Chapter 3
Cole
THAT SHIP HAS SAILED
“What crawled up your ass?” Blake asks, wearing the smug smile only a little brother could perfect. An annoying one at that.
“Nothing,” I grit as I scroll through the endless emails awaiting my reply.
He slumps down across from me, kicking his muddy boots up on my desk. I reach over and shove them off without taking my eyes off the screen.
“Yeah, sure.” He snorts.
Blake is the vineyard manager—arguably a more important role than CEO, though I’d never admit that out loud. He’s the one in charge of the fruit, and without good fruit, there is no wine. No business. There’s nothing.
To his credit, he’s good at it. Better than good. He understands the land like it’s an extension of his body. He thrives out there working with his hands, being directly in the thick of it. Put him behind a desk for too long and he starts to wither.
The thing about Blake is he’s also the resident goof-off. The guy who can charm his way out of almost anything. He learned from the best, of course.
But where age has slightly matured me, Blake has remained carefree, untethered by the weight of expectation and duty. And he doesn’t get disciplined nearly enough, mostly because I’ve never quite mastered being hard on him.
I have a soft spot for all my siblings. That’s the curse of being the oldest, the one who feels responsible for everyone.
I wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I was just their dickhead brother. Until a tragedy none of us were prepared for changed everything. Our parents checked out and someone had to step up. That someone was me.
I was resentful toward our parents for a long time. I’ve since worked through it in therapy, and though I’ve forgiven them, I haven’t forgotten. And I haven’t stopped being the one constant my siblings can actually rely on.
I tend not to take much seriously—but family has always been the exception.
Blake continues to stare at me with all the patience in the world.
“If your nosy ass must know,” I start, knowing he won’t leave until I tell him something, “Kennedy and I broke things off this morning, so I’m feeling kind of off.”
He scratches his head. “Oh, yeah. I forgot you two had a thing going. That sucks.”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble.
“I just assumed you were irritated about Whitney.”
My shoulders tense. I guess that means everyone’s heard. Nora spreads family gossip faster than an outbreak.
It’s not so much that I’m irritated my ex-girlfriend is getting married at my winery—it’s that she’s sneakily gone behind my back about the whole thing, conspiring with my mother.
It’s as if everything has been determined and no one bothered to run it by me first. Makes me question if I’m actually in charge or just a figurehead my parents can hide behind.
“Nope, not irritated at all.”
Blake pushes to his feet, probably sensing my mood isn’t improving anytime soon. I don’t usually let outside shit get under my skin like this. What’s worse is that I’m annoyed in the first place—and even more annoyed that I can’t seem to shake it.
“I’ll catch you later,” he says as he exits. “And let me know who you’re going to hire for the tasting room.”
Last week, I conducted interviews for a manager, two sommeliers, and a handful of part-time candidates for the newest tasting room, but I still haven’t decided who I’m hiring.
Blake’s best friend Sierra applied for one of the part-time positions, so I’m sure that’s the real reason he’s hovering. He wants to know if she got the job.
The plan was never for me to run all the tasting room operations myself, but I’ve been dragging my feet about handing over the reins. Selfishly, because I kind of enjoy the escape it gives me from everything else.
But I can’t keep spreading myself this thin. Something’s bound to slip if I do. I’ll have to make a decision soon.
The morning continues on as usual. I alternate between the office and cellars, reviewing invoices, then checking on fermentation, then back upstairs for another call. It’s a balancing act I’ve nearly mastered in the two years I’ve acted as both CEO and head winemaker.
As I’m about to head off to open the tasting room in town, I come down the steps that lead to the lobby, taking two at a time, my mood lifting with each bounce.
There’s a mixture of conversations and laughter from the guests.
It’s not until I reach the bottom that a certain laugh in particular stands out against the rest. When my eyes land on the source, I freeze in place.
Whitney.
Like she sensed me or was expecting me, her gaze flits to mine, lips drawing into a smile.
It’s been years since I last saw her, but I’d recognize her anywhere. Icy blonde hair, honey-brown eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass, and a spark in her eyes that tells me she didn’t come here for a random visit.
And it’s all made worse by the person standing beside her. My mom.
I had a feeling Whitney and I would be seeing each other soon. I just didn’t realize how soon.
Slowly, I cross the foyer in their direction, a sense of dread settling over me.
“Cole.” Her smile widens. “Hi.”
I can feel my mom’s gaze on me, her expectant stare as she waits for me to respond. “Cole? Aren’t you going to say hello?”
A familiar tightness knots in my chest. Years of memories rush in, along with that ever-present pressure I’ve never been able to escape whenever our families were watching us interact.
Whitney and I were never allowed to simply exist—not without the assumption that it was only a matter of time.
I think we could’ve been great friends if not for the unofficial arranged marriage looming over us.
“What are you doing here?” It comes out harsher than I intended, and I notice her lips start to turn down.
Her arms cross as she stands taller. “I’m sure your mom mentioned that my fiancé and I want to get married here.”
She settles her left hand high against her arm, the diamond on her ring finger flashing like a trophy.
If she means to make me jealous, that ship has sailed. It might’ve never even existed—more like an inflatable raft that started leaking the second it hit the water.
I put on an easy grin, my gaze connecting with my mom’s. She’s the picture of innocence—you’d never know how conspiring she really is.
“Can’t say that she has. First I’m hearing about it.”
“Oh.” Whitney swallows. “I just assumed.”
“I was going to meet with you about it today,” Mom recovers smoothly.
“I’m sure you were.” I smirk.
I’m being a dick. I should probably stop. But then again, what kind of fun is that?
Still, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to make it worse—and it’ll come off wrong. I’m angry at the situation, not at anyone in particular.
“Listen, Whit, great seeing you, but I have somewhere to be.”
“I was hoping we could talk,” she blurts out before I can dart away, the smallest hint of desperation in her voice.
“Please,” she adds.
“What exactly did you want to talk about? The wedding you’ve apparently been planning without thinking to mention it to me?”
I lean back in my chair and take her in from across my desk, the door shut firmly behind her.
“I’m mentioning it now,” she defends. “You know I’ve always wanted to get married at the winery. We’re hoping for March of next year.”
My eyes roll back. “So get married at the one next door. Or one of the many wineries across the state. Doesn’t your fiancé think it’s weird you want to get married at your ex’s winery?”
Her lips tick up in a smirk. “We’re barely exes. Don’t pretend you’ve missed me all these years.” Her brow lifts, her pointed stare a playful challenge.
I try not to smile, but it finds its way out. There’s too much history between us for me to truly be mad. “I could’ve. I could’ve been pining for you this whole time.”
“Bullshit,” she says through her laughter. “You’re incapable of pining. You’re probably allergic to it.”
I huff out a laugh, but it hits somewhere tender. Especially with Kennedy’s jabs still fresh. I didn’t realize I was so goddamn sensitive.
“You could’ve just come to me—you didn’t have to go through my mother first.”
“I wasn’t intentionally going behind your back. I came here last week to talk to you, but you weren’t here. I ran into your mom, and somehow it spiraled from there. I swear, that wasn’t my plan.”
I believe her. Mostly because I haven’t exactly been around. Further proof I need to step back from the tasting room.
The past few months, I’ve fallen into a rhythm there. Gotten used to it. Used to talking to customers instead of hiding behind my desk. Used to going next door and riling up a certain coffee shop owner.
I already frequented Novel fairly often—it’s one of the few places in town to grab a drink and a quick bite—but it’s different when you’re not fighting through a rush. Different when there’s time to notice the quiet girl behind the counter.
And seeing Ariana almost daily has become one of my favorite parts of the day.
Teasing her. Getting that snarky side of her personality to emerge.
There’s something under that bubbly, customer-service smile she wears. I get the sense there’s a whole other version of her most people don’t see.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t intrigue me.
Probably an even better reason I need to focus more on company operations. If there were ever a woman I should steer clear of, it’s the youngest sister of my biggest competitor.
I clear my throat, shift forward, and rest my forearms on my desk. “So, this fiancé—he’s a good guy? Treats you right?”
Whitney exhales, her expression easing into something serene. She looks at peace, and that’s when I know he’s exactly who she needs. We were never like that—we were oil and water. Friendship was easy. Anything more, and we fell apart.
“His name is Jacob and he’s great. Puts up with my multiple personalities and still wants to marry me.”
I grin. “What more could you ask for?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She gestures around my office. “Maybe just an old friend letting me marry the love of my life at his beautiful winery.”
I drag a hand down my face. “You know I’m not going to tell you no. But I don’t want any part of it—I don’t know shit about weddings. And if I’m being honest, you’re really putting me in a difficult position.”
“How am I putting you in a difficult position? We’ll keep it small, after business hours, just immediate family—”
A humorless laugh rumbles out of me. “Have you met my mother? It’s not about the actual wedding.
You getting married here just reminds her that you’re not marrying me.
And that somehow means I need to be in a serious relationship.
She’s already constantly trying to pair me off with someone, and this whole thing will only make her worse.
I’m sure she’s working on setting me up with someone as we speak. ”
“Maybe you should listen to her. You’re not getting any younger.” There’s a teasing lilt to it, but her eyes are softer now. “Don’t you want someone to grow old with?”
“Please,” I scoff. “I’m in my prime. I’ll grow old alternating between quality tequila and fine wine, a cigar in hand. That’s all I need.”