The tightness in my chest returns with a vengeance. Emma’s already fucking with my work. “But I already helped John and Celeste pick out the wine. Some really nice stuff too. You sure they want that other garbage served at their million-dollar wedding?”
“Million point two, thank you very much. And yes. They want the whole thing to feel ‘personal’ and ‘different.’ Emma says these wines should help accomplish that. She also says they can be really delicious.”
Milly is Blue Mountain Farm’s resident wedding planner. This year, we booked our biggest wedding yet, for Celeste Loo (supermodel, cookbook author, and expert of social media clap backs) and John Bevin, legendary R&B star famous for singing songs about Celeste. The wedding’s about a month out, so Milly’s been finalizing selections and placing orders like crazy. So have Chef Katie and I. We pull out all the stops for all our weddings, but this one is especially lavish and especially large. John and Celeste are hosting three hundred guests at the swanky outdoor pavilion we built down by the small lake on our property.
I was very much looking forward to serving a delicious champagne and a spicy Barolo. But now I’m going to be serving something that sounds like an infectious disease?
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.”