Chapter 5 Sugar and Secrets

The morning air smelled of crushed thyme and ripe fruit, a fragrant reminder that harvest time was inching closer. Lexi stood barefoot in the vineyard, the dew soaking her skin through thin cotton pajamas tucked hastily into tall rubber boots. Étienne had woken her before dawn with an urgent knock and a smirk, saying only, "Today is sugar day."

Now, she clutched the refractometer like a holy relic.

Étienne knelt beside a row of Sangiovese vines, gently slicing a grape in half and squeezing the juice into a small glass pipette. "You remember the process?"

"Place a drop on the prism, close the cover, hold it to the light, and read the Brix level," she recited.

He handed it over with a nod. "Don't cheat. Be honest."

Lexi grinned, took the pipette, and carefully dropped the juice onto the crystal lens. She angled it toward the rising sun and squinted. "Seventeen point five."

Étienne exhaled, impressed. "That's good. We need at least twenty-two before we pick."

Lexi took another reading. "These are almost there."

"They're early," Étienne muttered, almost to himself. "Strange weather. Could be a shorter harvest window this year."

They moved down the rows, testing grapes from different blocks, laughing when Lexi squirted juice onto her shirt, and marveling at how the flavor changed subtly with each hill's contour. By the time the sun had fully risen, her notepad was streaked with grape juice and her hands sticky.

They paused for breakfast beneath an oak tree at the edge of the property, a basket of fresh focaccia and pecorino between them.

"Do you miss New York?" Étienne asked suddenly.

Lexi chewed thoughtfully before answering. "I miss the anonymity. The noise. The rush. But also... no. Not really. It stopped feeling like mine."

"And here?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted. "But it's trying to win me over."

Étienne studied her. "You said your grandfather sent you letters. Do you still have them?"

Lexi nodded. "Every one. They're in my suitcase. Some of them are... cryptic."

"Like?"

She pulled one from her pocket-folded, worn, and faintly scented like lavender soap. "This one says: 'The vines have long memories. Listen to the cellar. Trust the barrels. What I could not say, they might whisper.'"

Étienne leaned closer, rereading it. "Sounds like your grandfather left more behind than a vineyard."

---

That afternoon, they descended into the cellar. Étienne guided her to a section sealed off from the rest. "These barrels were his private project," he said. "Not part of the main harvest. No records."

The air was cooler here, the silence deeper. Lexi ran her fingers over the oak barrels. "Do you know what's in them?"

"I haven't tasted them," Étienne admitted. "Out of respect. But maybe now..."

He drew a small sample from one and poured it into a glass. The wine shimmered garnet in the dim light.

Lexi sniffed, swirled, sipped.

Her eyes widened. "This is... incredible. It's like he bottled time."

Étienne tasted. Then nodded slowly. "A field blend. Maybe four or five varietals. Old world technique."

They sampled more. Each barrel different. Some earthy, some bright. One had notes of cherry and tobacco, another lavender and spice.

In one corner, Lexi found a notebook hidden between two casks. She opened it carefully. Inside were her grandfather's tasting notes, scrawled in his looping script, interspersed with little sketches of vines, leaves, and a woman's face she didn't recognize.

Étienne peered over her shoulder. "Who is she?"

Lexi shook her head. "I don't know."

---

That evening, they sat on the farmhouse steps watching lightning flicker over distant hills. Lexi still held the notebook.

"What if there's more?" she whispered.

Étienne tilted his head.

"My grandfather... he wasn't just making wine. He was telling a story. Leaving a trail. Maybe this vineyard is more than just grapes and barrels."

Étienne glanced at her, then the stars above. "Then we follow the trail."

---

Flashback:

Lexi was ten, kneeling beside her grandfather as he poured wine into a crystal decanter. "Wine is not a drink," he'd told her. "It's a conversation between time, earth, and man. Never drink it quickly."

She hadn't understood then. But now... now she felt the vineyard speaking.

---

Later that night, Lexi sat in bed with the notebook, her lamp casting golden light across the pages. One sketch caught her eye-a map. Not of Tuscany, but of the vineyard. And near the edge, a symbol: an X beside the old fig tree.

She turned the page. Her grandfather had written one line in bold script:

"For my granddaughter, when she is ready to learn the truth."

Her breath caught.

The vineyard held secrets. And tomorrow, she would start digging.

---