Alistair and Jolyon shared a look as they stood at the base slope of the vineyard. They both wore coats, woolen and warming. Contrary to the bright sun above, the day was still chill. It chilled more when clouds tumbled past the sun, a breeze rattling the vines along their trellises.

"Are we going to lose it?" Alistair asked rubbing at his chin with a work dirtied hand.

Jolyon did not have a good answer. He wished Hamish was there to tell him straight. The lingering cold had not killed the plants outright. The buddings of the previous year, that years crop, were confused in the brightening of light but the pervasive cold. They had not yet begun their transformations.

"I don't know." Jolyon answered slow, forcing the words out of his mouth. "Could be a late year. Depends on the summer. Cold isn't doing us any favors."

Alistair set a hand to his shoulder. "You can't catch a break can you, young man."

Jolyon felt the elder man needed him to smile. He provided one, though simple as it was and without humor. Something every year seemed to keep his harvest small, just holding him at the edge of making it a successful run. "I will just keep researching and writing. Maybe it's a sign." Maybe his father was right. "I can call in a few debts."

"Could run for governor." Alistair teased as they started the long walk up the row toward the house.

A real chuckle then shared between the men. Sometimes it was best to just laugh.