"From start to finish." Evan sighs. "He told me you'd been unreachable, that the only way to get your attention was to show up in person. I should have known better. But I wanted to see you, Sunny, and I let that cloud my judgment."
The honesty hits me because it is so thoroughly Evan. He does not make excuses. He doesn’t shift blame or soften the truth with qualifiers. He tells you exactly what happened and exactly what he did wrong, and lets you decide what to do with it.
"I appreciate that. I really do." I stretch my legs out and cross my ankles on the flagstone. "Now tell me something. Why are you selling? More particularly, why are you selling tohim?"
Evan is quiet for a long moment. A breeze moves through the oak above us, scattering dappled light across the bench.
"I'm tired, Sunny." The words come out heavy, stripped of the energy that usually powers everything he says. "I've been making wine for nearly forty years. I've loved every minute of it, but my body doesn't cooperate the way it used to. Ahip replacement last year set me back more than I expected, and there's another surgery coming soon. My mind wanders to places it never used to go. I think about fishing, about sitting on a porch and reading a book without worrying about fermentation temperatures."
He exhales sharply. "And the truth is, the margins have been razor-thin for years. I've been shaving equipment costs just to keep the doors open." He gives me a rueful half-smile. "I've been ready to retire for a couple years, and when Derek approached me with an offer, I was finally open to it." He looks at his hands. "I'm not proud of how we got here. But his offer would clear my medical bills and let me walk away clean."
"But why Derek, Evan?" I turn to face him, and I do not bother hiding the urgency in my voice. "Everything he touches falls apart. He acquires businesses and properties to impress people, neglects them, and moves on. I watched him do it over and over while we were together. This winery is your life's work. It deserves better than becoming another casualty of Derek Parker's ego."
Evan holds my gaze, and the resignation in his brown eyes makes my stomach turn. "I know who he is. I've done my research. But here's the thing, Sunny." He pauses, and it stretches long enough that the breeze shifts and the dappled light rearranges itself across the courtyard. "The sale was only ever contingent on one condition."
I wait, watching his face.
"You." Evan's voice drops. "The deal only goes through if you agree to take over as head winemaker. I told Derek from the beginning that I would not sell Beaumont Crest to anyone who couldn't guarantee the future of the wine program, and the only person I trust with that future is you."
The revelation hits me like a slap. I sit back, and my fingers clench around the stone until my knuckles ache. The piecesrearrange themselves in my mind, the tasting ambush, the offer letter, Derek's smug voice on the phone, all of it clicking into a picture that is both clearer and uglier than I imagined.
"He needs me to close the deal," I say. "That's why he showed up at Willow Sage. That's why he called me. He doesn't care about the wine or the winery or your legacy. He needs me to say yes so he can play winery owner without doing any of the actual work."
Evan does not argue. The fact that he stays silent tells me he has seen the same pattern and drawn the same conclusion.
Evan leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "I wanted you to hear it from me because you deserved to know the truth. The offer was genuine on my end. I meant every word I said at your tasting. You are the best winemaker I've ever trained, and Beaumont Crest would be in extraordinary hands if you took over."
"But?" I prompt, because I can hear it coming.
"But I watched your face when you turned it down at the tasting, and I saw something I recognized." His brown eyes hold mine, and the expression in them is so knowing that I feel exposed. "You looked the way I looked thirty years ago when someone tried to lure me away from this place. You looked like a woman who already found her home."
My throat tightens, and I press my lips together to hold the emotion in check. He’s right. He’s always been right about me, from the first day I walked into his cellar and he told me I had instincts that couldn't be taught, only sharpened.
"I can't take it, Evan." My voice comes out steady, which is a small miracle. "Willow Sage is part of me now. The people there are my family. I built my wine program from scratch on that land, and I am not done building."
Evan nods, and the sadness in his face is tinged with something that looks like pride. "I figured as much."
"And there's someone." The words slip out before I can weigh them, and the vulnerability of the admission sends heat up the back of my neck. "Someone in Texas who matters to me in a way that maybe nobody ever has before."
"I could tell. It's that tall fellow who stood behind you, right?" Evan's mouth curves into a soft smile. "You've been checking your phone every thirty minutes since you got here."
I laugh, and the sound is watery around the edges. "He breeds rodeo horses. He's also inexplicably devoted to six ducks, and he sends me photos of them at six in the morning because he knows it'll make me laugh."
"He sounds like a good man."
"He is the best man I have ever known, and I need to go home to him."
Evan reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Then go. I'm ending the deal with Derek. He's on his own. I'll find another buyer. I won't be a part of a scheme that takes you away from where you belong."
"You'll be okay?" I ask, searching his face.
"I've been okay for sixty-four years, kid. I'll manage." He squeezes my hand once more. "Go home. Make your wine. Be happy." He pauses, and the twinkle that enters his eyes reminds me so much of the man who taught me to trust my palate that my vision blurs. "Maybe I’ll come out and visit sometime. A real visit and you can give me a tour."
I pull Evan into a hug that lasts longer than I intend, and the sandalwood scent of him fills my nose. When I step back, my eyes are damp and I don’t bother hiding it.
"Thank you," I tell him, my voice thick. "For everything. For this place and what you taught me, for believing in me before I believed in myself."
"You made it easy, Sunny." He clears his throat. "Now come on. Let me give you a ride back to the hotel before I change my mind and lock you in the barrel room."
