“Emil, I’m going to need you to move up the date for the next bottling.”

“Can’t do that. You know I’m booked to the minute all season long.”

Tabitha eyed El Zopilote’s production manager with as withering a glare as she could manage. Which wasn’t all that threatening, given that she really did like Emil.

“Boss, I understand where you’re coming from, but I can’t do what you want.”

Realization dawned on Tabitha. Emil only called her “boss” when he was trying to placate her.

“So Royal has been here this morning. Okay, then, let’s hear it. What did he say?”

Emil rubbed his weathered palm over his forehead, looking at the ground as if he could find the answers there.

“He wants to bottle the Meritage now. He thinks it’s ready.”

“Do you think it’s ready?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. I run the machines.”

“If we bottle the Meritage now, what comes next? According to Royal, that is?”

“Same order, but it would push all other production ahead two weeks.”

Tabitha glanced up at the whiteboard on the wall of her office and calculated. “So, the Petit Verdot will come after this? That pushes the Marsanne to May and the Cab Franc to June? That makes no sense at all. And we have way too much Meritage to get it done by the end of the week. What do you think he’s thinking?”

Emil grimaced. “Award season.”

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered.

“Listen, I just want to do my job. You two need to figure out the schedule, and I will make it happen, no matter what I think of the outcome. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

Tabitha turned away from him, faced the whiteboard again, and took a deep breath.

“You’re right.” She turned back to Emil and tried to smile. “I’m sorry we keep giving you mixed messages. No matter what is going on in my marriage—my former marriage, I mean—we need to do a better job communicating with you. This has to stop, and it will. I’ll speak to Royal, and we’ll have a firm answer for you by the end of the day. And I’ll make sure that we make decisions together so that we are not giving you opposite instructions.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe weekly meetings.” She tried not to roll her eyes. The thought of a weekly meeting with Royal nearly made her gag. She much preferred the curt e-mail system they’d relied on since they split up. “We’ll have to figure something out so we stop doing this to you.”

Emil nodded and turned to leave her office. He put his hand on the doorjamb and looked back at her. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s ready. Your instincts are right.”

Tabitha smiled at him. “Thank you, Emil. Maybe he has some insight we don’t know about. I’ll talk to him and get this sorted by the end of the day.”

“I hope so.”

She sat at her desk and dropped her head into her hands after Emil walked out. It made her physically ill to defend Royal to the employees, and yet she did it all the time. It was nearly all she had ever done while she worked here. Smoothing things over, defending his choices, reassuring the other employees that Royal had more experience and knowledge; they could trust his advice and his know-how. As a result, most of them looked at him with sickening, worshipful adoration. To work for Royal Hamilton was considered a privilege.

She knew Emil agreed with her; he didn’t even have to say it.

She glanced at her laptop and scrolled through the unread emails. At least a hundred that she’d have to get through today, about evenly divided between El Zop and OWNS fires she had to put out. She vowed to handle the El Zop ones first, since she dreaded those more. It did not escape her notice that the El Zop work had become a chore for her, while the Old World New School job made her heart sing. That one didn’t even feel like work anymore, more like a hobby that someone paid her for. What she would give to work for them full time. She could go to Italy more often, maybe even move there sooner. She could meet more Italian men.

Tabitha kept her face still and her fingers on the keyboard, but her mind had drifted back to her night with Giovanni. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling. Never in her life would she have thought she was the type of woman to have a one-night stand with a stranger in a foreign country. And never would she have guessed how much she would like it, or how often she would think about it after it was over.

If that was what Italy had to offer her, she needed to get back there. Maybe he was only the tip of the iceberg. She stroked her jaw line with the back of her index finger, the way he had done when they were drinking coffee after dinner. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his skin, see the way he gazed at her.

She pulled herself out of that thought and got back to work. It was ridiculous to swoon over a man she would never see again as long as she lived. She still had a full-time job here that needed handling. She stopped on an email from her mother. Against her better judgment, she opened it.

I’ve been thinking about the subregions that you aren’t strong in, especially Alsace, Jillie wrote. You’ve never had the interest to study it enough, and it almost certainly will come up at SommFest. Here are some links to books you should read. Also, the court has refined a few of the service standards that I think you should check out. They are small changes, but you ought to be aware of them because the judges will notice if you have adjusted your style to meet the subtleties.

You should be on this full time by now, you know. The competition is six months away; every other somm in the country is studying nonstop in preparation. Your “passion,” as you call it, will only get you so far. Everyone else has hard data.

Tabitha groaned and typed out a response, hitting the keys far harder than was necessary.

Mother, she began. Just because Alsace wines are not my favorite wines does not mean I have not studied them enough. And just because I made one mistake—ONE MISTAKE, MOTHER—when I thought that Barsac was a Cérons, does not mean I don’t have a deep knowledge of the region. Why do you always assume that I am incompetent and I need your help? I am going to do a great job at the SommFest, and I have complete faith in my knowledge. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m working two jobs, and my personal life is in shambles. I know a messy life is beyond your comprehension, but it’s my reality. You are going to have to get used to the idea that

She stopped typing when she heard her office door open, and looked up to see Royal walk in. He looked surprised to see her there.

“Oh. I didn’t expect you to be in the office today.”

“That’s why you came in?”

He didn’t reply, walked to his desk, and set his briefcase down.

Tabitha continued, “Why did you change the bottling schedule without checking with me?”

“You weren’t here. Someone has to make the decisions when you are off at your other job.”

“May I remind you that I am still co-owner? That means big decisions—like when we put wine in bottles—is half my decision.”

“I don’t know why you are so upset. The rest of the production schedule will carry on the same way.”

“Royal, that Meritage is not ready. If we give it just a few more weeks, as we planned in the first place, it’s going to make a huge difference. The Cab Sauv flavors are going to sing in that blend. You know it will be a better wine if you wait.”

“You’re doing it again. You know Cab Sauv doesn’t work like that.”

“What are you talking about? It doesn’t age?”

“I’m saying it won’t age by itself, without the other grapes. I don’t want it to be Cab Sauv dominant.”

“Right now it tastes green.”

He smiled at her, tilting his head a bit as if he were coddling a small child. “Tabby, how many times do we have to do this? You have to trust my experience here. The Meritage is ready to go. The other wines won’t suffer if we shift the schedule.”

She stood up, clenching her fists at her side. “Royal, why do you always do this?”

“Make decisions while you are not at your job?”

“No, this. That. What you just did. Undermine my decisions, make me question what I know is true.”

The smile left his face, and he sat down at his desk and opened his computer.

“May I remind you that it was my expertise that won awards for this winery before you even worked here?”

“And may I remind you that you hired me to bring fresh ideas to this winery? Or, wait, was that just something you say to women you are trying to get into bed?”

His face did not move, but she saw his jaw clench. She was on dangerous ground, she knew. Royal did not anger easily, but when he did, it was quiet and scary. Right now, he was as still as death.

“You weren’t here to make the decision,” he said.

“All you had to do was call me. You know damn well that this winery is my priority. I would have stopped whatever else I was doing to re-work the production schedule with you.”

He studied her for a long time before he replied, in a steely tone that let her know this conversation was over. “Even if we had talked, the schedule would have remained. I appreciate your input, but my decision is final.”

Tabitha snapped her laptop closed and walked out of the office without speaking to him again. She walked to the tasting bar and smiled at her sister, who was cleaning glasses.

“Everything good back there?” Gabrielle asked.

“Great! Never better.” Tabitha had the eye of the couple sitting at the bar, and she grinned at them. “Have you tried our new Riesling?”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care for sweet wines.”

Tabitha nodded and pulled out a clean glass for her. “Right? They mostly taste like cough syrup, don’t they? But check this out—I think it tastes like a tennis ball.”

The man laughed at her, and Tabitha joined in his amusement. “I know, it sounds crazy. But every time I sip this, it’s what I think. It tastes sort of like limes and beeswax. It makes me think of a tennis match on a grass court every time I drink it.” She reached under the counter, pulled out a bag of Thai-spiced potato chips, ripped open the bag, and poured them into a bowl. “Now, eat these and taste the Riesling again. It’s just barely sweet enough to make it a perfect match for spicy food. Can you imagine drinking this with some Szechuan takeout?”

She watched their faces as they sipped, saw the light come on in their eyes when they experienced the flavor combination. This, she thought, is the best part of my entire job. The only thing that’s keeping me here.

“I would never have tried that on my own,” the woman said.

“Why would you? It’s weird!” Tabitha laughed, recorking the bottle and sticking it back in the refrigerator.

She winked at Gabrielle as she left the counter and walked through the tasting room. Her sister was blasting ABBA, and a wave of melancholy washed over Tabitha. She ran her fingers over the necks of the racked bottles and adjusted a display here and there, then turned to survey the room from the opposite corner. She knew every inch of this building. With her eyes closed, she could place every brick, every shelf, every single wine gadget for sale. She knew this place like her own skin.

And the people. Tabitha swept her eyes around the employees: Hannah restocking bottles in the back, Emil and his entire crew—Alex, James, Pedro, and Morello—in charge of the barrel room. Gabrielle and her team behind the bar. Tabitha knew them all, knew their families, knew how they liked their steaks cooked. As much as she wanted to storm out of the office, she couldn’t do that. She was attached here, and it went far beyond her former marriage. This was her family.

She could hear the gigantic crusher thrumming in the vast warehouse space of the production room, and the sharp, sweet aroma of Pino Gris filled the air. She walked to Emil, who was going over some paperwork with his crew.

“Can you get me some of the Meritage?” she asked him. Emil used a tool called a thief, which always delighted Tabitha, to extract a taste from a nearby barrel.

She swirled it and sniffed, thinking of the sharp green peppercorns that dominated the glass. It needed time. Royal was wrong.

Tabitha took a sip, held it in her mouth for a long time, and then swallowed, making a face as she did so. She felt sorry for Emil. It could not be easy, working for a warring couple. She wished she could pull off the Katharine Hepburn style of sass that looked so appealing in the movies, but she knew that what happened in her conflict with Royal was not a rom-com. It was mean, it was angry, and it was ugly.

“What do you want me to do?”

She took a deep breath and considered her words before she replied. Royal knows his Cabs. He’s known for knowing Cabs. What do I know? Maybe he is right about how this one will age. Maybe I should back off and let him make this decision. She looked up at Emil, whose face remained impassive.

“We’ll follow Royal’s schedule. Do the Meritage now. I’ll tell Gabrielle to make sure you have the staff here.”

Emil nodded, but she saw his eyes dart over to the other barrel room employees. What was lost in that communication with his crew? Her credibility? Royal’s? Tabitha knew she had lost a battle, and they all knew it.

When she got to her car, she opened her computer on her lap and reread the email from her mother. She was shaking with impotent rage at Royal, and her finger hovered over the send button. She wanted to blurt out that she didn’t care about studying because she’d had an affair and was thinking of moving back to Italy to have more affairs. Tabitha felt strangely proud of herself for her transgression.

She deleted her angry response and started again.

Thanks for the info, she typed, and quickly sent it to her mother before she could think about it much more.

She shut her computer and drove away.