Page 13

I’d taken Sebastian’s advice and started a morning routine. It’s going to take some time and effort to rewire my brain after years of living with my head in the sand. I started reading the Mel Robbins book he loaned me and have to admit it’s helping. I’ve managed to 5-4-3-2-1 get my ass out of bed each day with the alarm and go for a run before starting my workday. And yes, I even sit in a spot Pop and I loved that overlooks the vineyard for ten minutes and try to reset my brain for the day.

Not sure if it’s helping today though.

Unable to tolerate this depressing office any longer, I get up and move to the main tasting room. But the change in scenery isn’t much of an improvement. It smells like dust, damp wood, and the impending death of all I hold dear.

How had I allowed this to happen right under my nose? If I’d had any idea how bad things were, I would’ve put a stop to it before things could’ve gone this far. At least I hope I wasn’t such a tool I would’ve knowingly turned a blind eye to it all.

Right. Like I could’ve demanded that my mother and father stop using the winery as their personal ATM. Would I have even stood up to them? Used my personal funds to make repairs and needed refurbishments in order to keep up with our competitors? I’d like to think so, but hindsight is 20/20. It’s easy to second-guess how I might’ve acted now that I’m in the driver’s seat looking in the rearview mirror.

I place the reproachful ledger in front of me on the bar top. It’s basically a roadmap of every poor decision my parents made while I was enjoying the carefree days of my youth. All of us living like the over-indulged party life would never end.

Staring out of the floor to ceiling windows toward the vines in the distance, my chest squeezes in on itself. Could this really be our last season?

I glance up, my eyes tracing the ceiling until they land on the corner where the latest leak is trickling into a plastic bucket.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

There’s no swish of wine in a glass or low hum of conversation among customers. Only the sound of the vineyard draining away.

Drip.

Drip.

The velvet chairs are so thin they’re practically see-through. Hell, the stuffing is peeking out like white flags of surrender. Sutter Creek used to be the crown jewel of Hanover wine country.

Now, it looks like a graveyard for grapes.

I groan, leaning my forehead on the oak bar top before banging it repeatedly. The front door chimes, but I don’t move. I simply don’t have the energy to put that positive mask back on. If I thought for a second a patron could be entering, it would be different. But we barely get any of those on a weekend, so a random Monday morning isn’t likely.

“Place looks more rustic than I remember.” I lift my head. Sebastian is standing there in all of his smug, billion-dollar glory. Had he missed this the last time he was here?

Or had he only been bent on killing me?

There’s no judgment. Only envy. He’s earned his money fair and square. He’s created a wildly successful hand surgery practice and invested his inheritance and income well. He was every bit as much of a playboy as I’d been, but without the lavish spending.

Sebastian’s young friend, Cassidy, stands beside him. She’s a beautiful girl in her twenties who’s staying with him and his wife, Isabella. She’d been introduced as a family friend when I’d run into them at a gathering recently. But I’m family, and I’ve never heard of her.

From what I understand, she’s been helping with the kids. Yet when I asked if she was the new nanny, they immediately said no. I’m sure there’s more to this story. It’s all very hush-hush. But whenever I ask too many questions, I immediately get the “I’ll kill you if you lay a hand on her” speech.

Whatever. She’s gorgeous, but I have enough problems without adding her to the list.

“It’s a beautiful building, Sam. It just needs a little love,” Cassidy reassures.

“It needs an exorcism,” I mutter.

Sebastian places a hand on Cassidy’s shoulder. “Cass, why don’t you head down to the cellar and take a look around? I proposed to Bella down there.” He beams.

“Awe, that’s so romantic,” she coos.

“That’s not all they did down there.” I barely complete the sentence before feeling a harsh smack against the back of my head. “Ow! Jeez. Lighten up, Bas.”

“Old Man Morris is downstairs. He’ll show you the 1998 reserve.” Sebastian points toward the iron spiral staircase. Cassidy must sense a shift in the air and disappears toward the stairs.

“For an old guy with health issues, you certainly haven’t fallen short on the upper body skills.”