Chapter 3
Three
The reserve cellar was Devon's favorite place on the entire property—a cool, stone-walled sanctuary beneath the main house where their most precious bottles lay sleeping in perfect darkness.
The air smelled of oak and time, with the faint sweetness of wine that had been aging gracefully for decades.
LED strips provided just enough light to navigate between the custom-built racks without disturbing the sediment in bottles that were older than he was.
"So," Bryson said, pulling a dust-covered bottle from a rack. “How do you think our new Business Development Manager is fitting in?"
Devon looked up from his notebook, where he'd been cataloging potential auction pieces. "She's been here exactly one day, bro. Give the woman a chance to unpack her suitcase before you start grading her performance."
"I'm not grading her anything.” Bryson held up the bottle to examine the label in the dim light. "I'm asking my brother how he thinks she's adjusting. There's a difference."
“God, I hate it when you add that, there’s a difference, qualifier.
She's fine. Professional. Enthusiastic about the authentication program and premium wine lines.” Devon made another note in his book, trying to keep his voice neutral.
He loved his little brother, and for most of their lives, they’d been the best of friends.
But Bryson could often be… prickly. "Gabe seems to like her. "
"Gabe likes everyone, and he’s super nice, too. It's his fatal flaw." Bryson set the bottle carefully on the table.
“Partly because he’s always worried someone’s going to remember and remind him what his grandfather did. Murder is a big cloud to have over you,” Devon said.
“I’m aware.” Bryson rubbed the back of his neck. “Riley and Erin are handling their mother’s pending trial much better than Grant. But he blames himself, as if he did the murdering, not his mother.”
“Wouldn’t you feel the same way in his shoes?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He might have handed his father that cup of coffee, but he had no idea his mom laced it with poison,” Bryson said. “I’m tempted to ask Gabe to have a chat with Grant.”
“Might not be a bad idea. And I think Gabe and Emery have already bonded over shared trauma.”
“Your girlfriend—”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Devon glared at his brother.
"And yet, here we are, going through our collection, looking at potential bottles we might be willing to part with... because Emery thought it would be a good place to start. Which I’m totally on board with, just not at nine o’clock at night when I could be at Riley’s place, doing something else."
"It wasn't just her idea," Devon said, his voice sharpening. "Gabe's been suggesting we auction some of these off for the last couple of years. Dad was on board the moment she explained the authentication process."
Bryson raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Hey, no need to get so defensive. I was just mocking the time, not the idea. Building provenance documentation for bottles with this kind of history could set us apart from every other winery our size trying to break into the collector market.” He pulled another bottle from the rack.
"But you can't stop looking at her. And don't try to tell me there isn't something there.
Sometimes, I know you better than I know myself, and I saw the way you watched her when she worked for Pemberton, and now here, when you think no one's paying attention. .."
Devon set his notebook down with more force than necessary.
The sound echoed off the stone walls, followed by a silence that stretched between them like a held breath.
This was his brother. His best friend. His future business partner.
They might fight like cats and dogs over business decisions and other life choices, but they didn't keep secrets from each other. Not the important ones, anyway.
"Fine," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I'm attracted to her. More than attracted, if you want the truth. But we're keeping things strictly professional because that's what she wants and what she needs right now."
“What about you?”
“In this case, what I want doesn’t matter.”
“Wow.” Bryson whistled. “Don’t go throwing that pad of paper at me, but since when do you put a woman’s need in front of your own?”
“Why do you have to be such a dick?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way that came out.” Bryson’s expression softened. “All I meant was that you’ve never really had a lasting relationship. Sure, there was Gretchen, but we all knew she wasn’t going to last.”
“And why is that?”
“You didn’t love her.”
Devon chuckled. “At least I didn’t marry her.”
“This family does love to remind me of Monica,” Bryson mumbled. “Dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
“No. That was letting Riley go in the first place.” Devon waved his hand. “Now, all you have to do is convince her to marry you.”
“I thought we’d live together first,” Bryson said.
“That, I don’t understand.”
Bryson sighed. “She’s the one who wanted to take things slow. Get through the trial. Date. Do all the things we missed out on. Living together would have been one of those things.”
“Jesus, for being the smart brother, you’re really fucking stupid.” For theatrical purposes, Devon smacked his palm against his forehead. “Did you ever think that Riley might want the romance, the ring, the proposal, and the wedding? Not the shit in between?”
“She doesn’t play games.”
“I didn’t say that’s what she was doing,” Devon said. “However, I’d bet if you popped the question, her answer would surprise you.”
“This coming from a man who’s never been in love. Has no interest in getting married or having kids.” Bryson set another bottle aside and leaned against the wall. “And who’s a master at changing the subject.”
Devon smiled. “I’m rather good at the last one. But for the record, I might not have truly loved anyone, but I’m rethinking the family concept.”
“Are you serious?” Bryson’s eyes grew wide. “Because of Emery?”
“Not only because of her. I’d say some has to do with age and maturity. But if Mom heard me say that, she’d die of a fit of laughter.”
“Yeah, she thinks we’re still fourteen.” Bryson chuckled. “And Riley says that sometimes when we’re together, we act like grown men in diapers.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“No jokes. No judgment. Just brothers.” Bryson gave Devon that look that reminded him of their father.
Furrowed brow. Tense lips. The look that said, you can trust me, but wait five minutes, and I’ll find ways to poke fun.
It was the Boone way. It drove Devon crazy.
“You really care about Emery, don’t you? ”
“I haven’t been able to get her out of my brain for months.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say I want more than a working relationship.
More than friendship. It’s not fair that her career got destroyed by some asshole's greed, and now she has to choose between rebuilding her reputation and.
.." He gestured helplessly at nothing. "This is why I don't usually talk to you about women. "
"Because I make too much sense?"
"Because I’m always waiting for the punchline.”
“No ball busting. Promise,” Bryson said. “You were there for me when Monica nearly destroyed me. I know what it's like to want something you can't have, to watch the person you care about struggle with impossible choices."
There was weight in his words that spoke to his own complicated history with Riley and the years they'd spent apart because timing had been wrong in so many ways.
"Give her time," Bryson continued. "Let her get a solid understanding of our business—how we work. Let her rebuild her reputation and prove to herself that she can succeed here. Then make your move."
Devon stared at his brother. "I’m not used to this side of you. Must be the Riley factor.”
“Having her back in my life has changed me. It’s also reminded me that timing matters. We’re asking Emery to take huge professional risks, and she needs our help to rebuild her career. We need to let that breathe."
"So, what are you saying? Wait six months? A year? Until she doesn't need the job anymore and can tell us all to go to hell if she wants?"
"I'm saying wait until she's confident in her place here.
Until she knows she's valued for her work, not just because she's sleeping with the boss.
" Bryson pulled another bottle from the rack, examining the vintage date.
"Trust me on this—nothing kills a relationship faster than one person feeling like they can't succeed without the other person's protection. "
Devon considered this, remembering the careful distance Emery had maintained during their tour, the way she'd pulled back when he'd kissed her in the vineyard. She'd been clear about her boundaries, about what she needed to feel safe in order to take this risk.
"When did you get so wise about relationships?" he asked.
"When I spent twelve years regretting every stupid thing I did wrong the first time around.
" Bryson set the bottle on the table next to the others.
"Riley and I could have had something amazing if we'd been smarter about timing, about priorities—which is why I’m not rushing this proposal.
It has to be perfect. Don't make the same mistakes I did. "
“Wait a second.” Devon stood and closed the gap. “Are you planning to ask Riley to marry you?”
“I might be.” Bryson poked his brother in the chest. “But if you ruin this for me, I’ll kick your ass.”
Devon raised his hands and backed up with a smile on his face. “I just want to be there to watch you stumble over your non-existent romantic words.”
“Ye of little faith.” Bryson didn’t look up, but he did smile.
That was telling.