“It’s never easy.” His father set aside his wine glass and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “In time, you learn to go on. Live your life. But the loss is always there.”
“I might not like Winston, but I called him as soon as I heard the news. He sounded pretty shaken up by it.” Bryson shifted. “He’s going to have his hands full taking over the winery—especially the winemaking process, and he knows that. David was very hands-on and was an excellent vintner.”
“He was incredibly controlling,” his father mused. “However, David and his children have always had different philosophies about the business.”
“So have we,” Devon added.
“Not in the same way.” Bryson lifted his glass. “You and I might fight like we’re still a couple of kids in pre-school, and our sisters are insanely opinionated, but we know when to check our egos. Dad has taught us all well.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” His father’s eyes beamed, and his smile was wide. But there was a sense of loss in the way his father spoke—slow and deliberate.
Three months ago, it had been Riley’s father—a life-long friend to Walter and all of the Boones, who’d died. David might not have been their father’s closest ally. In fact, he was their biggest competitor. But David was still a decent man. Kind. Fair. And always fun to be around.
“I must say that I’ve never felt as though I’ve had to hover over you kids when it comes to this business.” His father took a slow sip of his pinot—a family favorite.
“You’ve also never told us we had to be a part of it,” Hasley, his other sister, said. “That makes a difference.”
“David never forced Winston or Callie,” Devon’s mom said. “But there was some pressure, because of the… well… past.”
“You don’t have to dance around the topic of my grandfather and how he was tied to Jasper Callaway and what either one of them did,” Gabe said. “What happened is a part of the history of this town. Even with time and space, it’s still going to come up on occasion. Heck, some wine tours talk about the murder and my grandfather when they drive by the location.”
His mother reached out and rested a hand over Gabe’s. “We’re just trying to be respectful.”
“You always are.” Gabe smiled.
“Dad, you think Winston and Callie will be able to carry on the same level of commitment to the family winery as his dad did?” Ashley asked.
"Hard to say," Walter replied. "Winston's got the education—went to UC Davis, same as Bryson and Gabe. But he's never shown the same passion for winemaking that his father did. Never spent the time honing that craft. More interested in the business side. And he’s made some solid decisions. However, he often rushes into things and occasionally puts his foot in his mouth.”
“Not to mention he’s arrogant,” Hasley added quietly. “And slightly chauvinistic.”
“I’m with Hasley on this one.” Ashley waved her hand wildly in the air, as if she were trying to swat an annoying fly. “I ran into him on my birthday last year, and he had the audacity to not only hit on me—as if I’d ever be interested—but he went on to say that any woman who was with him would never have to work again. That he didn’t understand why I didn’t focus on charities over the vineyard.” She raised her drink. “Mind you, Winston had been drinking that night, and I doubt he’d admitto the conversation—especially the part about hitting on me, considering he used the line,hey, your brother, my sister, so, why not us.” Ashley shivered. “It was gross.”
“I still can’t believe you dated Callie.” Bryson chuckled.
“Yeah, well, you married?—”
“Can we not have this childish argument again?” his father interrupted. He held his glass up, swirling it, staring at the red liquid as the orange and yellow flames amplified the wine's rich tone.
“Honey, what has your brow wrinkled?” Devon’s mom rested her hand on his dad’s thigh.
“David and I had our fair share of arguments over the years,” his dad said softly. “I didn’t—I don’t—agree with his methods, and he had opinions about mine. But even I can admit Callaway Wines are a decent product. I worry about what will happen to future harvests. Without a good vintner, a wine will end up wrapped in a brown paper bag and consumed for effect—not taste.”
Devon observed his father's expression. There was history between the families—complicated history. They all knew the connection. Understood it—but it was one of those things that was rarely discussed and wouldn’t be with Gabe present.
“There are many good wine makers in the area,” Bryson said. “I can name two off the top of my head who’ve been working as assistants and would love the chance as head vintner, especially when they won’t get the opportunity in their current roles for decades to come.” He shifted his gaze toward Gabe. “I just hope you won’t be one of them.”
“You’re talented, but we’d be lost without you as our operations manager,” Devon said.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Gabe took his wine glass and finished off the last drop. “At one time, I might have had my sights set on being a head winemaker, but that notion lefta few months into working here. I have no intention of going anywhere.”
A long silence filled the air. The only noise was the crackle-pop of the flames which pointed like fingers toward the sky. Devon checked his watch. With every second that passed, his pulse increased. Devon held his glass by the stem, swirling the red liquid.
"You're going to wear a hole in that glass if you keep staring at it," Ashley observed, clearly ready to change the subject from their deceased neighbor.
"I'm appreciating the complexity of the blend," Devon replied smoothly, though he caught Hasley's knowing smirk from across the fire.
"The complexity of the blend, or the complexity of your feelings about Emery?” Hasley leaned forward with the kind of grin that suggested she was enjoying this far too much.
