That was telling.
They worked in silence for a while, pulling bottles and checking dates, building a list of potential auction pieces that would showcase Stone Bridge's history without depleting their most irreplaceable stock. The ritual was soothing—brother working alongside brother, continuing a tradition that stretched back generations.
"You know what the strangest part is?" Devon said eventually. “Three months ago, if someone had told me I'd be helping a woman with a scandal-plagued background launch her career comeback using our family's wine collection, I'd have thought they were insane."
"And now?"
"Now, I think it might be the smartest business decision we've ever made. And the most terrifying personal one."
Bryson clapped him on the shoulder. "The best decisions usually are both. Just remember—she's not going anywhere. The job is real, Dad believes in the program, and she's too stubborn to let Harold Pemberton's betrayal define her career forever."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've seen the way she looks at wines, like she's seeing liquid history. And I've seen the way she talks about authentication, like it's not just a job but a calling." Bryson grinned. "Plus, she turned down staying in your garage apartment and insisted on professional boundaries. That's not the behavior of someone planning to cut and run."
Devon’s shoulders dropped slightly as some of the tension he’d been carrying, eased. His brother had a point—Emery was here for the long haul, building something that mattered. The timing would work itself out eventually.
"So," Devon said, picking up his notebook again. "Think we've got enough bottles for a decent auction preview?"
"I think we've got enough to make every collector on the West Coast very interested in what else we might have hiddendown here." Bryson surveyed their selection with satisfaction. "Your girlfriend—sorry, your future girlfriend—is going to have her work cut out for her documenting the provenance on all of these."
"She's going to love it," Devon said, and realized he was smiling despite himself. "She gets this look when she talks about research, like she's about to uncover buried treasure."
"There's that lovesick expression again."
"Shut up and help me carry these upstairs. We've got a reputation to rebuild and a romance to put on hold."
"Now you're thinking like a Boone," Bryson said, gathering bottles with the careful reverence they deserved. "Business first, feelings second, family always."
As they climbed the stone steps back to the main house, arms full of liquid history, Devon felt cautiously optimistic about the future. Emery would have her chance to prove herself, the authentication program would succeed, and eventually—when the timing was right—maybe they'd have their chance, too.
He just hoped he could wait that long without going completely insane.
The kitchen had taken on the warm glow of the moon, lit by pendant lights hanging over the massive island where they'd gathered after dinner. Emery nursed a glass of Stone Bridge's 2018 pinot noir, feeling more relaxed than she had since arriving.
“Devon told me you’ve been all over the globe,” Emery said to Riley. “A real adventurer. Hiking, skiing, and whitewater rafting. Being a tour guide and basically going wherever the wind took you.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Riley raised her glass. “I will admit, I had a lot of fun for a few years in the middle. Near the end, it got lonely. And the beginning? Well, let’s just say I learned a lot of things the hard way and banged up my body.”
“You survived.” Brea smiled. “And you came home—to Bryson—where you belong. Now you just need to move into this house.” She waggled her perfectly manicured finger in the direction of Riley.
“You’re worse than Bryson,” Riley said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he paid his mother to say that.” Walter leaned away from Brea, but it didn’t stop her from playfully smacking his biceps.
“Well, I never,” Brea said with a smile.
Gabe chuckled.
“Learning to be a tour guide in all those activities had to have been hard,” Emery said.
“Once I got the hang of it, not so much. But early on, I made some really dumb mistakes.”
“TikTok worthy ones?” Emery asked, hoping everyone would appreciate her poking fun at herself.
“Oh, a few.” Riley nodded, offering a soft smile. “I lied once about knowing all the ins and outs of tree jump ziplining. I called myself an expert. I figured it couldn’t be that hard. However, I didn’t know the language, which was a problem during the training. Not to mention, they were super short-handed, so I was paired with another guide on day two, who didn’t speak a lick of English. We were like frick and frack out there.”
Emery leaned forward, resting her elbows on the island, riveted by Riley’s storytelling abilities. “What happened?”
