Eight Hundred Grapes: a perfect summer escape to a sun-drenched vineyard

Though, honestly, I thought it was. Who was this person? What was he doing in my brothers’ bar fifty minutes away from here? And why did it seem odd that he remembered me? After all, I was dressed slightly more formally than everyone else.

“Why did you walk out on your wedding?” he said.

I looked at him, completely taken aback. “I didn’t walk out on my wedding.”

“I did that once,” he said. “Or, actually, I guess I had that done to me. If we are being precise about it.”

I put my hands up, trying to halt this conversation. “I didn’t walk out on my wedding, okay?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay …” he said. “I get it. You didn’t walk out on your wedding.”

“Thank you.”

“So why exactly were you in your wedding dress then?” he said, confused.

“I walked out on my final dress fitting. That’s not the same thing.”

He nodded, like he was contemplating that. “I guess that’s different.”

“It is.”

“Right. For one thing, you aren’t humiliating anyone on what is supposed to be the happiest day of his life. For another, you can get the deposits back. On most things.”

“On all things,” I said.

He paused. Then he tilted his head. “Well … probably not on that dress.”

“Look, I’m actually just looking for Jacob McCarthy,” I said.

He looked around the empty office, empty except for him. “Apparently I’m Jacob McCarthy.”

I hated the way he said his full name, so proud of himself. I wished that Jacob McCarthy had an idea that I was a serious lawyer as opposed to someone he met in her wedding dress, not on her wedding day.

“What can I help you with?” he said.

“I want to talk to you about The Last Straw Vineyard.”

He motioned toward his office. “Then come in,” he said.

He stepped out of the way, so I could walk inside. I did so reluctantly, clutching the contract closer to my chest. The actual office—his actual office—was nice. It was designed with soft white couches and an enormous antique desk, and another painting—this one of a giant red tomato—behind his desk.

“Also my mother’s,” he said, pointing at the painting. “She has a thing for fruit.”

“That’s so nice for her.”

He smiled, ignoring my tone, sitting on the edge of his desk. “What’s your interest in The Last Straw? Besides the obvious?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “It’s great wine.”

I folded my arms across my chest, not letting that throw me. “It’s my family’s vineyard,” I said. “And I’m concerned about the sale. We all are, quite frankly. Some of us just aren’t aware of it yet.”

“Georgia. Of course. The family resemblance, right around the mouth.”

He motioned around his own mouth.

“You’re definitely your father’s daughter. It’s nice to meet you. You have a great family. I love your family.”

“You don’t know them.”

“I disagree.”

Then he reached over for a glass jar on his desk, full of long pieces of licorice, and held the jar out to me.

“Are you serious?” I said.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious? Licorice is the best candy there is, and, as an added bonus, it has been used since ancient times for a variety of medicinal purposes. Including the relieving of stress.”

“Still going to pass,” I said.

He took a piece out of the jar, then took a huge bite. “Your choice,” he said. “Though not the right one.”

“I’m not interested in this,” I said. “Whatever you’re trying to do here.”

He smiled. “And what am I trying to do here?”

“I don’t know. Charm me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you know this contract is rife with error and it’s not too late for me to nullify it.”

“You sound like a lawyer.”

“I am. And I negotiate sales much larger than this on a daily basis.”

“Well, you probably have one up on me, then …”

He pointed to his degrees on the wall, mounted in fancy frames. Proof that he was a jerk, those degrees in such fancy frames. Cornell University College of Agriculture, Cornell Law School.

“I went to law school, but I never practiced,” he said.

“How about viticulture? Did you practice that?”

He smiled. “I can assure you, your father is getting a great deal.”

“That’s beside the point.”