Chapter 33
Dash
Someone has put a tray of sandwiches on the big plank table in the old barn where my siblings and I are meeting to come up with a plan. I haven’t bothered to investigate the type of sandwich because I still have no appetite, but something smells like tuna. It makes me want to gag.
Sleeping without Mallory has resulted in not sleeping, and I’ve been in a shit mood all week. We’ve made good on our “sleeping in separate houses” freedom since our fight, and I’m still too hurt and angry to talk to her.
But mostly I’m just sad. I miss her and I fucking love her, and that makes every minute of every day depressing at best. Painful at worst.
I have no appetite, so I chew on a paper straw, which gets soggy and disgusting after thirty seconds. “Whoever invented these clearly hates people,” I gripe to no one.
So far no one has called me on my mood. I guess my siblings are distracted by bigger problems like the fact that we still have no guaranteed source of grapes to set us up for expanded production.
“What are we looking at if we can’t expand? Is there any chance we can hold shareholders off for another year until we get this sorted out?” Beatrix asks.
“We don’t have a year,” Jax says. “Investors will go into a full-on revolt if we don’t post good numbers in the next quarter, and the only way to do that is by getting new contracts with wine buyers. And the only way to do that is to have more grapes than we currently have to take us into expanded production. It’s all a promise of the future, but we’re out of time.”
The general mumbling in the lunchroom tells me no one’s happy about it. Just like they weren’t happy when I told them we might not be able to rely on Autumn Lake for grapes.
Saying the words made me feel awful on so many levels—letting my family down when our business is on the rocks, falling for a woman who doesn’t feel the same way… But mostly, talking about Autumn Lake is a reminder of how close I came to having something perfect. Then I had to fuck it up by flying into a rage.
Swallowing down a lump in my throat, I shake my head at myself. I fucking miss Mallory, and I only have myself to blame.
Jax pours himself a cup of coffee, and Archer puts one of the sandwiches on a plate and sits at the head of the table. His mood is worse than usual, but I don’t bother to figure out why. I don’t care.
Everyone’s bustling about, and Beatrix can’t shut up about the sandwiches, which are apparently a new menu item this week at Sweet Butter. “The arugula and brie tastes a little sharper with the clover honey on the bread, don’t you think?” she asks through a large bite.
I also don’t care about the effects of clover honey, so I sulk and stare into my lukewarm coffee, willing this meeting to start already.
PJ has been standing off to the side, tapping on her phone, so I assume whatever she’s doing is part of the holdup. She walks outside and comes in a minute later, accompanied by Graham, who stands slack-jawed as usual with a saddlebag over his shoulder. The conversation in the room grinds to a halt.
“Did I miss something? Why’s he here?” I whisper to Archer across the table. He gestures to PJ with a nod of his head.
“You’ve all met Graham…” PJ says by way of introduction. “He called me with news from the fire marshal, and I thought we should all sit down.”
Great. Not only does he now own land bought by our father with Buttercup Hill profits but he’s probably also here asking for help after his vineyards burned. We were lucky. Only a small portion of our vines caught fire. If the winds had shifted, the damage would have been far worse. Overall, his property took the brunt of the damage, but I’ve been too irritable to ask a lot of questions. I have no idea how he fared at the end of it all.
PJ sits down and gestures to a seat next to her at the table. Graham, looking awkward in a straw hat, dark jeans, and a white tee so new it still has creases, sits next to her. Beatrix slides a coffee cup toward him and gestures to the urn in the center of the table.
“I’m good, thanks,” he says, turning the cup in his hands. “Anyhow, the fire department just finished their investigation, and they determined it was arson.”
“Jesus, really?” Jax asks. “Someone intentionally set fire to your property?”
“Actually, no,” Graham says, bending down to take a report from his bag and putting it on the table in front of him. “It was set on your property.” He lets his words sink in. It’s a good thing because everyone else starts talking at once.
“Wait, what?”
“Are they sure?”
Everyone says a version of the same thing, and after a moment, PJ tells everyone to shut up and listen.
“Yes, they’re sure. Yes, it was set on our property. The marshal contacted me after he spoke with Graham. The only thing that saved us was the shift in winds. If not for that, there’s no telling how much of our vineyards we’d have lost.”
Archer turns to Graham. “How much did you lose?”
“About thirty percent. Not good, obviously, but I’m still in business.”
Archer presses his fingers into his temples. “So they’re saying someone deliberately set fire to our property. Or tried to.”
“Yes, dumbass, that’s the definition of arson.”
“Super helpful, Jax, thanks. Are they still investigating? Do they have any idea who did it?”
“Do you have cameras on your property?” Graham asks us.
Archer answers. “Yes. We’ll check them.”
“Investigators will want any footage we have from that night.”
“Done,” Archer says.
“But the bigger issue, and the reason I invited Graham here, is that someone seems out to get us. Either just us or Graham too, we’re not sure. But it seems like we ought to be comparing notes at least and working together a bit more.”
An uneasy silence settles over the room as we look from one to another and then down at the table. No one wants to make a suggestion for how to work together when we’re still getting to know each other. Trust doesn’t come easy.
Graham leans in and fills his coffee cup but doesn’t take a sip. He taps a finger nervously on the table. “Look, I know none of you wanted a brother, and the money part…I’m sorry about how it all went down. It wasn’t my doing, if that makes it any better.”
More silence. Finally, Beatrix clears her throat. “We know it’s not your fault, Graham. It’s just a lot. A lot for us to process.”
He nods. “I get that. And I see why I’m probably the last person you want to work with, but…I’m producing more grapes than I use and need to sell them to someone. I figured I should give you the first crack since we’re, you know, family.” He says the last word quietly, but it lands loudest.
No one comments, so he continues. “I don’t know what your needs are in the short term, but I can make a commitment on cab grapes.” We all exchange looks. No one wants to admit that this is a very good solution for us right now.
He’s saying exactly what Mallory suggested, and it sticks in my craw because I didn’t even give her idea a chance before concluding she was reneging on our whole arrangement, something she never said at all.
I finally pull it together enough to speak. “Maybe in some weird way, this is what Dad wanted for all of us.”
“Jesus. You think?” Archer asks, shoving a hand in his hair.
“Thanks, Graham,” Jax says. “We can probably make something work here. And yes, if someone is out to sabotage us, they probably won’t stop at one fire. We should stick together.”
I can hear everyone in the room breathing. In and out. Long, heavy breaths as we digest this new arrangement with Graham Garcia. Guess we’ll be getting to know him a little better.
Which brings my thoughts back to Mallory and the idea that she wants what’s best for me and for us. I still don’t like the way she went about it, but I’m smart enough to know she’s right.
“Come on.” Beatrix is always barking orders at someone or another, so I don’t bother to look up. Then I feel her moving my chair and find her beckoning me with a finger. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“On a walk.”
I don’t have the energy to argue, and everyone else is still chatting with Graham, so I follow her out of the barn. She doesn’t slow her pace until we’ve rounded the backside and turned onto a path that winds through a stand of apple trees.
“These should have been picked by now.” Beatrix points at the trees still bearing fruit.
“Is that my responsibility too? I’ll get right on it.” Sarcasm is all I have left.
My sister smacks my shoulder. “You’re a pain in the ass, but I love you. Sit.” She points at a bench under a particularly full tree. Maybe she’s hoping I’ll get pummeled by apples. I sit anyway, and she stands in front of me like a lecturing parent.
“I hate seeing you this way, but I love that you’re in love.”
Shaking my head, I squint at her because she’s positioned herself with the sun at her back. She moves to the side, and I can see her face, which is filled with concern, not judgment. It’s the only reason I indulge whatever she has to say.
“Glad you’re happy,” I gripe.
“Whatever happened between you, fix it, Dash.”
“There’s nothing to fix. It’s a fake marriage, and she’s out for herself, just like you guys all said.” I hate having to admit it. I hate that it’s true.
Beatrix shakes her head. “I was wrong about that. We were wrong. From what you told me, she’s in a tough spot because of that a-hole ex, but she’s trying to do right by you. Mallory loves you, and you need to get over yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“Don’t ‘whatever’ me.”
“Trix, when you don’t know what you’re talking about, you should really mind your own business.” My siblings have a lot of nerve, and I’m done with all of it.
“You are my business. And I do know what I’m talking about. Mallory loves you, and if she had to make a business decision, you need to separate those two things.”
I hate arguing with Beatrix because she’s persuasive and always ends up winning, but I like what she’s saying about love. “Why do you keep insisting she loves me? All evidence points to the contrary.”
“I saw it in her face on your wedding day. Plus, she told me.”
This is news. I perk up for the first time. “She did?”
“Yes, dumbass. She’s as helpless in love with you as you are with her, so be the bigger person and apologize for assuming the worst about her.”
The words sting. In all my hurt and sadness, I hadn’t realized that I’m guilty of exactly what people have been doing to me for years—judging Mallory incorrectly.
I feel awful, but for the first time in a week, I feel something else—hope. If my dad taught me anything, it’s that I’m a good judge of character. Only I didn’t trust my gut when it mattered, and I took it out on the woman I love more than anyone.
But I can fix this. It’s time to stop making life more complicated than it needs to be.