Let It Breathe Read Online Free Page B

had covered it with added a small touch of class, but still.
    “So what’s your name, dear?” asked one of the women as she rested her hip on the makeshift bar. “Are you with the family that owns the place?”
    Reese smiled and placed the glasses down in front of them. “I’m Reese Clark. My grandparents started the vineyard in 1974 growing grapes for other wineries. It wasn’t until 1992 that my parents opened the winery, and then I stepped in after college as vineyard manager and viticulturist.”
    “Viti-what?” asked the second woman as she plunked her massive handbag on the bar and leaned against one of the barrels.
    Reese winced as the wood wobbled, but everything seemed to be holding. She gave it a wary glance as she began uncorking a bottle of Pinot Gris. From the corner of her eye, she saw Clay move to the opposite end of the bar.
    “Viticulture is the science of grape production,” Reese explained. “We look out for pests and diseases in the vineyards, deal with things like fertilization and irrigation, tend to fruit management and pruning and harvest and—”
    “Oh, my, that sounds interesting,” said the third woman with a tone that suggested she found it as interesting as pocket lint. She placed her palms down on the bar and leaned forward to peer at the bottles lined up on the shelf behind Reese.
    The plywood gave a faint creak, and Reese sucked in a breath, the chilled bottle poised above the glasses as she waited for the whole bar to come crashing down.
    She glanced at Clay. He was gripping the edges of the plywood with both hands, trying to look casual, but Reese could see what he was doing. He was holding up her bar.
    Ironic, considering how many bars had propped him up over the years.
    Ignoring the way his biceps flexed under the thin T-shirt, Reese turned back to her guests. They were all staring at Clay.
    “Pardon my reach, ladies,” Clay said.
    All three fluttered their lashes at him. The woman with her palms on the bar turned toward him, leaning down in a blatant effort to give Clay a glimpse down the front of her shirt. Clay looked at Reese and gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
    The woman in the pink cashmere licked her lips. “Are you a viticulturist, too?” she asked, shooting a pointed look at Clay.
    Clay didn’t loosen his grip on the bar. “No, ma’am, just a carpenter.”
    “Oh, join us for a drink, then!” piped the woman with the expensive handbag. “We could use a little male companionship.”
    “Please?” pleaded Pink Cashmere, leaning sideways on the bar and causing it to sway as she patted the empty stool beside her. “Just one drink. It’s a girls’ getaway, but we’ll make an exception for you .”
    Clay smiled, his expression nearly as tight as his grip on the bar. “Thanks, but I’m doing great right here. You ladies enjoy.”
    Reese waited for one of them to wrestle him to the floor and pour wine down his throat, but they backed off and turned their attention back to her.
    “This is our 2014 Reserve Pinot Gris,” Reese announced as she tipped it into the stemware. “As you can see from the tasting notes in front of you, it was a gold-medal winner at the Northwest Food and Wine Festival last year. We age this in steel for six months before we filter and bottle it right here on site.”
    “Only six months?”
    “That’s common for a lot of white wines like Pinot Gris,” Reese explained. “Others—like our Chardonnay, which we’ll be tasting next—are aged in oak, so they take a little longer. And many of our red wines spend years in the barrel.”
    There was much chatting and sipping, with the women commenting on notes of pear and apple. Reese shot a glance at Clay, who was still holding the end of the plywood steady. He smiled and Reese gave a small nod of thanks before reaching for the Chardonnay.
    She cycled through the white wines and moved on to reds, pointing out a bronze-medal Pinot Noir and explaining that most of their wines were