GONE WITH THE WINE

EPILOGUE

Bianca

“You’re fired.”

“What?” I stare at Jansen.

He grins. “If you want to be.”

I give him side eye. We’re in his truck on our way to Kirkmont. For a hockey game.

This is a first for me and I’m excited.

“I found a winemaker,” he says. “He seems pretty good. Not a lot of experience. I can offer him a job—but only if you don’t want it.”

“Oh.”

“I know you have your own winery. I know that’s your priority. And I will hire someone to work at Bar Down. But I don’t want to take that away from you if you want to keep working together.”

Working together. I like how he said that, instead of working for him. We talked about that and we want our relationship to be a partnership.

I don’t want to give up my work at Bar Down. I’m invested now. But I’m also very loyal to Caparelli. Or whatever we’re going to name it. I feel the history and the legacy of that so deeply, and I want to do it not only for myself but for my sisters, and for Nonna.

I pushed away the thought that I’d have to choose because we were so busy during harvest. But now Jansen is telling me I don’t have to choose. God, I love him.

“I think that might work for the short term,” I say slowly. “Meaning a couple of years? We don’t have a lot of wine at Caparelli yet. So I think I could do both.”

“What if I offer this guy an assistant position? With the understanding that he would be mentored by the great Bianca Lamberti—”

I grin.

“And gradually he would l assume more responsibility. Assuming things work out. If you think he’s good enough.”

I nod thoughtfully. “Yeah. That might work.” I’ve never been someone’s mentor. I was the mentee at Castillo Lorenzo. I was doing well—I’m even nominated for an award!—but I guess I have a bit of imposter syndrome, because me teaching someone else seems pretty bold.

“I have faith in you.”

He knows what I’m thinking. My heart goes soft and squishy at his confidence in me. I’m working on having faith in myself. “Thank you.”

“Think about it?”

“Okay. I will.”

“I told the guy I’d call him back Monday.”

“What’s his name? Can you tell me about him?”

Jansen goes over his resume with me and I mull it over on the rest of the drive.

We get to the arena in Kirkmont where Jansen has been helping coach a boys’ hockey team. He contacted Lewis York after the harvest dinner. He wasn’t sure how much time he’d have to help there so he’s only committed to one team while he settles into his duties at Bar Down.

We walk into the arena. The lobby area is bustling with kids and their parents and a lot of hockey equipment. The chatter of voices surrounds us as we walk toward the entrance to the actual arena.

“Hi, Mr. Beck!” one of the boys calls to Jansen.

“Hi, Morgan. All ready for the game?”

“Yeah! I practiced faceoffs yesterday with my brother.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

“Mr. Beck, I have a new stick!” another boy calls.

“Oh, let’s see.”

I smile at the interactions. Jansen’s easy with the boys, and the kids seems to like him.

I smell coffee and look over at a canteen. “Can I get a coffee?”

“Sure.” Jansen buys one for me, then shows me where to go.

It’s not like a big professional arena; there are only seats on one side of the ice, about ten rows of bench seating. Only a few people are here and the Zamboni is cleaning the ice between games.

“Good luck,” I tell Jansen.

He smiles. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.” He kisses my forehead, then with a wave he heads over to a door that I guess leads to dressing rooms.

I find a seat near the middle, which should give me a good view, and sip my coffee as I watch the Zamboni. It’s kind of mesmerizing watching the ice go glossy and smooth beneath the big machine as it slowly circles the ice.

It’s also cold in here. I’m a warm climate girl, I’m not used to this. Good thing Jansen warned me to bundle up in layers. I curl both hands around the paper coffee cup to warm them.

I’m soon joined by other parents.

“Hi. I saw you with Jansen,” one woman says to me. “Are you his wife?”

“Girlfriend.” I smile, still not used to saying that. I like it. “I’m Bianca.”

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Sara, and this is Paige.”

I greet the other woman, too.

“Our boys play for the Bobcats,” Sara says. “They really like their new coach.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“It’s kind of amazing to have such a big hockey star coaching them here in Napa.”

It tickles me that she refers to Jansen as a big hockey star. I know he is, but I’ve never seen that side of him. This is fun.

“He really misses hockey, since he retired,” I tell them. “He’s excited about this, too.”

I’m not lying. Every time he comes home from a practice, he’s so pumped. He wants to tell me everything that happened, even though I don’t know what a lot of it means, but I want to learn. I’m going to be the best hockey WAG. Haha.

I can see the energy and enthusiasm in him. He has that for his winery, too, but hockey is special to him. I know how much he loved it. Loves it. And I love seeing him happy.

I’m so glad he’s moved on from his past. I’m so glad he’s found something to do that he loves, that he’s working hard at and dedicated to, and I’m so glad that we’re together. And I’m so glad he’s found this outlet for his hockey passion. This is such a great way for him to bring the sport he loves back into his life, so he doesn’t feel completely cut off from it.

He tells me I make him happy, and I love that so much. He makes me happy, too. And kind of turned on, if I’m being honest.

I’m happy to have the moms here so I can ask a zillion questions as the boys come onto the ice. And of course, I watch Jansen at the bench.

When I watched those YouTube videos of him playing hockey, I discovered the meaning of competence porn. Now I’m watching him in real life, in his element, a professional, so skilled as he coaches the kids, I feel my heart growing in my chest, filling up with more and more love for him.

“Is that a girl?” I ask Paige and Sara, spotting a long ponytail hanging down the back of one of the players. “Number sixteen?”

“Yeah, that’s Clover,” Paige replies. “There aren’t enough girls for a team so she just plays with the boys.”

“She’s good,” I say. “Not that I know much about hockey. But she seems fast and handles the puck well.”

“She is good,” Paige says.

The Bobcats try to make a line change with some uncertainty about what’s happening and one little player yelling, “Hurry up! You’re wasting time!” I cover my smile with my hand and watch Jansen, who’s also smiling as he tries to sort out the chaos.

The Bobcats defeat their opponent by a score of seven-four. Impressive!

Paige and Sara head off to grab their boys, but we exchange numbers so we can text each other. I’m not sure how many games I’ll come to, but you never know.

I hang around in the lobby looking at team photos on the wall and watching kids and parents file in and out of the arena. It all feels very wholesome.

Finally Jansen shows up.

“Congratulations,” I say with a smile. “Your first win.”

“Yeah!” He shakes his head. “That was hilarious.”

“There seemed to be some confusion at times.”

“Hell, yeah. But that’s why I’m here, right?” He slings his arm around my shoulders and guides me out to the parking lot. It’s a bit disorienting going from freezing cold with ice to warm sunshine and the last of the autumn leaves.

“Right. You’re going to do great.”

He grins. “Yeah. I am.”

*****

A few days later, Jansen’s buddies from the Long Beach Golden Eagles arrive for a visit. They had a few days break in their schedule and timed their visit to coincide the with big golf tournament that’s happening at Quail Ridge resort near Napa.

I figure I won’t see him all weekend, since he’ll be watching golf (sounds as exciting as watching a turkey thaw, to me) and partying with their VIP tickets that give them unlimited food and drinks and admission to the Saturday night concert. They’re all pretty pumped about seeing Black Iron, an indie band from San Francisco that’s gotten super popular. I really like their music.

But then Jansen invites me to come with them that night—dinner, drinks, and the concert all at the ritzy resort.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “You probably want some guy time with your friends.”

“They want to meet you.”

“Oh.” I smile. “Okay.”

The guys all go back to Jansen’s place after the golf ends Saturday to shower and change, and I walk over there to meet them. When I step into his living room it’s full of men—like, full. They aren’t massive guys, but they’re all really tall, very fit, and they all have an energy that jam-packs the room. Testosterone overload.

I have to fuss over Moose, and I pick him up to keep him quiet so Jansen can introduce me. First I meet Louis Ouellet, who they call Frenchy, and yes, he does have a slight French accent. He tells me to call him Lou. Then I meet Ethan Copp, and John Dutchyshyn. They, too, have nicknames—Copper and Dutch—and I smirk when they call Jansen “Becky.”

They’re all dressed in jeans and nice shirts, Frenchy with a sport jacket over his. He has the sexiest dark eyes. Copper’s a big blond guy with blue eyes, a California tan and a wide smile. Dutch has a square jaw, a crooked nose and close-cropped hair.

“I brought this for Moose,” I tell Jansen, showing him a squeak toy. “Look, I brought you this.” I squeeze the toy and make it squeak. “Do you like it? I know you have a million toys—” I shoot Jansen a mildly accusing look and he grins. I swear every day he buys Moose a new toy. Or treats. “But this one was cute.” It’s a blue dinosaur. I toss it toward the kitchen and Moose scrambles across the hardwood floor to get it.

Yeah, I’m spoiling Moose as much as Jansen is.

“Never though I’d see Becky with a dog,” Dutch says.

“He rescued him.” I tell the guys, not mentioning our near heartbreak when we thought his owners were coming to take him back.

The guys are finishing beers just as the car that Jansen arranged for arrives. We pile into the black SUV, Jansen and I in the very back, the other three guys in the middle row, and head to the golf club.

“How was the golf today?” I ask.

“Tyler Bradish is in the lead,” Dutch reports. “Two birdies in his first thee holes this morning, and an eagle at the sixteenth.”

“Huh.” I’ve never been much into golf—or any sports—but I think birdies and eagles are good.

“I don’t think he can win it, though,” Copper says. “Austin Wells looked really good.”

“He did,” Jansen confirms.

“Bradish is the defending champ,” Dutch says. “Don’t count him out.”

“Wells is a new guy, but he can put together really low rounds when he’s on a roll.”

“He had a bad day with his irons on Friday.”

“I think he can bounce back,” Frenchy says. “He was still under par and sometimes he has a hot putter.”

I nod along with the conversation that means nothing to me, enjoying their enthusiasm.

We pull into the driveway of the resort with palm trees flanking it and come to a stop at the front entrance. Big white columns support the roof above a wide veranda, and we enter through an arched door. I was here a couple of times years ago with a friend whose family belonged to the club. We used the pool and the tennis courts out back. I remember the lobby as fancier than it is, or maybe it’s just getting a bit dated, but it’s still impressive with a high, timbered ceiling, big stone fireplace, and leather furniture.

The place is humming because of the golf tournament, with groups of people mingling in the lobby and the bar. We cross to the restaurant and are shown out to a round table on the terrace. I can see the big white tents set up for the golf tournament and also the outdoor stage with lighting where the band will play later.

“This is so nice.” I unfold my napkin onto my lap and pick up my menu. “This tournament seems to be a big thing.”

“It’s the PGA,” Jansen says with a “duh” tone in his voice.

I give him a smile and a tiny shrug. “Okay.”

We look over the menu and order. Jansen convinces his friends to have wine and asks me to make a selection.

“No.” I meet his eyes. “You make it.”

He cocks his head. “What if I screw up?”

“Oh, please. Haven’t you listened to me? The best wine is the one you drink with friends.” I nod at his buddies.

He grins and our gazes hold for a warm moment. “Right.” He drops his attention to the wine list, and I watch him study it. “Okay, let’s start with a bottle of the Tracati Cabernet Sauvignon.”

I nod approvingly. They’re a local winery—well, all the wines on the list are local—who make excellent Cabs.

“You’re really into this, Becky,” Dutch comments.

Jansen nods. “I’m learning a lot. Thanks to Bianca.” He gives me a quick, warm look. “I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

Oh God. He says things like that and my heart still greedily absorbs it.

.

Jansen

The server arrives with our wine and we all focus on that as he pours Cabernet Sauvignon into my glass for me to taste. I nod that it’s fine and he fills all our glasses. “Are you ready to order your meal?”

“Um.” I glance around.

“Sure!” Bianca says

“I’ll start with you.” The server smiles at her.

“I’d like the farm salad to start, and for my main course I’ll have the halibut.”

We go around the table. The guys order pretty much every appetizer on the menu to share along with salads and entrées. I could eat like that when I was playing.

The guys pick up their wine glasses, looking apprehensive.

I grin. “What’s wrong?”

They exchange looks. “We don’t know anything about wine,” Dutch says.

“Well, one thing I’ve learned is that the only thing you really have to know is whether you like it.”

Bianca smiles.

They all take a sip.

Frenchie’s eyebrows collide above his nose. “It tastes like…”

I nod encouragingly.

“Like Cherry Coke.”

Bianca coughs and I can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of me.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“No, no! It’s all good. If that’s what you taste, that’s what you taste.”

“Not your traditional tasting notes,” Bianca agrees, grinning. “But fair.”

Dutch holds up his glass to inspect it like he knows what he’s doing “I get flavors of blackberries. Sliced blood oranges. Salty beach air.”

I stare at him.

He grins and shrugs. “I have no idea. I just made that up.”

Bianca and I give them a quick guide to tasting wine. Hopefully we’re not coming across as assholes.

After that, I ask the guys, “How’s JP doing?” One of our teammates who got married last year. “I guess Taylor wouldn’t let him come this weekend?”

“Yeah, we gave him shit about that, but he just laughed. Their baby’s due in a couple of weeks, so he’s staying close to home.”

“I don’t think he’s left her side since she got pregnant,” Frenchy says dryly.

“Right, right. I knew she was pregnant. That’s great.”

“He’s pretty pumped about it.”

“Another Wynn. Just what the world needs.”

They laugh.

JP comes from a big hockey family descended from the legendary Bob Wynn. They all either play hockey, manage a team, coach a team, or are somehow else involved in hockey. And they’re all a little extra.

“What do you think about this,” Copper says. “Dutch got his ass waxed.”

I tilt my head, not sure if I heard right. I glance at Bianca who appears as non-plussed as me. “Uh…like, literally?”

Copper laughs. “Yeah, literally.”

“It’s fine.” Dutch picks up his wine. “What is wrong with that?”

“That’s taking manscaping to a whole new level,” I comment.

Bianca bites her lip.

“Right?” Copper nods. “Next thing you know he’ll get his asshole bleached.”

Bianca blinks.

“Guys.” I look around. “This isn’t appropriate dinner conversation.”

“It is for us.” French grins. “You should know that.”

I sigh. I do know that. Nothing is off limits with these guys. “Sorry,” I say to Bianca.

“It’s fine.” Her eyes dance. “I’m not a prude. And manscaping is pretty much accepted these days.”

“Exactly,” Dutch says. “Come on, you’re the king of manscaping, Becky.”

Bianca hides a smile. She’s seen my manscaping up close and personal. She likes it.

“I like to be well groomed,” I say. “Luckily I don’t have a hairy ass like you.”

The guys all laugh and Frenchy punches Dutch’s shoulder.

Bianca gives me a wide-eyed look.

Catching it, Copper says, “We’ve all showered together many times.”

“Right,” she says, blinking. “Of course.”

“But straight guys don’t shave their butthole,” Frenchy says.

“Why not?” Dutch asks.

“Do I have to explain it to you?”

Dutch grins. “No. I’m just saying—butt play isn’t just for gay folks. And backdoor grooming makes it even better.”

“Jesus.” I cover my eyes with my hand.

“I heard about a guy who got an American flag shaved into his back hair,” Copper says.

I throw up my hands. “These are my friends,” I say to Bianca. “I totally understand if you’re judging me because of my association with them.”

She laughs. “It’s okay, really. It’s harmless.”

She’s a good sport. Christ. Just one more thing to love about her.

*****

Later, alone in our bedroom, I stretch out on the bed, shirtless but still in my jeans. The guys are all bunked in the extra bedrooms I had to hastily furnish on learning of their visit. “That was fun.”

“I’m glad.” She sits beside me and lays her hand on my stomach. “I like your friends.”

“They’re pretty crude. I hope they didn’t offend you.”

“They’re not that bad. They weren’t mansplaining things to me or making inappropriate comments about my boobs.”

“Jesus. No. I’d punch anyone who does that.”

She laughs. “Come on, we talked about that. No more bar brawls.”

I grin. “Right.”

“You kept up with them.” Her lips curl into a crooked smile. “It was fun seeing that side of you.”

“Whew. I’m glad you don’t want to dump me.”

“No.” She bends over and kisses my chest, her hair tickling me. “I’m glad they came.”

I lift my hands behind my head. Bianca’s soft fingers brush over my abs, and my cock thickens with need.

“I am, too.” I was a little worried. I knew hanging out with them would bring back all kinds of memories. Would that depress me? But it’s been fine. I’ve changed since moving here. For the better. Bianca makes me better. And I fucking love her for that.

I have a purpose in my life. Actually, many purposes. The winery is a big goal, yeah, but there’s also Moose—yeah, I admit I love the little guy, and I have to look after him—my new friends, my new hockey friends, and, most importantly, Bianca.

I meet her eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Her fingers tease down lower, to the waistband of my jeans. She studies the bulge that’s developed there.

I pull a hand from behind my head and grip the ridge beneath the denim. “You want this?” I ask lazily.

“Yes.” She gives a slow blink, then lifts her eyes to mine. “I want foreplay though.”

“I thought this was foreplay.”

She laughs, and I laugh, and pull her down beside me, rolling over her.

“I’ll give you foreplay,” I growl. “Until you’re begging.” I press my hips into her, my dick now engorged and throbbing.

She winds her arms around my neck. “Why don’t women blink during foreplay?”

I pause. “Uh…why?”

“They don’t want to miss it.”

We both crack up again. I bury my face in the side of her neck, shaking with laughter. “I’m offended by that.”

Still giggling, she says, “I’m sorry. It was a joke.”

“You know I’m a hockey player. Not only do I have great stamina, I know how to use my wood.”

Her laughter peals out in the bedroom and emotion swells in my chest. Fuck, I have fun with her. Fuck, I love her.

“You also have good hands.”

“Fuck yeah, I do. Let’s go for a hat trick tonight.”