I turned my phone on and called him.
“Man, is it good to hear your voice. What are you doing here? Wait, don’t answer that. What are you doingright now?”
I laughed inwardly at his exuberance. Like his unconditional acceptance, I needed someone who was excited to see me. “Nothing at the moment.”
“Do you have plans for dinner?”
I checked the time, surprised to see it was almost six. “I’ll probably just grab something simple in town.”
“Not a chance, Isabel. Dad and I are here alone, and dinner is almost ready. Get on over here. Wait, do you need a ride?”
I chuckled again. “No, I have a car.”
“How long will it take you to get here? We’ll hold off eating.”
I told him I’d be there in ten minutes, and when I arrived, Bas met me at the door before I could knock. He hugged me hard, and I let myself enjoy how good it felt.
“You look exhausted,” he said, studying my face.
“Long day.” I smiled. “Long week, actually.”
“Come on. Dad’s inside. He’ll be thrilled to see you.”
I followed him through the house, taking in the warm wood floors and the photos lining the walls. The Whitmore family looked happy in those pictures. Bas and his four siblings at various ages and their mother, Kim, smiling in all of them. A family that clearly loved each other.
His father stood when we entered the dining room.
“Isabel, welcome. This is an unexpected surprise.” His expression shifted from curiosity to genuine warmth before he embraced me the same way Bas had. He was in his late fifties, with silver threading through his dark hair. Unlike my father, his presence was commanding without being intimidating. He’d aged since I last saw him, but he still had that sharp intelligence in his eyes that had made him one of the most respected figures in the wine industry.
“I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Are you kidding? You’re welcome here any time. You know that, right? What happened between your father and me has no bearing on how important you are and always have been to our family.” He looked over at Bas, who draped his arm around my shoulders.
“Izzy’s looking for a job,” he blurted.
I elbowed him. “Bas!”
“Is that so?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, but I’d hoped to handle our discussion about it professionally rather than crashing your dinner.”
“Come on. Let’s have a seat. We’ll eat, and you can fill me in on what’s going on in your life.”
I settled into the chair, grateful when Bas poured me a glass of water when I rested my hand over the wineglass.
After a few minutes of small talk—memories of past holidays, updates on Bas’ siblings—he grinned at me across the table.
“Remember when we were kids? Years ago, before everything went sideways between our families?” He shook his head, still smiling. “We had some good times at Miremont.”
Something tightened in my chest. Miremont had belonged to my mother’s parents. It was the one place that was supposed to be mine.
“My father sold it,” I said, steeling my emotions. If I started to cry, it would be impossible to stop. Few things hurt as much as what my father did with that property.
Bas’ brow lifted. “He sold Miremont? I didn’t know that.” He studied me, clearly wanting to ask more, but something in my expression must have warned him off. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I know how much it meant to you.”
I shrugged, not knowing how to respond. It had been five years, and the wound still felt fresh.
Thomas cleared his throat gently, steering us to safer ground. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Isabel, but does your father know you’re here?”
