Chapter one
Finn
Walking through the field of young vines, my feet crunching on the frosty ground, I feel my soul travel thousands of kilometers away, to a vineyard in the hills of Alsace, France. It’s a place that holds a lot of special memories for me, and the place where my grandfather now rests.
Almost there, Papa. I will make our wine soon.
When I reach the row of grapes that are the special varietal I transplanted from my grandfather’s winery, which my uncle now runs, I stop and crouch to the ground. These shoots are tough, cold resistant, and hardy. They’ll produce some stunning wines, but not for a few years. That’s okay, though. There’s a bounty of beautiful grapes in British Columbia, and thanks to my partner’s contacts in the industry, we have access to some top-grade juice produced in one of the most successful vineyards in the Okanagan. Not to mention the orchards and berry fields located just down the road from where I stand that will allow us to create the custom fruit wines that are in such high demand.
“I thought I might find you out here.” Pierre’s faint accent reaches me and I stand to turn and face him. La Lune Rouge Winery is both of our dreams come true. For him as a businessman with a passion for wine, and for me as a winemaker. I spent several years in California honing my skills as a vintner and sommelier at some of the top wineries in Napa Valley. I won multiple awards for my employers and was creating a solid reputation. The work was good, but it wasn’t what I wanted. When Pierre, a well-known, powerful investor in the British Columbia wine industry reached out, asking me to be his minority partner and master vintner in a small boutique winery on Vancouver Island, I knew I couldn’t turn him down. Winemaking is in my blood, and with him running the business side of things, we can’t lose. The wine industry here is growing leaps and bounds each day, and our goal of combining old-world French traditions with a modern, West Coast flair is going to make us stand out.
“You know you can always find me with the grapes.”
His deep chuckle is filled with understanding. You don’t go into the winemaking business without being more than a little obsessed with grapes.
“We have our meeting with the designer tomorrow. She’ll turn that tasting room into something magnifique.” Pierre kisses his fingertips, a nod to his French background. I have to work to hide my grimace. Even with Pierre contributing the majority of the financial investment, I’m very conscious of our budget. After all, being a sommelier and vintner in California wasn’t a huge money maker for me. The cost of living was so high my savings are not where I would like them to be. We wouldn’t be spending money on an interior designer from the mainland if it was up to me. We can figure it out ourselves, or I’m sure my friends would help. But Pierre insists we meet this woman and see what she has to say. Still, I can’t help but try once more to get him to see it my way.
“If we saved the money we would be spending on your designer, we could get another labeler or bottling machine instead.”
“I know, I know. But we need to do this. Her father is an old friend and has asked us to give her a chance. Besides, you have all the machines you could want.”
There are moments, few thankfully, that Pierre and I disagree. This is one of them.
“Pierre, seriously, we don’t need her. The tasting room just has to be simple and classy. It doesn’t take a high-priced designer to do that.”
“It does if you want it done right.” Pierre waves his hand at me, and I know the conversation is over. The fact is, he’s majority owner of La Lune Rouge, so I can’t force the issue. “We’ll meet when she is in town tomorrow, and discuss the details. Now, come. I want to show you the blending room.”
That perks my mood up. That’s where I’ll be spending most of my time, blending and balancing flavour notes into the perfect wine.
We walk the short distance to the renovated barn that now houses our blending room in a companionable silence. Despite our age difference, we’ve gotten along well so far; in many ways he reminds me of my Papa. Spending summers in France was what I was used to, and it wasn’t until I became an adult that I realized what a luxury that was. Having been born to a Scottish father and a French mother, trips to Europe were the norm, but I treasured the weeks that I would spend with my grandfather. He instilled the passion and dedication to winemaking that I still hold all these years later.
When we reach the large building that houses the inner workings of what will soon be La Lune Rouge Winery, I pause for a minute and look up at the deep red barn. Amazing what two months of work from contractors can do. What was once a dilapidated barn now shines as a focal point for our future. I can already envision tours and tastings. Who knows, maybe someday we’ll host events here.
“It will be full of the sounds of fermenting grapes soon, non?” Pierre says with a smirk.
“Grapes don’t make sounds, old man.”
“Not old yet.”
I chuckle. For all that we tease, he’s right. Pierre is in his prime out here, just as I am. The years that separate us don’t matter when it comes to our passion, winemaking.
The interior of the barn takes my breath away, cheesy as that may sound. Great big steel tanks gleam in the dim light, waiting to be filled with juice.
“They finished the installation.” The statement comes out with a boyish wonder that around anyone else, I would be embarrassed. But not here, not now.
“They did. To your exact specifications, might I add.” Pierre claps me on the shoulder, then walks forward, deeper into the cavernous space. “Six fermenting tanks and a lab ready for all of your blending fantasies. Just as you envisioned.” He widens his arms and turns back to me with a smile. “And the cellar out back will hold all the barrels and bottles you can possibly dream of.”
“It’s going to be amazing.”
“Yes. Now I must go. There is a woman waiting for me at home, and I promised a bottle of Bordeaux to go with dinner.”
That makes me smile. Pierre and his wife Renée are amazing together. True love that has lasted through the years. We’ve spent many evenings over the last few months sharing a meal and a bottle of wine, and I consider them like family. A good thing, considering how closely our futures are interwoven now that Pierre and I are partners.
“What is she cooking?” I ask as we zip up our jackets.
“I believe she’s experimented with a new recipe. Some type of meat pie. Would you like to join us?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you. I need to head into town, I’m meeting the guys for a beer.”
