Mom adored Tyler so of course the answer would be yes. But I didn’t think Tyler would actually do that. This was the twenty-first century after all. I wasn’t family property to be given away. Only I had the right to decide who I married. Aunt Pearl had to be making it all up.
“Remember, Cen…I know everything you’re thinking.” Aunt Pearl pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled through some photos. “Ah, there it is…the picture I took of Tyler’s Jeep parked outside the Inn. It’s time and date-stamped fifteen minutes ago.”
“Let me see that.” I grabbed her phone and sure enough, it was true. Tyler’s Jeep really was parked outside the Inn. Was it an illusion, part of Aunt Pearl’s spellcraft? No, the photo had to be real because Aunt Pearl found magical Photoshopping tedious and dull. It simply wasn’t her kind of witchcraft. She went more for special effects and drama. If she was behind any sort of trickery involving Tyler and a wedding proposal, there would almost certainly be fire, explosions, and a different groom altogether.
Aunt Pearl smirked. “Want to know what Tyler’s surprise is? You know, I can read everybody’s mind. Even Tyler’s.”
I covered my ears and shook my head. “No. I want to hear it from Tyler, not you.” If she truly was telepathic, I would have heard plenty of juicy gossip about other people by now because Aunt Pearl couldn’t keep a secret. She had to be bluffing, and I wasn’t taking the bait.
Tyler would reveal his surprise just a few hours from now.
How hard could it be to wait?
Chapter 4
Aunt Pearl, Antonio, and I carried the remaining cases of bottles into the winery and deposited them by the bottling table.
Antonio sighed. “I can’t do this any longer, Cen. Winemaking is an art form. It takes time to craft a quality wine. Now I’m competing with a bunch of startups who don’t even grow their own grapes. The market is flooded with so much cheap wine these days.”
Aunt Pearl let out a long sigh. “It’s a shame that you have to compete with that crap. Like I told you before, I’m willing to help.”
I was suspicious of Aunt Pearl’s offer because her assistance always came at a price. I didn’t want anyone taking advantage of Antonio. He had helped our family through tough times and had even helped Mom establish her own winery. Now Mom’s Witching Hour Red Merlot was finally good enough to compete at this year’s Westwick Corners Wine Festival. Not just good enough, it was superb.
I turned to Aunt Pearl. “How exactly do you plan to help Antonio?”
“Trade secret.” Aunt Pearl brought a finger to her lips.
I didn’t like her witchcraft insinuation. I turned to Antonio. “It’s definitely a tough market right now, but your wines are exquisite. Maybe you need more marketing to get visibility for your wines?”
Antonio shook his head. “Jose says he promotes our wines everywhere but nobody buys them because they are overpriced. Well, they’ve been the same price for five years now, even though expenses have gone up. I can’t sell at prices that don’t cover our costs, and I refuse to compromise on quality.”
“There must be another reason,” Aunt Pearl said. “Even Ruby’s making a profit after only a couple of years ago. Maybe you’re wasting—”
I cut her off. “Mom is making a profit due to Antonio’s help, Aunt Pearl. I think Antonio knows what he’s doing.”
Westwick Corners wasn’t exactly Napa or Sonoma, and eastern Washington didn’t have the same cachet as a California terroir.
Terroir was a one-word description the French used to describe the many environmental factors that combined to make each wine unique. Sunlight, rain, wind, soil, winery orientation, and elevation all created each wine’s essence or character. Conditions created wines unique to each region, and each growing season.
Westwick Corners is situated in a fertile valley with rich, loamy soil. The mountain range to the east blocked rain and clouds and gave us our hot, dry summers. The cool nights provided perfect conditions for fruity, acidic wines like cabernet sauvignon and full-bodied reds like merlot and syrah.
Napa and Sonoma’s hot, dry summers provided an optimal climate for chardonnay, cabernet sauvignon and pinot noir. Westwick Corner’s hot summer days and cool nights also produced some fabulous wines. Westwick Valley averaged three-hundred days of sun annually, forty more than the slightly smaller Napa Valley. We were further north and less well-known and our wineries tended to be smaller family-run operations. All that was already reflected in our prices.
Mom’s Witching Hour Red Merlot sold well even though it lacked name recognition. Why all of a sudden was Antonio, Mom’s mentor and the inspiration for our winery, so down on his luck?
“There must be a reason other than price. You’ve never had a problem selling out before.” I didn’t want to point fingers, but one obvious reason was lack of supply, not lack of demand. Antonio wasn’t making any wine.
“Jose says we’ve lost too much market share, and it’s a battle we can’t win. He wants to sell the winery before it becomes worthless. He’s been pressuring me for months, which is why he won’t help out anymore. He’s forcing my hand.”
The two brothers had inherited the family winery almost a decade ago. Jose had an equal say in whether they kept or sold the winery, even though Antonio performed the bulk of the work.
There had to be another way. “Maybe we can change his mind?”
Antonio shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“What if I buy Jose’s share?” Aunt Pearl said brightly. “I’ve got a great turnaround plan.”
I held up a hand in protest. “Not now, Aunt Pearl.”
“Sheesh, Cen. You’re always so quick to shut me down. I just want to help.”
A woman’s
