It was a beautiful fall day in Niagara-on-the-lake, in southern Ontario. It is the time of year for the grapes to be harvested in the wine region of Eastern Canada. Matthew's schedule was tight and he had been watching the vineyards closely since returning from Chile on the World Winemaker's Conference in Santiago. His Assistant, Richard de Grosse, had been invaluable to him during the summer lead up to this. His attention to detail helped Matt take care of many of the external aspects of the business without concerns, however, everybody stayed close to home when harvest time came around. It was this time of year that Matt took the reins back and everybody was on edge as they waited for the cue to begin picking. The crates had arrived, the bottles were ready, and the casks were constructed. The weather forecasts were closely monitored, but it all c/ame down to the grapes.
The workers had broken into sectional groups or teams. Each section was monitored by a leader who reported back to Richard over the summer, but Matthew always granted Richard a break when he returned from his travels. For the next few days, supervisors would report directly to him instead. As Matthew was in the distillery, talking to the artisans about the casks and the quality of oak that had been shipped, a woman came walking in seemingly concerned about something and intent on getting answers. "Where's Richard?!" she demanded.
Matthew turned around very annoyed at the intrusion. Every employee should be aware of the boundaries and restrictions on these premises and only himself or Richard were allowed to cross into all areas of labour on the grounds. Otherwise, pickers remained in the housing near the fields, carpenters remained in their regions around the workhouses and woodshops, and brewers and chemists remained around the winery. "Who, may I ask, is looking for Richard?" Matthew inquired with an irritating tone in his voice.
"Kristen!" she replied curtly. "Not that it is any of your business! Richard said he would have the lamps replaced for my team two days ago! Where are they? How are we to get anything done in time for harvest if the equipment is not working?" she fumed.
Matthew was intrigued by the arrogance and authoritative manner of this woman who, obviously, did not know who she was addressing. He observed her carefully. The woman was tall, about five feet, 8 inches, and had a short bob of dark brown hair. The denim shirt she wore was unbuttoned conservatively but enough to show a slim neck that disappeared intriguingly beneath the heavy fabric that obviously caused a mild perspiration on her dark, slightly weathered skin. Her chest was small but perky still and hung naturally, beneath the fabric. She looked to be about early forties. She was very fit and strong with beige work pants fitting nicely around her firm ass. Without giving his identity away, he continued the conversation. "Richard had to leave for a little while. Perhaps I can help you. Which lamps need servicing?" he asked.
Kristen crossed her arms and smirked. "The ones that have been sitting in the workshop for four days now."
Matthew spoke to the artisan he was with for a couple of seconds and strolled toward Kristen sizing her up and down with a look she could not quite distinguish. Was it attraction or disgust? She couldn't quite figure him out. Not that she cared much for the labourers. If anything, it infuriated her more to be on the receiving end of such hotheaded behaviour by the locals even though she had a master's degree in Cellular Botany. Finally, she was beginning to gleam some respect for her knowledge of the grapes from Richard and he disappears without notice. Now she will have to start all over again.
As they both arrived at the workshop, they weren't surprised to find it empty, since it was getting close to suppertime and employees were closing shop for the evening. As Matthew unlocked the workshop, he motioned for Kristen to lead the way. "Show me these lamps you were mentioning."
Kristen searched the work surface of the shop and came to rest on four field lamps in a string. She inspected each of the lamps and found them to be fully functional again, with a note beside them. Written in scribbled charcoal was "Prioritize. Ready by Friday! Richard." It was now Sunday. She picked up the lamps and turned to see Matthew observing a time chart. "Brian has not been in since Friday. The lamps were finished on Friday. He stayed behind to finish them before he left. Is everything resolved now?" He glared at her as if she was a five year old again.
This infuriated her even more to be resented for doing her job, for making sure that the work was done and on time. She knew she was the reason most of the vineyard was in as good a shape as it was, considering the cheap resources, if any, that they provided to them to care for the vines. How dare he chastise her for giving a damn! With that thought, she marched to the doors of the workshop and left without looking back, without a thank you, or a handshake. Meanwhile, Matthew stood there in the workshop feeling very disturbed by the beauty that just left him behind. She was probably a widow or lesbian or had some feminist, bitchy personality. This is why he stuck to the grapes. They were less complex than women. Handle grapes with tender love and care, and they never let you down. They even bring you profit instead of costing you. With that thought, Matthew locked up the workshop and returned to the casks to see if Brian was still there.
Walking into the cellar, the smell of oak and spice produced a heady feeling for him. He found his favourite chair in the corner where a shelf showed a set of binders, an autograph book, and a small wine rack with a few select bottles in it and four wine goblets. Matthew sat down to peruse the book and see who had visited this summer while he had been travelling. His mind was too preoccupied though, by the image of a woman with dark brown, short hair laying across the polished oak table. Her shirt was opened and all that remained on her supple body was work socks and a thong. He could see the lines of her eyes deepen as the look of ecstasy crossed her face. The wine from his glass slowly found its way from her neck and collarbone, between her breasts, and continued downward to pool in her bellybutton.
As Matthew continued to fantasize about Kristen, his manhood grew rapidly, straining beneath his designer pants. His thoughts turned to the insolent look she had given him as she marched into the distillery earlier to confront him as if she owned the vineyard. The thought of introducing himself to her tomorrow and seeing the expression on her face once she realizes who she spoke so arrogantly to, this evening, fueled his fire. He had worked his ass off all of his life to get this small family hobby up to the success it was now.
