While I was brushing my teeth, my cell buzzed with a text from Natalie. Break a leg this morning! Love you!
When I was almost out the door I texted back thanks, and noticed I’d missed a message from Sebastian too. You don’t need luck today, but I bet it’s with you. Let me know how it goes. I’m thinking of you.
I smiled, pulling the door shut behind me. I did feel lucky, but I also felt confident for the first time in weeks.
Abelard Vineyards—named, I’d learned from an interview with the Fourniers, for a medieval French scholar who had a tragic but passionate love affair with a young student of his—was only about a ten-minute drive from my parents’ farm, about midway between it and Sebastian’s cabin. As I drove up the tree-lined drive, my heart started to pound. The place was absolutely breathtaking.
The architectural style was French, but rather than the dark, formal faux-chateau style of the Rivard family, the Fourniers had built a Provencal-style villa of light weathered stone with a faded red tiled roof and shutters painted a soft blue. It was luxurious without being imposing, authentic but not stodgy.
The gravel drive circled in front of the main building, and I followed signs to visitor parking. When I got out of the car and looked around, I saw that the vineyards stretched out behind the buildings, a big red barn sat off to my left, and a sign pointing to the tasting room was straight ahead. Since I was meeting Mia Fournier in the tasting room, I followed the sign down a narrow gravel path around the side of the villa, admiring the flowers and herbs planted along the way.
Around the back was a large patio with tables and chairs, where guests could sit and watch the sun set over the rolling fields. Jutting off the stone building was a covered, tiled area lined with built-in upholstered benches and long picnic tables on either side of double doors. Six chairs lined the other sides of the tables, and adorably chic little topiary trees in clay flower pots rested on the tables. It was absolutely stunning, and already I wanted this job so badly I could taste it.
The glass doors to the tasting room off the patio were propped open already, allowing for plenty of natural light and a soft breeze. When I walked in, I noticed right away how the two-story ceilings and ample windows let in plenty of natural light, and the colors in the light stone walls were echoed in the neutral couches and chairs, which were grouped in one large sitting area in front of a huge fireplace at one end of the room. The plank floors were a medium-toned wood, as were the large square coffee table and several end tables. The one bright spot of color was a massive floral centerpiece on the coffee table—probably three dozen roses in various shades of pink.
Guess I wore the right thing, I thought with a smile.
“Hello! You must be Skylar.”
I turned and saw a petite, curvy woman with long, wavy brown hair walking toward me from the other end of the room, where a curved wooden bar lined with stools took up one entire wall.
I smiled, moving toward her. “Yes. Good morning.”
“Good morning.” We met in the center of the room and she held out her hand. “I’m Mia. Welcome to Abelard.”
I took her hand and met her eyes, noticing we were probably about the same height, although I wore heels and she wore flats. “So nice to meet you. The place is stunning. I’m in love.”
“Thanks. It’s been a long road to get here, but we’re happy with it. Can I offer you something? Coffee or tea? A glass of wine?” She laughed, putting a hand on her slightly round belly. “I can’t join you, but it’s never too early for wine.”
“Congratulations. Sebastian mentioned you were expecting. That’s wonderful.”
“Yes, our third. I thought we were done after two, but my husband had other ideas.” She rolled her eyes. “When we first met, he didn’t even want kids. Now he wants an entire litter!”
I laughed, wondering how old she was. She was radiantly beautiful with lovely skin, little tiny smile lines around her eyes the only sign of aging on her face. I wondered what it was like to be as happy as she looked.
“So anyway.” She fluttered a hand. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you. I do love the Abelard pinot, but I should probably complete my interview before I indulge in it.”
She smiled and started walking toward the couches. “Let’s sit over here. I was going to do this back in my office, but it’s such a beautiful morning.” She sat at one end of a large couch and I chose a high-backed chair adjacent to it.
“It is. And I love the way you designed this so your guests have this gorgeous view, even when they’re inside. And that air!” I inhaled, taking in the scent of the fields outside. “It’s like you’ve made the sight and smell of the land the grapes are planted on part of the tasting experience. You’re hitting all the senses.”
“Oh God, my husband’s going to love you.” She smiled, settling back on the couch. “So tell me about yourself.”
Taking a breath, I started with my roots on Old Mission and growing up here. I talked briefly about performing on cruise ships and my time in New York, but emphasized that I’d really missed home and my family and had decided to return this spring. “I didn’t really love living in a big city,” I confessed. “Maybe the shopping, but other than that, I prefer life here.”
“I agree.” She nodded. “Lucas, my husband, lived in New York when we were first dating, but when we decided to move in together, I was really glad we agreed on Detroit. It’s a fun city, but it’s less crowded and manic than New York.”
“Yes, I read that he opened an absinthe bar there? The Green Hour?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Done your homework, I see.”
I lifted my shoulders, felt a blush warm my cheeks. “I figured I’d better. You run a pretty impressive operation here. If I want to be your assistant, I need to know my stuff.”
She laughed. “Thanks. So what else did you learn?”
“Well, I know that you ran a successful event planning business for years in Detroit, so I figured you might want to expand the event schedule here…maybe start promoting Abelard as a wedding venue? Possibly host small corporate events?”
She looked amused. “Go on.”
“I researched pinot noir and Gamay, the two red wines your husband makes here, and learned quite a bit about why those wines should do well even in a cool climate like ours, and how our position along the forty-fifth parallel mimics the growing conditions in other parts of the world where those grapes do well. Part of that I knew because of growing up on a cherry farm,” I admitted. “Cherries do well here too for many of the same reasons—the soil, the hilly land, the water surrounding us.”
“My goodness. You really have done your homework.” She tilted her head and crossed her arms. “And you worked at Rivard?”
I shifted uncomfortably. I’d known it was coming and had rehearsed how to handle it, but it was still embarrassing. “Yes, for about a month. I really enjoyed the job, and I learned a lot there, but Mrs. Rivard had a problem with my performance on a reality television show, which painted me as a bit of a villain.” Please, please don’t have watched the show.
“Seriously?” She blinked. “What show?”
I screwed up my face and cringed. “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy).”
Mia burst out laughing and clapped her hands together once. “Oh my God, that’s funny. Wow.” Giggling, she tucked one leg beneath her and winked at me. “So did you? Ride a cowboy?”
“No.” I shook my head. “The only thing I rode was a mechanical bull, and I only lasted seven seconds.”
She gave me a sympathetic look. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. The entire experience was pretty embarrassing, and I’d like to forget all about it. I asked Mrs. Rivard if I could list her as a reference, and she said I could. I don’t believe she had any issues with my work there—it was simply a matter of my persona on the show not gelling with her vision of a good employee.” I took my resume from my bag and handed it to her. “Her contact information is here, if you’d like it.”