A Toast for Laurent

Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Sneak Peek at Mad About Matt Other Books by Theresa Become a Townie Acknowledgements About the Author COPYRIGHT All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law. Published by Theresa Paolo Copyright June 2023 Edited by CookieLynn Publishing Services Cover Design by Y’All Graphics The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author. Dedicated to wine. This series exists because of my love for you. Leaning in my chair, I tossed my cellphone onto my desk and let out a huff. It had been two weeks since my parents relinquished all responsibilities of the family vineyard to me and my six siblings and hopped on a plane to Europe. I’d been President of Sales for Vine Valley Vineyards for the last decade, but it still aggravated the shit out of me when I called Dad to ask a simple question, and he told me I could figure it out. Dad had been running things with Grandpa for forty years, and I didn’t want to mess with something that wasn’t broken. I didn’t want to mess with Grandpa’s legacy. A tinge of sadness zipped through me at the thought of the man who had been my best friend until the day he died. Grandpa had come to this small town in the Poconos of Pennsylvania with a single grapevine and a dream. Fifty years later, Vine Valley Vineyards was the highest rated vineyard in the state. Thanks to me, we had distribution throughout the country. The vineyard was now worth millions. Grandpa’s legacy would forever live on in every glass we served in the tasting room, every bottle we sold in a wine and spirit store, and every memory made on our patio. My phone lit up with another notification, letting me know I had more emails joining the pile of need to answer as soon as possible. I ran a hand through my hair, took a breath, and started replying one by one. In the midst of replying, my cell rang. Rhone’s name flashed on the screen. My youngest brother was set to be tending the bar in the tasting room in twenty minutes. Why did I feel like he was about to bail on me? “What’s up, Rhone?” “Hey Laurent, problem.” I reclined in my chair, waiting for whatever nonsense was about to come out of his mouth. At thirty-three, he lacked the responsibility I had at that age. Sometimes I blamed myself. He was the second youngest, and I babied him—always bailing his ass out whenever he needed. “There’s always a problem. What is it today?” “Sutton and I went for a hike at Lehigh Gorge, and it took us a lot longer than I expected.” Sutton, his best friend and partner in crime since they were thirteen. “What are you telling me? You’re not going to make your shift?” “I’ll make it, but I’m going to be an hour late. Can you cover for me?” Considering Rhone was the assistant winemaker, and had only volunteered when our regular up and moved across the country, I couldn’t be too mad at the jackass. “Fine, I’ll cover. But don’t you dare come in the tasting room with muddy boots.” “I brought a change of clothes with me, and Sutton said I can shower at her place, so I don’t have to drive ten minutes out of the way.” “Thanks, Sutton,” I said, knowing damn well I was on speaker. “You’re welcome, Laurent.” “Be careful. Don’t speed. I’ll see you when you get here.” I hung up, wondering if every phone call I got today was going to test my patience. I had enough of paperwork anyway, so I pushed up from my chair and headed downstairs to the tasting room. Nero, fourth in line in the Grasso sibling tree, worked his magic behind the main bar in the middle of the tasting room, flashing his playboy smile to every woman within a ten-foot radius. He could sell a case to the biggest critic. “You working or flirting?” I asked as I joined him behind the bar. “What the fuck are you doing down from your golden tower? Come to tell me how to run my tasting room?” He was baiting me—one of Nero’s favorite past times, even though he knew damn well if we came to blows, I’d kick his ass. I had two inches and ten pounds on him. “Rhone called. He’s running late.” His blue eyes darkened. “Why didn’t the bastard call me? I’m his boss.” “Probably because he knew you’d rip him a new one.” “Damn straight I would have. He’s the one who volunteered to help. The least he could do is show up on time, for fuck's sake.” “May I remind you of the last time I covered for you?” A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Hey. It’s not my fault that woman wouldn’t let me out of her bed.” “One of these days your dick is going to fall off.” “Fuck you. That was a onetime thing. Rhone has been pulling this shit since middle school.” A woman approached the bar, and Nero flashed his signature smile that made me want to punch him in the face. “How can I help you,