Chapter 14 - Brenna
brENNA
Istood in front of the mirror, holding my third outfit option up while Atticus sat on the bed, his expression amused but distracted. The navy dress felt too formal. The jeans-and-blouse combo seemed too casual. Nothing felt right for meeting his parents as his girlfriend or whatever I was now.
“The green sweater,” he said without glancing up from his phone. “It’s my favorite.”
“You didn’t even look.”
His gaze lifted, and for a moment, that familiar heat flickered between us. Then his phone buzzed again, and his attention shifted back to the screen. A frown creased his forehead before he quickly smoothed it away. “Still my favorite.”
“Everything okay?” I asked, pulling the sweater over my head.
“Just Kodiak being Kodiak. Apparently, he’s already planned Emma’s entire day tomorrow, including three different coffee shops he ‘happens’ to know she’ll love.” He pocketed his phone, but not before I caught him typing something with more intensity than discussing coffee shops warranted.
“That man needs a hobby.”
“He has one. It’s called annoying Emma Sinclair.”
But as we headed downstairs, I noticed the tension in his shoulders and the way he kept checking his phone when he thought I wasn’t looking. In the five days since we’d become whatever we were—lovers, partners, complicated—I’d learned to read his moods.
But actually, that wasn’t true. I’d learned to read him years ago. Back when I first started hanging on his every word and studying his every expression. Right now, despite his jokes about Kodiak, Atticus was worried about something.
“We should stop for flowers,” I said as we got into the BMW. “I can’t show up empty-handed.”
“Not necessary, but if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.”
“Atticus.” I put my hand on his arm. “It will.”
He managed a genuine smile. “Right. There’s a florist in St. Helena.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
He’d put the car in gear, but then shifted back to park. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“It seems like something’s on your mind, and I know it isn’t Emma’s favorite coffee.”
He sighed and brought my hand to his lips. “I just hope they don’t overdo it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how your mother asked about wedding reception food?”
“Yeah?”
“That.”
The drive north took us through the morning fog that clung to the valley floor, burning off as we climbed into wine country.
Atticus pointed out landmarks from his childhood—the creek where he’d learned to fish, the oak tree he’d fallen from and broken his arm, the old general store that still sold penny candy that now cost a quarter.
“We used to bike here every Saturday,” he said, gesturing to an ice cream shop. “Nicole would buy us cones with her babysitting money.”
“That’s sweet.”
“She held it over my head for years. Every argument ended with, ‘Remember all those ice cream cones I bought you?’”
I laughed, but noticed his smile didn’t reach his eyes. At the florist, while I selected a mixed bouquet of dahlias and roses, he stood by the window, typing on his phone again.
“Those are perfect,” he said when I showed him the arrangement, though I doubted he’d really looked at them.
The final stretch to his parents’ winery took us off the main highway onto a winding road lined with olive trees. My nervousness, which had been simmering all morning, reached a full boil.
“What if they aren’t happy about this?”
“Impossible.”
“I’m serious. I’m your old roommate’s younger sister. It’s weird.”
That got a real laugh from him. “Trust me, that doesn’t scratch the surface of weird, sweetheart.”
I groaned. “I don’t think I even want to know.”
“You’re right. You don’t. Let’s just say the embassy had to issue a formal apology, and I’m still not allowed in several parts of Budapest.”
“Actually, I think Luke told me that story.”
“Figures,” he muttered. “Anyway, they’re going to be just as happy about you and me being together as Luke and your parents are.”
“Promise?”
Atticus rested his hand on my thigh. “I know this won’t help, but I’m the one who loves you, Brenna. Me. I know my family already loves you, but even if they didn’t, I do.”
Before I could say anything else, we turned through the stone gates marked “Finch Ridge Winery.” The driveway curved through rows of grapevines before opening to reveal a craftsman-style house with wide porches and views across the valley.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
“Fifty acres, mostly Cabernet and Merlot. After Dad retired from the Air Force, he and my mom took over this place. It’s been in my father’s family for three generations.”
The front door opened before we reached it, and Leslie Finch emerged, looking much as I remembered—same sharp cheekbones as her son, silver hair that had been darker years ago, wearing jeans and a pottery-stained apron.
“Brenna!” She pulled me into a hug before I could offer her the flowers. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”
“Hi, Leslie. Thank you for having me.”
“You’ve always been welcome here. I’m just glad Mason finally talked you into visiting.” She winked at her son, who actually blushed. “By the way, your father’s in the barrel room. Go help him with something.”
“Mom—”
“Go. Brenna and I need to catch up properly.”
Atticus shot me an apologetic look before heading toward the stone building to the right of the house. Leslie linked her arm through mine and led me inside.
“Coffee? Tea? Wine?”
“Tea would be lovely, thank you.”
She bustled around the kitchen in a way that reminded me of my mom. “I have to admit, when Mason called yesterday, saying he was bringing you, I nearly dropped the phone. In a good way, of course.”
“It’s, um, new.”
Leslie studied me with those penetrating eyes. “Yes, and no. Your mom and I predicted you’d end up together when the boys graduated.”
Before I could process that revelation, male voices approached from outside. Atticus entered with his father.
“Brenna! So good to see you.” He pulled me into an embrace. “About time, I might add.”
“Dad—” Atticus started.
“What? It’s true.”
“Where is everybody?” a voice called from the doorway. Nicole walked in, taller than I remembered, with Atticus’ coloring.
“Brenna!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug. “God, it’s been years.” Joslyn was right behind her, and after we embraced, they introduced their husbands.
“Who’s hungry?” Leslie asked, pulling things out of the refrigerator and assigning tasks to everyone. I was responsible for the salad dressing.
“The trick is the mustard,” she said as I whisked the ingredients the recipe called for, then added a dollop to my mixture. “It helps everything emulsify. Like a good relationship—you need something to bind the different elements together.”
“Mom, please don’t turn salad dressing into a metaphor,” Nicole called from across the kitchen.
“Everything’s a metaphor if you’re creative enough,” Leslie shot back.
After lunch, Atticus’ father led us to the barrel room. He stopped at one and ran his hand along its curve. “Six-year-old Cabernet. It was our best year.”
“What made it special?” I asked.
He glanced at his son. “It was the year Mason came home safe from his last deployment. Every bottle from that harvest tastes like gratitude.”
Atticus shifted uncomfortably at the emotion in his dad’s voice. When he squeezed his son’s shoulder, it brought tears to my eyes, remembering how my parents and I had worried about Luke every time he deployed, then celebrated when he came home safely.
We returned outside and walked through vineyards, planted in neat rows.
M stopped periodically, motioning to vines heavy with fruit.
“Almost ready for harvest,” he said, eyeing Atticus in a way that made me wonder if he wished his son had chosen to work here rather than remain in the intelligence field.
I glanced over and noticed him check his phone and scowl like he had several times before. Each time he did it and I asked what was wrong, he told me nothing. Finally, I ran out of patience. “Okay, that’s it,” I said, pulling him several feet away from his family. “What’s going on?”
“It isn’t worth ruining our day over. I promise.”
The plea in his voice made me let it go, but unease settled in my stomach.
We stayed through dinner, which was Travis’ production.
Nicole presented each course with the same flair I imagined she used at their restaurant in downtown Calistoga.
The main course, duck, was tender and pink, the vegetables artfully arranged, and the wine pairings had obviously been selected with care.
“Everything was fabulous,” I said as I finished the mandarin-orange panna cotta served for dessert. “It must be hard to get a reservation at your place.”
“Travis recently received two James Beard nominations,” Nicole said proudly.
“Not that I won,” Travis muttered.
“The judges were bribed. I’m certain of it,” Leslie joked, raising a glass in Travis’ direction.
“Thanks, Mom,” he responded. I loved that he called her that, knowing my parents would want it the same way.
Stories from the past mixed with present updates. Joslyn’s husband told veterinary emergency stories—the parrot that wouldn’t stop cursing in Italian, the iguana that ate someone’s wedding rings, the cat that was secretly two cats that the owner kept switching.
“Wait, what?” I asked about the last one.
“She had two identical cats,” Keith explained. “She’d bring one in, then switch them and bring the other, claiming the first one was still sick.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“One had a black mark on his stomach that the other didn’t. It took me three visits to notice.”
“Remember Mason’s cats?” said Nicole, nudging her brother.
“Oh God, not this story,” Atticus groaned.
“Seventeen cats,” Leslie said.
“It was not seventeen,” he protested.
“Seventeen,” M confirmed. “I counted.”
“I was running a feline witness protection program,” he said with complete seriousness. “Very classified.”
“You were nine,” his mother said.
“Age is irrelevant in intelligence ops.”
“Is that what you told the neighbors when the cats had kittens in their shed?” Joslyn asked.
“I told them it was a matter of national security.”
“Mrs. Henderson didn’t buy it,” Nicole laughed.
“Mr. Henderson saluted,” Atticus countered.
As we prepared to leave, Leslie pulled me aside while Atticus loaded the car with the copious amounts of food she’d insisted we take.
“It’s wonderful to see you two together,” she said, hugging me tightly. “You’ll make each other very happy. I’m certain of it.”
The sisters made Atticus promise to bring me for another visit again soon.
As we drove away, I watched the house disappear in the darkness. The warmth of being with Atticus’ family was quickly eclipsed by his tension.
“Pull over,” I finally said.
“What?”
“Pull over. You promised you’d tell me what’s wrong.”
He found a scenic overlook and parked. The valley stretched below us, with lights twinkling like scattered stars. For a long moment, he just stared out at the view.
“There’s been intel coming in throughout the day,” he finally said. “Morrison’s team has been pulling public information on Bay Area tech companies. Over fifty that Emma and Alice have identified so far.”
“That makes sense. He’s casting a wide net.”
“Luke’s company was on the list.”
“But along with fifty others?”
“Yeah. It’s just standard opposition research. Public records, company filings, that sort of thing. Nothing invasive.”
“But it bothers you that they even looked.”
“Of course it does.” He ran a hand through his hair. “There’s more. When Kodiak was cross-referencing conference attendance, he found that Trevor Collins attended a blockchain summit six months ago. Castellano was one of the speakers.”
I absorbed this information, understanding now why he’d been distracted all day. These were tiny dots that probably didn’t connect—a company name on a long list, an attendance at a conference with hundreds of others in the industry.
“What Luke and Trevor do is far outside the profile of the type of tech companies Morrison recruits.”
“I agree. I just hate that your brother is even in the same universe as these people.”
As we drove back to Sausalito, I thought about tomorrow’s departure for Valley Ridge Resort. Morrison would make his real pitch this weekend, and I hoped what we learned would give us some ammunition to take down his operation.
Once at the safe house, Atticus did his security check while I unpacked the food Leslie had sent—enough for several meals.
As we continued through our nighttime routine—checking emails and confirming logistics for tomorrow—I couldn’t shake what Atticus had told me.
I still believed it made sense that Morrison would look into Redpoint, particularly since Luke and Trevor were attending the AI summit.
However, the prosecutor in me worried that, sometimes, things that seem like nothing turn into something if close enough attention wasn’t paid.
“We’re both overthinking, and we need to stop if we’re going to get any sleep,” Atticus said, pulling me against him as we got into bed.
“I know,” I agreed, resting my head on his chest and praying my initial reaction was right.