Page 217 of Taken Away

She barely recognized the woman staring back.

She squared her shoulders and headed downstairs.

FORTY-FOUR

Blackwood Estate Winery

Thursday Evening

The afternoon sun was sinking behind the mountains by the time Aubrey stepped away from the window, her mother's words still echoing in her ears.

She left you this place with strings attached. She tied you to it.

She pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose, trying to blink away the exhaustion. That was when she saw him.

Down below, a tall silhouette broke away from the main building, cutting a path through the dimming light toward the heavy double doors of the barrel room. Bennett. He walked with that slow, unhurried mountain stride that usually grounded her, but right now, it made her blood boil. He hadn't said a word to her since the expansion meeting. He’d let the silence hang between them.

Aubrey didn't think. She grabbed her keys off the desk and marched out of the office. She was done thinking about it. She'd watched Bennett disappear into the barrel room. Now she was going to finish the conversation.

The air inside the winery's lower levels was always cooler, but as Aubrey pushed open the heavy side door to the barrel room, an unexpected chill swept over her, raising the hairs on her arms.

The main lights were off, leaving only the low-voltage, amber safety bulbs to cast long, distorted shadows across the concrete floor.

Her heels clicked sharply against the ground. The sound was too loud. It bounced off the corrugated steel ceiling and echoed back to her.

Aubrey slowed her pace, suddenly hyper-aware of how isolated she was. The staff had gone home hours ago. The last of the tourists had long since left.

She took a breath to call out for Bennett, but before the sound could leave her throat, a strange sensation prickled at the back of her neck.

The distinct, undeniable feeling of eyes on her.

Aubrey froze.

The shadows behind a row of empty oak casks seemed to deepen. The air felt thick, as if someone were breathing it in right alongside her.

She whirled around, her heart jumping into her throat. "Bennett?" she called out.

No answer.

The silence that followed was absolute, stretching out until it hummed in her ears. There was nothing but the steady, rhythmic drip-drip of condensation somewhere in the back drainage lines. She scanned the dark corridor, her eyes straining against the amber gloom.

"Bennett, if that's you, it's not funny," she said, her voice shaking enough to infuriate her.

Nothing.

Aubrey swallowed hard, gripping her keys tightly between her knuckles. You’re losing your mind, she told herself, forcing her feet to move again. Your mother got under your skin, and now you’re jumping at shadows.

She turned a corner, navigating past the massive, twenty-foot fermentation vats, heading toward the back alcove where the reserve barrels were aged.

Finally, a sliver of real light cut through the darkness.

Bennett was there. He had a clipboard in one hand and a flashlight in the other, checking the bungholes of the French oak barrels. The amber light caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the hard line of his shoulders beneath his canvas jacket. He looked entirely a part of this place—rooted, solid, and completely unbothered.

The contrast to her own frayed nerves made her snap.

"You have a lot of nerve ignoring me all day," Aubrey said, stepping into the light of his flashlight.

Bennett didn't flinch. He slowly lowered the clipboard, his dark eyes meeting hers. He didn't look surprised to see her, but the expression on his face was tight, guarded.