Page 36 of Taken Away

Slowly, he rose to his full height, his broad frame eclipsing the light pouring through the kitchen windows.

“How the hell do you know that?” he demanded.

Aubrey took a slow sip of coffee, unbothered.

"I used to share an office with three Manhattan publicists," she said. "I can identify Tom Ford at twenty paces."

Jasmine and rain. The woman in the black raincoat at the funeral. Fingertips resting on his forearm.

Of course.

The muscle in his cheek jumped again.

The man had practically unraveled her on a dark bar patio, looked at her like he wanted to drag her back against the staircase banister twenty minutes ago, and now he was standing in her kitchen smelling like another woman’s sheets.

He stared her down until the air in the kitchen felt combustible.

“Let’s see the winery,” Aubrey snapped finally, lifting her mug.

“Fine,” Bennett barked. “Move.”

Blackwood Winery

Bennett’s truck climbed the narrow paved road behind the Victorian, winding upward through rows of grapevines that curved along the mountainside in neat green lines.

Aubrey sat quietly in the passenger seat, one elbow propped against the window as she watched the estate unfold around her.

Yesterday, she’d only caught distant glimpses of the winery from the house below—dark shapes and rooflines swallowed by the ridge. But as Bennett’s truck climbed the winding road behind the Victorian, the entire property opened beneath them.

Aubrey sucked in a breath.

“Oh…"

The sprawling winery stretched across the mountainside below like a luxury resort hidden inside Appalachia.

One hundred and eighty-seven acres of terraced vineyards rolled down the ridges in dramatic green rows broken by stone retaining walls, black fencing, and winding access roads disappearing through the vines. Morning fog still clung to the valley, softening the distant Blue Ridge layers into hazy blue silhouettes.

And at the center of it all⁠—

The barn.

Massive. Three stories tall beneath a soaring gambrel roofline.

The matte black structure sat against the mountainside as though it had always belonged there, wrapped in rustic cedar, black steel, and walls of glass.

But it was the front of the building that held her attention.

The Tree of Life quilt square stretched high across the center peak in muted cream, sage, and soft plum.

The same colors as the Victorian.

Aubrey stared through the windshield as Bennett slowed the truck near the crest of the hill overlooking the entire estate.

She stepped inside and stopped.

The winery opened up into a vast vertical space beneath the gambrel roof, all polished concrete, black steel, glass, and warm wood wrapped inside the rustic mountain shell she’d just walked through.

It hit her like a punch.