Sweet On The Vine

“Grandma? Grandpa? I’m home!” Summer's voice echoed through the farmhouse as she shut the front door. The place smelled like baked apples and cinnamon; Grandma’s pie, of course, mixed with the earthy sweetness of the vineyard outside. She kicked off her dusty sandals at the door and dropped her duffel bag next to them, wiggling her toes in the soft carpet before walking barefoot down the hallway.

“Summer, honey, I'm in the kitchen!” Grace called out over the country music on the radio. She followed the smell and the sound of it filling the air, stepping into the sunny kitchen where she stood with her apron tied snug around her waist and opened her arms for a hug. Summer didn’t hesitate to move in for the warm hugs that always made her feel safe. “How was the drive?” Grace asked, patting Summer on the back.

“It was fine,” Summer hugged her a little tighter. “I’m just happy to be back here.” She looked out the window over the sink where the vineyard stretched out over the property, the vines lush and colorful under the clear blue sky. “The vineyard’s looking beautiful.”

“Your grandpa and the staff have been getting everything ready; they’ve already started bottling to make room for this year’s harvest. Of course, right now though, he’s out in the barn tinkering with that old tractor of his again, if you want to say hi.”

“I will, in a bit,” Summer lowered her hands and stepped back to turn toward the counter. “But first, let me help with whatever you’re working on in here.” Grace smiled wide as Summer rolled up her sleeves and twisted her long blond hair into a messy bun.

“That’s my girl.” Grandma gave her a playful pat on the back. “Here, roll out this pie crust. It’s a bit of a mess, but you can handle it. You know where the aprons are.”

She handed Summer a ball of dough wrapped in cling film, and Summer grabbed the faded apron hanging on the hook. “So, tell me all about your birthday,” Grace said as she sliced the apples and tossed them into a bowl. “Did you have a good time?”

“It was nice,” Summer said, sprinkling flour across the counter top. “A couple of my friends came over, and we camped out on the trampoline all night.”

“On the trampoline?” Grace laughed.

“Yeah,” Summer laughed as well, it was a crazy thing to do in LA, but it was fun. “It was peaceful, kind of. The city’s so loud, I hate it there. I love how quiet it is out here.”

Grace smiled as her face softened. “I remember being your age, the city is nice it’s just not here. The stillness out here, the stars… I couldn’t get enough of it either when I started dating your grandpa and spent all my time here.” She said as she handed Summer the rolling pin.

Summer started rolling out the dough with slow, even strokes. “There’s just something about it, y’know? The quiet here—it makes me feel more like myself.”

“Well, it does have that effect,” Grandma said, tossing the apple slices into a big mixing bowl. “But don’t forget, the city’s got its charm too. You just have to find your little pockets of peace.”

Summer shrugged, her smile turning a bit wistful. “Maybe. But I think I’m a small-town girl at heart.” She inhaled deeply, letting the scent of cinnamon and apples fill her lungs. “I don’t know what I’d do without this place.”

“You’ll always have this place,” Grace said softly, giving her arm a gentle pat. “But it’s okay to explore, too. Sometimes you gotta go away for a bit to figure out who you are. Just don’t forget to come home when you need a recharge.”

“I know,” Summer nodded, eyes thoughtful as she laid the rolled-out dough into the pie pan.

Once the pie crust was in the pan, Summer wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I can’t wait until those are done, they smell amazing,” she said as the back door opened and her grandpa walked in.

“Ben, look who finally made it.” Grace turned toward him with a rag still in her hand. “She’s already helped me get the pies in the oven.”

“Morning, kiddo,” Ben opened his arms wide and Summer walked into the hug, her cheek against his chest, breathing in the smell of him, woodsmoke and laundry detergent. “How was your birthday?”

“Oh, it was fun. I spent the night on a trampoline, just lying there looking for the ancient stars instead of superficial ones until we passed out. Mae’s dog woke me up licking my face at like six in the morning.”

Grace turned and grabbed three foil covered plates from the counter and placed them on the table. Ben and Summer sat down as he messed up her hair a little with his hand, chuckling like he had done her whole life. “Eighteen now. High school’s done. Does it feel any different?” he asked, grabbing the coffee Grace held out to him and took a drink.

Summer picked up her fork and turned it in her hand, looking at the pancakes, there were more than she wanted but she knew what to do, take it slow, small bites, no big deal, just food on a plate and nothing more complicated than that. She forced her attention back to Ben. “Honestly, not really. My birthday was the tenth, graduation was the fifteenth, and now it’s July third and I’m here. It’s all the exact same as every year except this time; I don’t have to go back to mom.”

Grace reached across the counter and placed her hand on Summer’s wrist for a second, her fingers were cool and gentle. “That’s right sweetheart, you’ve got me, grandpa and this entire vineyard of long time staff that are glad to have you home.”

Summer nodded as she took a bite of her pancake, she was grateful for the safety of this kitchen and her grandparents and the people who loved her without asking for anything in return, the sweet taste of syrup on her pancake spread across her tongue and she didn’t feel that guilt that she usually did when it came to carbs or sugar.

It felt like a small victory, something she could be proud of without making it into a bigger thing than it was. Ben picked up the newspaper like he was reading it, rustling the pages, but she knew he was watching, keeping a mental count of what she ate in that careful way he couldn’t quite help, the love and worry tangled up together in a way that used to annoy her but now just felt like part of who he was.

Ben put the paper down and folded it in half as he picked up his coffee mug leaving a ring on the table. “We’re glad you’re home, kid. There’s plenty of work to do. I told the summer field manager, Jude that he’d have extra help today over in C1, so you can head there whenever you’re done eating.”

Summer nodded, glancing at her plate as she sipped her coffee, the bitter warmth washing away the sugar she didn’t want to taste all morning. “Okay. I’ll go after this.”

Grace stood and grabbed a small Tupperware of grapes, sliced apples and a Ziplock bag of almonds and put them into a lunch bag with cottage cheese and placed it by the door, moving with that efficiency she’d had for decades, always knowing exactly what Summer needed before Summer even thought about it. “I will take your lunch bag to the employee fridge this morning. It’s going to heat up fast today. Make sure you take your water and start in the shade if you can.”

Summer wiped her hands on a napkin and picked up her work gloves from the counter, the leather broken in from years of wear. “I will.”

Grace gave Summer a quick kiss on her forehead as she walked past and patted her shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything. Lunch will be ready at the usual time in the staff hall.”

Summer gave them a small smile but didn’t say anything else. She tucked her gloves under her arm and went out the back door as she fixed her ponytail to go through the loop in the ballcap she pulled on her head. The sun was already warm on her skin even though it was barely eight in the morning which meant that after ten am it was going to start burning to breathe from the heat in the air.

She could hear the vineyard crew in the distance, laughing about something, their voices carrying across the rows, and someone’s boombox was playing “Bootylicious”. She pulled her hoodie away from her chest where it was starting to stick and crossed her arms, smiling politely as she walked past the crew.

She made her way toward C1, pulling her hoodie sleeves up to her elbows and working her gloves on one finger at a time. She stepped into the row, grabbed her snippers from her back pocket and kept her head down and started working, her hands falling back into the pattern she’d learned years ago, checking leaves and shoots and clusters, the repetitive motion soothing in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

She had been working for close to an hour, keeping a steady rhythm while the sun climbed higher behind her. The leaves brushed her arms as she moved, sending a tickle up them, and her thoughts drifted without any real direction, just reflecting more than anything.

The last month had been a whirlwind for her, she had her birthday which was a bust, her mother wouldn’t let her have more than a sliver of cake and did it right in front of her best friend Mae, and Mae didn’t bring it up afterward, but she could tell that she was mad about it.

She cried that night after Mae fell asleep next to her on the trampoline, so embarrassed that she told Mae the next morning that her mother wanted her to leave because they had things to do, and she only lied to her grandma and grandpa about it because she didn’t want the lecture.

The air smelled dry as the temperature got hotter and she could feel the sweat in her hair under her cap. She rubbed her forehead over the arm of her sleeve and fixed her cap then reached for another Chardonnay cluster.

The grapes were still firm and green, but she could see them starting to lose some of that deep color, a few berries on the sun-exposed side showing the first hints of a pale yellow-green where the light came through. She leaned in and took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh earthy scent of the cluster in her hand then gently released it back into place and stood as she got back to work.

Summer took a couple of steps down the row when she noticed a man walking toward her. She kept her head low but didn’t miss how confident he walked. He wore a royal blue T-shirt and beige cargo shorts, and he had his gloves on, hair pushed back off his forehead, and the morning light highlighted the brown in his dark curls.

“You must be the new help?” He stopped directly next to her and smiled as he adjusted his gloves. Summer thought about correcting him but instead she just nodded and continued to work. “Here, let me show you something. You’ve got the right idea, but there’s a trick to it.”

He reached past her, careful not to brush her arm, and caught a section of the vine in his hand, his movements practiced and sure as he explained the process like she’d never done it before. “You want to pull the lower leaves, the ones that shade the fruit, but keep a few near the top. Gives the clusters light without burning them. We’re doing the last pass before veraison really kicks in, so airflow’s critical right now.”

He worked as he spoke, angling a leaf aside to show her the cluster beneath. “See this? We need good air circulation to keep the mildew down, especially with veraison starting. White grapes are trickier than reds, though. They need light to ripen but they sunburn easy if you expose them too much. Balance is key.”

Summer watched quietly, nodding along, her look holding fake curiosity. She’d done this hundreds of times, but he was too attractive for her to not let him talk. She couldn’t help but watch and listen to him. At his voice that held the confidence of someone who clearly loved what he did and his face that held a boyish grin that did something to her. She didn’t mind the mistake, people always assumed things, and it wasn’t worth the interruption, not when the interruption looked like him.

When he finally looked back at her, there was a touch of self-consciousness in his eyes, like he’d just realized how long he’d been talking. “Sorry,” he said, the grin returning in a softer way. “Guess I get a little carried away. Habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice calm, almost amused. “You explained it well.” She smiled at him and turned back to work.

She almost corrected him, could have told him the truth right then, could have said that she was a Blackwell and it was in her blood but still decided against it. He looked so into what he was saying that she just didn’t have it in her heart to tell him otherwise. Before she could think better of it, her mouth moved faster than her reflexes that kept it shut.

“So,” she said, trying to sound casual now that her mouth betrayed her as she pulled at a couple of leaves, “how do you know which clusters to thin? Is it different now that veraison is starting?”

Jude glanced over, surprised she’d asked. “Good question. Yeah, this is actually our last chance to do it right,” he said, stepping closer again. “You want look at how heavy the fruit set is, how many clusters each shoot is carrying. Once veraison hits and the berries start swelling, you can’t thin anymore without damaging them.” He showed her with his hands, the same confident movements as before, gesturing to the clusters hanging between them. “See how this shoot’s got three clusters? We’ll take one off, let the vine put all its energy into the best two. It concentrates the flavor, keeps the quality high.”

Summer nodded, pretending to study the vine like she didn’t know how it worked. “So, you just cut what looks like too much?”

“Pretty much,” he agreed, excited that she understood what he said. “We’re also watching for translucency, checking every block to see which ones are starting to turn. Chardonnay shows it different than reds.”

She gave him a quick smile as she looked at the cluster with a false lack of knowledge. “And that’s what these are? Chardonnay?”

Jude nodded, stepping in a little closer to her now. “Yeah, you can tell by the medium-loose clusters, good spacing between the berries. See these few here starting to go pale, getting that translucent look? That’s the beginning of veraison for whites. In a couple weeks, they’ll be golden, almost see-through when you hold them up to the sun.” He brushed a bit of dust from one of the wires as he continued. “They make some of the best wine on the property, but you have to baby them.”

Summer kept her eyes on the clusters, keeping her tone clueless. “So that’s why you’re checking for the color change?”

“Exactly,” Jude said. He pulled one of the lower leaves off with a quick motion of his wrist and dropped it into the row. “Mr. Blackwell has us monitoring every block this week, taking samples to send for testing. Sugar levels, acidity, all that. Once veraison really gets going, everything changes fast. Chardonnay especially, it goes from tart as hell to perfect in what feels like a week.”

“That sounds like a lot to keep track of,” she said lightly, still playing along. She smiled back, trying to hide the nerves still there under her skin from what she hoped came off as flirty but had no idea because she’d never flirted with a guy before. “Guess I’ll have to remember that.”

He laughed and nodded, glancing at her again. “You’ll pick it up. Everyone does after a while.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, turning back to her work before he could look too close. “Maybe.” Summer’s stomach turned just a little at how normal she sounded, and her face was flushed and she hoped he couldn’t tell it wasn’t from the sun.

“Hey ya, Summer! I see you made it back finally.”

She straightened, dusting her gloved hands on her white jean shorts as Alan, the head manager came up the row. He was a big burly man with a lot of muscle and a big belly, he had broad shoulders, rough hands from years of rope and wire, and his hat was tipped low against the sun, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Alan.” Summer called out, excited to see one of the men she grew up with.

He gathered her up in a big, warm hug that swallowed her whole, his laughter loud and full of love. “Good to have you home, kid,” he said as he squeezed her once more before letting her go.

The second he released her, his attention moved toward Jude, who’d stepped back a couple feet with an expression caught somewhere between surprise and confusion. Alan gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder. “Jude, I see you met the Blackwell’s granddaughter Summer.”

Summer felt Jude’s eyes the moment the words left Alan’s mouth. His eyebrows lifted, a half-smile caught between realization and amusement. “Granddaughter?” he repeated, looking back at her.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, messing with the sheers in her hand. “That’d be me.”

Alan chuckled, oblivious to the small shift in the air. “This one’s been running through these rows since before she could talk,” he said with a wave of his hand, already turning back the way he came. “You two keep it up, I’ll be down in the south lot if you need anything.” He was gone as quickly as he came, boots crunching on dry soil until the sound faded.

Jude wiped some sweat off his face with his shirt and fixed the fabric as it fell back in place then looked at Summer with amused disbelief. “Well,” he said, letting out a soft laugh, “that would’ve been good to know.”

Summer gave a small shrug and went back to work. “Didn’t seem important.”

“Didn’t seem important?” Utterly amused, Jude shook his head in disbelief and let out a laugh that wasn’t loud but certainly carried. “Was that as entertaining to you as I think it was?”

She glanced over her shoulder, grinning just enough to show she wasn’t sorry. “Maybe a little,” she said, tugging a leaf free and letting it fall. “You seemed so sure of yourself. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He leaned on the trellis wire, shaking his head again, still smiling. “You let me go on for five minutes thinking you were new.”

“Closer to ten,” she said, the tone light but even, keeping her eyes down so he wouldn’t see how hard she was fighting the grin.

He laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Unbelievable. You could’ve stopped me.”

“Could’ve,” she said, another bit of leaf falling into the dirt. “But you were doing a good job. It wouldn’t have been polite.”

Jude stepped closer, the edge of his grin softening as he looked at her hands moving through the vines. “You really are a Blackwell,” he said. “You’ve got that same patience both of your grandparents have.”

Summer tipped her chin up, the smile still there. “That what you call it? Patience?”

“That or mischief.”

She let out a short laugh, brushing the dust from her palms. “Guess it depends who’s talking.”

Jude went back to work beside her, still grinning because he hadn’t expected that. Most people would’ve jumped in, corrected him, maybe tried to prove how much they knew, but not her, she’d just let him talk her ear off and show her everything she already knew now that he thought about her questions and answers. There was something about that, something that made him laugh all over again under his breath.

He thinned another set of leaves, not really seeing them. The truth was, he couldn’t get the image of her out of his head, the soft pink hoodie, the quiet way she’d let him walk right into his own mistake, not to be cruel but because she didn’t want to interrupt. He liked that about her already. He’d heard of the Blackwell granddaughter, sure, people mentioned her sometimes, said she’d been around the vineyard since she could walk, but he hadn’t expected this, although now he wasn’t too sure what he’d expected all.

Jude worked in silence for a while, glancing toward her now and then. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did and just didn’t care, and either way he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. The rows went on ahead of them, the leaves swaying lightly in the breeze, the morning slipping closer to noon, and he wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and smiled again, this time to himself because he realized that he was going to like working with her.