Gabe was right. This was a gift. And she was needed to make sure she deserved it.
Three
The reserve cellar was Devon's favorite place on the entire property—a cool, stone-walled sanctuary beneath the main house where their most precious bottles lay sleeping in perfect darkness. The air smelled of oak and time, with the faint sweetness of wine that had been aging gracefully for decades. LED strips provided just enough light to navigate between the custom-built racks without disturbing the sediment in bottles that were older than he was.
"So," Bryson said, pulling a dust-covered bottle from a rack. “How do you think our new Business Development Manager is fitting in?"
Devon looked up from his notebook, where he'd been cataloging potential auction pieces. "She's been here exactly one day, bro. Give the woman a chance to unpack her suitcase before you start grading her performance."
"I'm not grading her anything.” Bryson held up the bottle to examine the label in the dim light. "I'm asking my brother how he thinks she's adjusting. There's a difference."
“God, I hate it when you add that,there’s a difference,qualifier. She's fine. Professional. Enthusiastic about the authentication program and premium wine lines.” Devon madeanother note in his book, trying to keep his voice neutral. He loved his little brother, and for most of their lives, they’d been the best of friends. But Bryson could often be… prickly. "Gabe seems to like her."
"Gabe likes everyone, and he’s super nice, too. It's his fatal flaw." Bryson set the bottle carefully on the table.
“Partly because he’s always worried someone’s going to remember and remind him what his grandfather did. Murder is a big cloud to have over you,” Devon said.
“I’m aware.” Bryson rubbed the back of his neck. “Riley and Erin are handling their mother’s pending trial much better than Grant. But he blames himself, as if he did the murdering, not his mother.”
“Wouldn’t you feel the same way in his shoes?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He might have handed his father that cup of coffee, but he had no idea his mom laced it with poison,” Bryson said. “I’m tempted to ask Gabe to have a chat with Grant.”
“Might not be a bad idea. And I think Gabe and Emery have already bonded over shared trauma.”
“Your girlfriend?—”
“She’snotmy girlfriend.” Devon glared at his brother.
"And yet, here we are, going through our collection, looking at potential bottles we might be willing to part with... because Emery thought it would be a good place to start. Which I’m totally on board with, just not at nine o’clock at night when I could be at Riley’s place, doing something else."
"It wasn't just her idea," Devon said, his voice sharpening. "Gabe's been suggesting we auction some of these off for the last couple of years. Dad was on board the moment she explained the authentication process."
Bryson raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no need to get so defensive. I was just mocking the time, not the idea.Building provenance documentation for bottles with this kind of history could set us apart from every other winery our size trying to break into the collector market.” He pulled another bottle from the rack. "But you can't stop looking at her. And don't try to tell me there isn't something there. Sometimes, I know you better than I know myself, and I saw the way you watched her when she worked for Pemberton, and now here, when you think no one's paying attention..."
Devon set his notebook down with more force than necessary. The sound echoed off the stone walls, followed by a silence that stretched between them like a held breath. This was his brother. His best friend. His future business partner. They might fight like cats and dogs over business decisions and other life choices, but they didn't keep secrets from each other. Not the important ones, anyway.
"Fine," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I'm attracted to her. More than attracted, if you want the truth. But we're keeping things strictly professional because that's what she wants and what she needs right now."
“What about you?”
“In this case, what I want doesn’t matter.”
“Wow.” Bryson whistled. “Don’t go throwing that pad of paper at me, but since when do you put a woman’s need in front of your own?”
“Why do you have to be such a dick?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way that came out.” Bryson’s expression softened. “All I meant was that you’ve never really had a lasting relationship. Sure, there was Gretchen, but we all knew she wasn’t going to last.”
“And why is that?”
“You didn’t love her.”
Devon chuckled. “At least I didn’t marry her.”
“This family does love to remind me of Monica,” Bryson mumbled. “Dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
“No. That was letting Riley go in the first place.” Devon waved his hand. “Now, all you have to do is convince her to marry you.”
