutes ago about how much she loved me is suddenly shy and uncertain again. “Ohmygod, ohmygod,” she keeps mumbling, fidgeting on her chair, nervous because of the attention she’s getting. Debra and other employees are watching us from inside the building.
Ivy’s cherry-red when she finally nods and says, “Yes, Gavin. I will marry you!”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sweetheart!” I hold her and kiss her.
Epilogue
Ivy
Five years later
“Welcome to Gavin’s Vineyard!” I greet the visitors inside the mini trolley as I drive around the plantation.
I’ve been a tour guide of the vineyard shortly after I married Gavin. Depending on the season, I would give one or two tours each day.
The tour today is quite large with a dozen tourists occupying all of the seats. My three-year-old son Aiden sits in the front next to me. I set up a travel lap tray over his seat to let him doodle on his drawing pad. Aiden seems to have gotten all his traits from his dad, including brown eyes, curly hair, and a square jaw. He’s also tall for his age. He does have my button nose at the moment, though, which looks cute on him.
“Gorgeous!” A lady with silvery hair who sits right behind me comments as I drive uphill to a vista point and present them with a panorama view of the vineyard. After lingering on top of the hill for a moment to take pictures, I take them back to the fields to experience grape-picking.
We’re in the middle of September, the harvest season, and the busiest time of the year in the vineyard. Nearly a hundred workers are gathering at work. The harvest for the red wine grapes started two weeks ago and will last for another week or so. Large lugs, or bins stand in the fields, and many are already filled with grapes.
Gavin resists the temptation of cutting the costs by using a harvesting machine like neighboring vineyards. One reason is the machine harvesters aren’t as smart as people in distinguishing between ripe and unripe fruits and between healthy and rotten ones. Another reason is he doesn’t want to make the hundred laborers’ lives miserable by not offering them a job. I agree with my husband one hundred percent on the matter. But there is another reason I prefer hiring skilled laborers. I simply like to see the vineyard being crowded with people once in a while.
It’s why I like being a tour guide so much. I was thrilled when Gavin brought up the idea five years ago. Before that, the vineyard had been receiving tourists but never given tours on its own. We purchased the mini trolley right away and advertised the tours on the vineyard’s new website.
“Our vineyard produces four hundred tons of fruits each year, but only a quarter is processed here,” I tell the visitors proudly. “The rest of the fruits are sold to other wineries.”
“What kind of grapes are these?” a gentleman asks me as we walk among the crops.
“These are red wine grapes. Most of them are Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot,” I say.
“Can we taste them?” asks his wife.
“Of course,” I say to them. “They’re sweeter than the table grapes but have thicker skins and seeds.”
Out of curiosity, everyone takes a grape from the bin and peel off the skin. I soon hear murmurs of appreciation.
A truck rolls onto the narrow path between the crops. It stops a few yards in front of us, and a tall man steps out.
“Daddy!” Aiden runs towards Gavin.
Gavin takes off his straw-hat and stoops, opening his arms and letting the boy run into them. “Come here, little rascal!” He holds the boy up and prickles him with his scruff. Aiden giggles.
Gavin’s been busying working in the fields lately, from dawn to late nights, picking and transporting the grapes to the winery. The two of them saw each other only briefly last night at dinner.
“Daddy, can I pick grapes?” Aiden asks, looking longingly at the busy workers.
“Not yet, sweetie. You can’t touch the snippers,” Gavin says, smoothing his son’s hair.
As Aiden pouts, Gavin smiles and takes the child to a crop laden with fruits, away from the crowd. Holding Aiden’s hand, he breaks the stem from the vine.
Aiden grins as he holds the cluster of grapes in both hands.
“Yay!” I clap my hands. “Aiden’s first harvest!”
Gavin puts his son back to the ground. We watch Aiden as he walks toward the nearest bin to make his contribution. Gavin pulls me to him and stamps a kiss on my cheek. His forehead is covered by sweat, and his t-shirt is also soaked through. He smells like wine. My legs feel wobbly.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he steadies me.
“I’m okay,” I say, flushing. We’ve been together for five years already, but I’m still not quite myself when I’m with this man.