Page 25 of Blush Crush

He nods vigorously, sending the ball he just threw at me a little off course. I run to chase it, barely snagging it before it hits the ground.

“Yeah. Dad always plays with me. Even when he’s tired. I think he really likes playing catch.”

Considering the only thing that stood between Wyatt and the major leagues was a career-ending tear in his shoulder, I’d say him enjoying a game of catch with his son is a fair assumption.

But I also know he didn’t pick up a baseball again until Danny started showing interest, which tells me it’s probably less about the game and more about his son.

We toss the ball back and forth for a bit longer until my mom calls us inside for dinner.

These days it’s not always easy for all of us to find time to get together for a meal, but with Wyatt visiting from Seattle, we made it work.

Inside, my mom and Wela are at the stove, bickering over the rice. Wela insists it needs more tomato. My mom insists it’s already perfect.

“Perfect?” Wela scoffs, waving the wooden spoon like a weapon. “Hija, this is not perfect. This is how you make rice when you’re in a hurry.”

“We are in a hurry,” my mom shoots back. “Everyone’s already here.”

Blake squeezes past me to peek into the pot. “It smells good.”

Wela softens instantly, patting his cheek. “Of course it smells good. Your Wela made it.”

My mom rolls her eyes but she’s smiling. Honestly, the rice could be burnt to a crisp and no one here would complain. We know better than to insult food in front of our grandmother. Food is her love language.

Nora and Levi are already seated at the table, sitting beside my dad, who’s in deep conversation with Wyatt.

A twinge of envy settles between my ribs. Dad and I get along fine, but I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation that wasn’t about work. He stepped down as CEO a couple of years ago, but he’s still heavily involved in the business and has plenty of opinions about our very different management styles. In a lot of ways, he’s stuck in the past—fixated on outdated methods—while I’m the one pushing for change andtechnology. I’ve made the winery more sustainable, cleaner, more environmentally conscious.

I see progress.

He sees me dismantling everything he spent his life building.

And I’m pretty sure part of him resents me for it.

I’m also pretty sure another part of him regrets putting me in charge at all. The whole family knows things were supposed to turn out differently. Instead, we’re all just doing the best we can with what’s left of us.

“Blake!” Mom calls out. “Stop eating the barbacoa straight out of the pot. I did not raise you to have such bad manners.”

Blake shrugs, shooting her a boyish grin that instantly dissolves her irritation.

There’s a reason we Benton boys have the reputation we do. Charm. Or manipulation. Depending on who you ask.

“Sit down,” Mom says, pointing her spoon at him. “All of you. Food’s ready.”

Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone shifts around the table. The dining room feels smaller than it used to, though maybe that’s just because we’re all bigger now.

Wyatt pulls Danny to sit in the chair beside him while Nora slides the bowl of rice toward Levi. Blake reaches for Wela’s homemade corn tortillas before they’ve even fully hit the table.

“Jesus, Blake,” Nora mutters. “You’re like a stray dog.”

“A handsome dog,” he corrects, already stuffing barbacoa into a tortilla.

Wela smacks the back of his head with surprising precision.

“Ay, no seas tonto. Wait until everyone is served.”

Blake winces, rubbing the spot but wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Most people have sweet grandmothers. We have one who worked her way up from picking in the fields to building a beauty salon empire with locations all over the state. After decades inthe business, she eventually sold it to a corporation and retired. But being the relentless hard worker she’s always been, she’s never exactly gone easy on her kids or grandkids. Even now, in her late seventies, she’s still incredibly sharp, quick-witted, and a feisty little thing. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t mildly terrified of her. We all are.