“Let it serve as a backup plan for now,” Cru suggested. “If we can’t find Concepción’s notes, we’d at least have this.”
I looked around the circle. “I’m asking for a lot. Your time, your labor, your discretion. And potentially, this bottle. But I know this will be worth it.”
“We need to vote,” Brix said. “All in favor of granting this brotherhood’s resources to pull this together in any way possible, raise your hand.”
It was more than I’d asked, and I wondered if anyone would challenge my brother. However, every hand went up. There wasn’t a single dissent.
Two hurdles were crossed. My family had agreed to help, as did Los Caballeros. Now, the real work—and struggle—would begin.
The meeting brokeup with the usual protocols—handshakes, quiet conversations, plans being made. I stayed near the table, fielding questions from theViejosabout timing and logistics until most of them had filtered out.
I noticed Kick waiting near the stone wall. When I made my way over, he fell into step beside me as we headed out of the caves.
“That was intense,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Tryst offering up that bottle—didn’t see that coming.”
I glanced at him. “You think we should use it?”
“I think we should find Concepción’s notes first.” He kicked at a loose rock on the path. “But if it comes down to analyzing that bottle or watching the Hopes lose everything? Then yeah, we use it.”
We walked in silence for a few more steps before he spoke again. “You know what you’re getting yourself into with all this?”
“Making wine? I’ve done it before.”
“Not what I meant, and you know it.”
I stopped walking and faced him. “I don’t.”
“You’re about to spend the next six weeks working side by side with Saffron Hope. Every day. Long hours. Close quarters.” He raised a brow. “You sure you can handle that without making things complicated?”
“Things are already complicated.”
“Yeah, but right now, in a way you can ignore. Once you’re in the thick of this—harvest, fermentation, bottling—you won’t be able to ignore anything.”
He wasn’t wrong. “What would you do?”
Kick’s expression was unreadable, and he was quiet for a moment. “Honestly? I’d tell her how I felt before we got started. Get it out in the open so there’s no question about where you stand.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“Probably.” He grinned. “But at least then you’d know if she feels the same way before you spend six weeks torturing yourself.”
“She doesn’t.”
“You sure about that?”
I thought about the way she’d looked at me across the table at the diner. The tears in her eyes when I’d promised to help. The way she’d squeezed my hand like I was the only solid thing in her world. “No. I’m not sure about anything when it comes to her.”
“Then maybe it’s time to find out.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Either way, you’ve got my help as well as the rest of thecaballeros. Whatever you need—crew, equipment, someone to kick your ass when you’re being an idiot—I’m here.”
“Thanks, man.”
We reached our trucks, and he paused with his hand on the door handle. “One more thing.”
“What?”
