Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Sylva, Main Street
Catch my Draft Bar & Grill
The neon sign buzzed softly above the entrance.
CATCH MY DRAFT
Aubrey stopped on the sidewalk and looked up. “You brought me to a place called Catch My Draft.”
Bennett held the door open, his large frame framing the warm light from within. “I warned you about the trout.”
“How unfortunate?”
“Mounted.”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, his eyes raking over her cream blazer and the glimpse of black silk beneath it. “Come on, Princess.”
Burgers sizzled on the grill while ceiling fans turned lazily overhead. Country music drifted beneath the hum of voices. Every booth seemed filled with people who knew each other by name, knew each other's families, and had probably been eating here for years.
Conversation dipped for half a second when they walked in. Not enough to be rude. Just long enough for Aubrey to notice.
As they threaded through the crowded floor, Bennett stepped up behind her.
His hand settled flat against the small of her back—warm, heavy, and possessive right through the thin, slick silk of her camisole.
The sudden friction of his calloused palm against her spine sent a violent spike of heat straight down to her thighs and wiped out any chance of playing it cool before they even reached the table.
Behind the bar, a man in a faded ball cap looked up from drying a glass. Mid-thirties, dark beard—good-looking in a rough, outdoorsy way.
Recognition flashed across his face. “Well, hey there.”
Bennett let out a low sigh, his hand pressing once against the small of her back before dropping away.
The bartender ignored him, his eyes moving to Aubrey. “You must be Aubrey.”
She laughed softly, her skin still buzzing where Bennett’s hand had been. “Is everyone in Jackson County expecting me?”
“Pretty much.” He stepped around the end of the bar and offered his hand. “Mike Stevens.”
“Aubrey Langford.”
“Welcome to Sylva.” His handshake was firm. Easy. Comfortable. Then his expression softened. “Sorry about Mabel.”
The sincerity in his voice surprised her. No curiosity. No gossip. Just kindness. Aubrey felt her throat tighten before she could stop it. “Thank you.”
Mike nodded once. “She was good people.” For a second, something quiet passed through the conversation—the kind of moment that only happens in small towns, where grief doesn’t have to be explained because everybody already knows where it lives.
Then Mike looked at Bennett, something amused flickering in his eyes. “Booth?”
“Booth,” Bennett said.
Mike grabbed two menus from behind the bar. As Bennett turned toward the corner, Mike leaned across the bar so that Aubrey couldn’t quite hear him. “She’s pretty.”
Bennett didn’t break stride. “Good night, Mike.”
Mike barked out a laugh. “Didn’t ask a question.”
“Didn’t need to.”
Aubrey slid into the booth, her knees accidentally brushing Bennett’s beneath the small table. Heat bled through her trousers from the contact, but neither of them moved away.
She narrowed her eyes. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Men are terrible liars.”
“Good thing I’m not trying very hard.”
Before she could respond, Mike appeared beside the table with two glasses of water and menus. “Y’all want the usual?”
Bennett looked across the table, his gold-flecked eyes locking onto hers. “You eat burgers?”
“That is a deeply offensive question.”
“She eats burgers,” Bennett told Mike.
“Good.” Mike pointed his pen at Aubrey. “We like women with sense around here.”
“I didn’t say I had sense.”
Mike grinned. “You came in with him. Figured that was already questionable.”
Aubrey laughed before she could stop herself. Bennett leaned back, his broad shoulders filling the leather booth, looking entirely unimpressed.
“You done?”
“Not even close.” Mike looked at Aubrey. “Draft burger is the safest bet. Fries are good. Onion rings are better. Do not let him talk you into the jalapeno slaw unless you enjoy regret.”
“I heard that,” Bennett said.
“You were meant to.”
Aubrey closed the menu. “Draft burger. Onion rings. No regret slaw.”
Mike looked pleased. “Smart woman.”
Bennett handed him the menu. “Same for me.”
“Beer?”
“Yeah.”
Mike glanced at Aubrey. She hesitated. “What do people drink here when they’re pretending they fit in?”
Mike’s smile widened. “Cold beer.”
“Then cold beer.”
Bennett’s eyes flicked back to hers, a sudden, heavily hooded warmth moving through his expression before he looked away. Mike noticed, of course, and left before Bennett could threaten him again.
Aubrey settled back against the cracked leather booth and looked around. Old photos lined the walls. The infamous trout hung above the far corner, mouth open in eternal judgment.
She pointed at it. “That fish has seen things.”
“Most of them illegal.”
She smiled despite herself. A man in a feed-store cap on his way to the bar lifted a hand. “McCrae.”
“Tom.”
“How’s that lower Merlot block holding?”
“Better than your back field after that last rain.”
Tom snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.” He tipped his chin at Aubrey, then moved on. An older woman with silver hair touched Bennett lightly on the shoulder as she passed.
“You tell Zack I’ve got those jars ready for his mama.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Good boy.” She disappeared toward the bar.
Aubrey blinked, a wicked smile finally breaking through her corporate shield. “She called you good boy.”
“Don’t start.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
“I am showing admirable restraint.”
His mouth twitched, his gaze dropping to her lips, tracking the curve of her smile with a heavy, dangerous intensity that made her mouth go dry.
Their burgers arrived piled high on paper-lined baskets. Aubrey took one bite and immediately closed her eyes. “Oh.”
Bennett watched her, his voice dropping an octave. “That good?”
“I hate that it is.”
Mike passed by with a pitcher of beer and grinned. “Told you.”
Aubrey picked up an onion ring. “This place is ridiculous.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean that as a compliment.”
“I know.”
For a while, they ate without arguing. It should have felt awkward, but with their knees continually grazing beneath the tight table, the silence felt heavily loaded instead.
Bennett asked if she’d survived Walter’s ledgers.
She told him she now understood why French oak should require congressional approval.
He told her half the winery’s profit was basically aging in barrels that cost more than used cars.
She tilted her head. “That explains your personality.”
He laughed into his beer, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through the table.
The front door opened, and Savannah stepped inside carrying a takeout bag, Chloe following close behind. Savannah stopped dead the second she spotted them.
“Oh my God.”
Aubrey closed her eyes. “No.”
Chloe looked from Aubrey to Bennett, her eyes widening. “Oh, this is interesting.”
Bennett took a slow drink of beer. “It’s dinner.”
Savannah approached the booth like she was witnessing a rare phenomenon. “You’re eating together.”
Aubrey lifted a hand, trying to sound executive. “Temporary peace treaty.”
Savannah looked at Bennett. “Blink twice if she’s threatening you.”
“She’s been surprisingly tolerable.”
Aubrey gasped. “That is not a compliment.”
“From him?” Chloe said. “That’s basically poetry.”
Savannah clutched her takeout bag to her chest. “I’m proud of both of you.”
“Leave,” Bennett said.
Savannah grinned. “Gladly. I have pad thai and no emotional repression waiting at home.”
Chloe looked at Aubrey. “For what it’s worth, the burger was the right call.”
“I’m learning the culture.”
“Careful,” Savannah said, her eyes twinkling. “Next thing you know, you’ll own boots.”
Bennett’s gaze dropped instantly, tracking slowly down the length of Aubrey’s legs beneath the table to where her bare ankles showed above her loafers. Aubrey noticed, her pulse giving a kick. Savannah noticed too, naturally, her smile widening slowly.
“And on that note, we’re leaving before someone says something revealing.”
“Too late,” Chloe murmured.
They disappeared toward the door, both women laughing. Aubrey looked back at Bennett, her face slightly flushed. “You realize your entire staff is deranged.”
“They’re loyal.”
“That too.” The words landed softer than she intended.
Bennett held her gaze, the teasing vanishing from his face, replaced by a raw, heavy gravity. He looked down at his beer.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “They are.”
Aubrey studied him across the table—the rough, calloused hands around the bottle, the tired lines around his eyes, the way people kept stopping to speak to him like he was woven into the framework of this place. At Blackwood, he was intimidating. Here, he was rooted.
The distinction unsettled her deeply.
After dinner, Bennett dropped cash on the table and stood, his towering height immediately dominating her view. “Come on.”
Aubrey reached for her purse. “Where now?”
“You’ve seen Blackwood.” He nodded toward the stairs leading up to the roof. “You haven’t seen Sylva.”
Upstairs
Sky Bar 9:06 PM
The rooftop terrace overlooked the whole town.
Aubrey stepped through the glass doors and stopped cold, the night air brushing against her bare neck.
Below them, Main Street glowed beneath strings of warm white lights, its brick storefronts and old lampposts stretching toward the courthouse like spokes leading to the heart of the town.
The broad staircase climbed the grassy hillside in a dramatic sweep, ending beneath towering white columns crowned by a gleaming copper dome.
Behind it, the Blue Ridge Mountains layered into the distance beneath a sky brushed with pink, lavender, and fading gold, making the whole town look less like a place on a map and more like something remembered.
The view stole her breath. “Oh.”
Bennett came to stand right behind her, his large frame blocking out the mountain breeze, wrapping her in his heat. “Told you.”
She didn’t move away. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything.