Chapter 9
“Are you okay, bro?”
My little brother Wyatt gives me a concerned stare, no doubt wondering why I’m zoned out, staring into nothingness. His voice shakes me out of my funk. I blink my eyes hard, willing myself to refocus on my task. These cases won’t pack themselves with wine. T-minus eight hours until I see Audrey again at the happy hour tonight.
“Yeah, sorry, I was just zoning out.” He can tell I’m lying, and since he loves being all up in my business, he doesn’t stop probing.
“You’re such a liar. Audrey Winthrop comes into town and she has you so fucked up. What’s it been? Nine years since you’ve seen her?” he smirks.
“Ten,” I reply dryly.
All night, I thought about her green eyes. She kneed me in the balls, and weirdly enough, I liked it. Don’t get me wrong, it hurt like hell. But it showed me that the feisty, playful, free-spirited girl I knew was still in there. She can try to hide it with hair dye and heavy makeup. But I see her.
That was us in the driveway. Just two kids who never got the chance to love each other to the fullest. And god, I want that chance again.
“Damn. Does Dad know?”
Wyatt knows everything that went down between my dad and me on graduation night. He demanded I tell him what was going on when I started avoiding all family functions and hardly ever came home. I lived with Logan until I left for summer soccer training at UC Davis.
It took some time, but I finally realized that my distance wasn’t just a punishment for my dad—it hurt everyone impacted by the shrapnel of our blowout. I had promised Wyatt and Kerry a summer of brotherly bonding, and when I fell short, Wyatt was the one who held me accountable. So, I made a pact with my brothers that no matter what was happening between my dad and me, it wouldn’t take away from our time together. I started coming home from university once a month just to have our brother bonding time.
I wanted to live up to James and what an amazing big brother he was to us. I owed it to Wyatt and Kerry.
“Yeah, he knows. I mean, he’s not stupid. Violet just died, so I’m sure he can piece together that Audrey would come home for Noah,” I state very matter-of-fact. He nods, helping me load supplies for tonight in my truck.
“He’s trying, you know. He’s changed, Donovan. Give him a chance.”
Wyatt may be right, but my father and I have never seen eye to eye. Our relationship, although better than before, is still strained.
“I just need time, Wy,” I grumble, wanting this conversation to be over.
My brother stops loading the truck and turns to face me, crossing his arms over his chest. I sigh and give him my attention.
“You’ve had time, D. Don’t pull away. Not after James. He needs you.”
I remain stoic, clenching my jaw.
“All Dad did my whole life was compare me to James in everything. Sports, grades, manners, you name it,” I mutter, the frustration building in my tone. “Nothing I did was good enough for him, and after James died, he shut me out then fucked me over,” I huff out, breathing harder than I intended.
Wyatt props himself up on the tailgate of my truck and pats his hand on the space next to him. I remain standing and he rolls his eyes.
“You’re fucking stubborn, just like him. It’s called grief, D. And yes, I agree, what he made you do was fucked up. But Audrey is here now,” he says softly, making me wonder where my grumpy little brother went. “Time heals our grief, but that doesn’t mean we forget. I fucking miss him, too. I know he was your best friend…” His voice trails, not able to find the words.
He sits quietly, his eyes fixed on a stray cork on the ground. I slide into the space next to him and sling my arm over his shoulder. “You’re my best friend, Wy,” I say while pointing to his heart. He gives me a weak smile.
“I just don’t want our family to drift further apart. Please, Donovan. Make it right? Talk to Dad?”
When I look into his eyes, I see that little kid who looked at me like I’d hung the moon.
“Okay. For you.” I elbow him in the rib and kiss the top of his head.
“He’s hurting about Violet too, Donovan. We all are.”
He balls his hand into a fist and bops my knee, sliding off the tailgate to continue loading the truck. I look down at my work boots and ride out the wave of grief that hits me.
Violet’s death impacted our small town. She was the heartbeat, spreading goodness and joy to everyone who knew her. She and Noah were there for me when everything came crashing down with Audrey—and never once did they spite me for it.
I found out that Audrey left for New York two weeks after our night together, and every time I’d come home I’d visit Violet and Noah almost every day. I never told them what happened, but it didn’t matter to them. They gave me grace when I needed it. Being with them made me feel closer to her. I know when she left for New York as soon as she did, it was my doing.
During the five years my father was in business with Duke Taylor, I wanted nothing to do with it. So, when I graduated from school with a degree in viticulture and enology, I decided to work directly with Noah as his assistant winemaker at the Winthrop Family Winery. My father was disappointed, but he had no right to be upset.
The following year, shit hit the fan with Duke after his arrest. My dad pleaded with Noah to work together again and begged for his forgiveness. Noah said that there was nothing to forgive, because that’s the man Noah Winthrop is. He’s the most respectable person I know—steadfast and humble—and he brought my family back into his life with open arms.
I slide off the tailgate to help Wyatt with the final cases to load. We work in silence, and I glance up once in a while to look at my brother with admiration.
The best thing about this job is hands down working side by side with Wyatt. Tonight will be a testament to our hard work and the love that Noah and Violet literally poured into this wine. I’m honored that Wyatt and I had a part in it.
We harvested a fucking great batch of grapes in 2018, and now the town gets to have a taste of Violet’s Vintage. A wine that represents resilience, love, and family. A wine that I’m proud of. A wine for the angel and saint that she is: Violet Winthrop.
“What do you think, Jojo? You want it facing this way or on the other side?” Wyatt and I hold up the banner.
Winthrop Wine Happy Hour: In Loving Memory of Violet Winthrop 1945–2024
Josie holds her finger to her mouth like she is putting a lot of thought into this. We want it to look perfect for when Noah arrives—and Audrey, too…selfishly.
Wyatt’s arms extend way above his head. He huffs out in annoyance, “Josie, come on, you’ve had us holding this sign forever. Just pick a damn spot.”
She completely ignores him, earning a snicker from me.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Put it on the other side across the bar, next to the stage. That should be good.” She glares at my brother and sticks her tongue out at him. He mimics her, earning an eye roll from Josie before she returns to setting up her instruments for the performance later.
“Hey Josie, if you sing off-key tonight, I’ll boo,” Wyatt teases.
“Bite me, Wyatt.” Josie gives him the finger.
“You wish.” He puckers his lips, and I slap the back of his head.
“Stop fucking messing with her and help me finish this, dickhead.” We laugh while trying to nut check each other, acting like we did when we were boys.
We pin up the sign and admire our work. My heart squeezes reading Violet’s name with an end date on her life. Death is weird. The same pain that wrenches for Violet hits again as I think about James. Duller, but still achey.
He was my big bear, and I was his little bear—nicknames that stuck since we were kids when we’d play pretend animals, and I’d claim myself as the little version of whatever he was. The times I’d visit James’s grave, I’d stare deep into the date of death on his headstone. How is it that one day, you’re laughing, dreaming about the future? And the next, you’re six feet under with an expiration date to your life.
Wyatt puts his arm around me, reading my mind.
“I know she’s up there with James. He’d be really proud of you.”
My arm crosses over my chest, and I rest my hand on his, smiling. “Yeah, I sure hope so.”
The door swings open and my youngest brother Kerry walks in with two bags in tow. Josie gives him a wave as he makes his way toward us.
“Hey fuckers, look what I got!” he smirks in classic Kerry fashion, thrusting the bags out for us to examine.
“Disposable cameras?” Wyatt asks with his eyebrow arched.
“Dude, yes! I bought like twenty. I thought it would be cool if we left a couple at each table for everyone to take their own pictures tonight.” He walks back out the door and returns momentarily with a wooden box. “Then when they’re done, they drop it off in here and I can develop them tomorrow morning. Cool, right?”
I grin at my youngest brother, admiring his creativity. He’s a talented photographer with a great eye. Our dad wanted him to go to school for business or marketing to help with the vineyard, but he got a full ride to UCLA after winning a national photography contest. Seeing him walk the stage at graduation, art degree in hand, is one of the proudest moments of my life.
I grip his shoulder and say, “Very cool, kid. You can put them on the tables. Wy and I already set them up earlier.”
“Thanks, big bro. Love you,” he replies, smiling from ear to ear.
Kerry is our sunshine boy. He’s always happy, the glass always half full. Wyatt, on the other hand, is a grumpy motherfucker, but fiercely loyal with a sensitive heart. He skipped out on college to stay behind with Dad and help with the vineyard, training under Jeff, our longtime vineyard manager, who finally retired after thirty years. Wyatt spends most of his days outside in the dirt, maintaining the entire property. His job is vital to the success of the family business, and he played a large part in helping with the harvest that cultivated Violet’s Vintage.
I finish setting up while Wyatt and Kerry sit at the bar chatting with Jackson, Kerry’s best friend. He bartends down the street at Siren’s Flask, the only bar in town. He came to help with the wine tasting tonight because he loved Violet, too. Everyone did.
“Hey boys, I’m gonna change in my car. Guests are arriving soon, so make sure every group gets a flight of three reds and three whites. More wine is stacked in the back if you need, Jack,” I shout behind me as I make my way out the door. Jackson gives me a salute, and my brothers nod in my direction.
The sun dips lower into the sky and a crisp breeze blows gently as I walk through the back parking lot. I unlock the driver’s seat door of my trusty blue Ford truck. It’s a 1994 Ford F-150, my baby through thick and thin. I bought it with my own cash at sixteen and fixed her up with spare parts from a junkyard. It’s an old truck, but I take good care of it, and I can’t seem to let it go.
I slip the shirt off my back to change for the party and spot the duffle bag I brought on the passenger seat floor. As I round the corner of my tailgate, I notice Audrey standing at her car a few feet away, eyes fixated on my bare chest.
I know an eye fuck when I see one.
She’s frozen in space, arms and legs crossed, as if binding her limbs tightly together might hold in her expression. But her smirk gives her away. She definitely likes what she sees. I puff out my chest and flex my abs subtly, plastering a grin on my face. My hands slip into the front pockets of my jeans and I jut my chin out toward her.
“Like what you see, Mouse?” I tease, intending to rile her up. I can’t help myself.
“Spend all night icing your balls, Donovan?” she quips. Her eyebrow raises at me, and she walks toward the coffee shop with sass and fire. I hate to watch her walk away, but damn, her body looks delectable in her tight jeans and knee-high boots.
She’s wearing her hair down and straight tonight, and it ribbons through the air as she saunters off. I catch a whiff of her strawberry scent in the breeze. I chuckle and grab my duffle bag to put on a fitting black polo before I rush over to catch up with her.
“Audrey, wait up!” I shout.
She keeps walking, her pace not slowing for me. I jog next to her and match her stride.
“Where’s Noah?” I ask. She gives me the side-eye like she’s annoyed I’m invading her space. I mean, I kind of am, but that’s beside the point.
“He’s riding with Frank Bozer. They should be here any minute.” She throws her hair behind one shoulder. “Can you, like, not walk so close to me?” she says curtly while holding her palm up to put space between us.
I make a big show of moving my feet half an inch away, punctuating the gesture with a smile and a cocked eyebrow. I’ll try anything to hear her laugh again.
God, I dream about her laugh.
She scoffs and shakes her head, moving further away from me, keeping her eyes forward. I’ll take what I can get.
“So, how long are you in town for? Or…are you home for good now?” I ask.
Please say the latter.
“Pop and I are spreading Gran’s ashes on Sunday, then back home to New York the next day.”
Damn, my heart drops at her calling New York her home.
“You are home, Mou—Audrey,” I correct myself, not wanting to annoy her more than I already have. She keeps her head down at my comment. If she’s only going to be here for a few more days, then I need to man the fuck up.
I step in front of her and block her from rounding the corner to Sip Savor. She stops in her tracks and crosses her arms, looking drop-dead gorgeous as she tilts her head and slightly pouts her lips.
“What are you doing, Donovan?” she sighs, running her fingers through her hair.
I hold out my hands for her to grab. She looks down, hesitant, but keeps her arms crossed. Stoic as ever.
“I want you to be surprised when we get to the front of the shop. Close your eyes. Please?” I beg softly. I give her my best puppy dog eyes, and a tiny smile forms on her lips.
She’s so fucking pretty.
She rolls her eyes before closing them, putting her hands in mine. A jolt of electricity zaps when we touch, fully charged. Her hands mold into mine like they were created for each other. A perfect fit.
I walk backward slowly, making sure I don’t eat shit and mess up this moment. She takes a wobbly step forward and laughs, biting her lip. I breathe out a chuckle with a beaming grin on my face. I’m glad her eyes are closed so she doesn’t see how stupid I look. Her laugh is the best sound in the world.
We get to the front of the shop and I stand behind her, adjusting her shoulders to face forward.
“Donovan, I know you’re dragging this out. Can I open my eyes now?” she asks impatiently. She sucks in a deep inhale through her nose and exhales while lulling her neck from side to side.
My arms snake around her waist from behind, and her breath hitches. I expect her to throw me off, but she doesn’t. I lean my chin on her shoulder and breathe in her sweet, floral skin.
“I hope you like what we did in there. You know, for Violet,” I murmur softly in her ear.
With her eyes still closed, she rests her hands on mine and lets me hold her, melting into my touch.
Let me just stay here a while longer.
“Open your eyes,” I whisper.
Her eyes flutter open and land on a framed black-and-white picture of Violet holding a glass of wine that rests on an easel by the door. She turns her head to face me with teary eyes, and I squeeze her tighter.
“Kerry took that picture of her one night at Siren’s Flask. He’s a photographer now. Violet loved happy hour with the boys,” I chuckle, basking in the good times we had when Violet and Mrs. Dickson would crash our boys’ nights at the bar. Her gaze stays fixed on the picture as she leans her head back on my chest. It takes everything in me to stop myself from kissing her.
“I love it. Thank you, Donovan.”
Anything for you, Mouse.
“You’re welcome.”