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“Showtime, ladies and gents,” Hollin called to everyone standing backstage. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“He’s really taken to this, hasn’t he?” I asked with a laugh, clutching my camera.
“He has.” Julian touched my arm. “Guess that’s our cue.”
We stepped back out to the barn in time to see the doors thrown wide and guests streamed in. Wright Construction held two annual parties for their staff. One in the summer and the other a Christmas party. They decked the place out, hired caterers, and had an open bar to celebrate the employees who put in the work day in and day out. It was a long-standing tradition, and this was the first year that the summer party had ever been off premises.
I set up near the fancy WC that August had created and spent a steady hour taking pictures for the employees. It was practically a photo booth with how much everyone wanted their picture taken. It was a good sign for the company. They were cared for and appreciated enough to want to stand in front of the logo.
Eventually, much of the party had settled into the round tables, and food was brought out. There was a lull in my job. Something I would never take for granted. I headed away from the crowd, snapping a shot of Jensen and Emery rocking a sleeping Robin as I passed. Their table was packed full of Wrights. Heidi and Landon sat together, Holden noticeably absent. Austin and Julia were bickering and pointing at each other, as per usual. Patrick sat next to them, shaking his head. Morgan was nowhere to be seen, probably prepping for her big speech with David. Sutton was at a table, her children absent as well, with the rest of the girls—Annie, Piper, and a withdrawn Blaire.
I bypassed them all and leaned against the barn door. I nodded to our security. Zach was a friend of Hollin’s, even more giant with more tattoos, a beard, and a don’t fuck with me grin. They drove motorcycles together on their day off.
“Hey, Zach.”
“Jennifer,” he said, nodding back. As pleasant as his gruff voice got.
I pulled out a protein bar to keep my energy up. I’d been offered an area in the back room to eat, but I didn’t like to be off of the floor. I’d have plenty of time to eat later.
“Full event,” I muttered.
He nodded. “Yep.”
And that was about the extent of Zach’s communication skills.
We stood there in silence while the rest of the party ate. People were finishing soon after and heading back out onto the dance floor. I needed to get moving again, but I stood a second longer to watch it all at a distance. I wouldn’t be able to actually see it close up. Not through my camera lens. Not without the social anxiety pressing in on me about the fact that I’d have to get into that large group of people.
I pulled the camera up to my face and scanned the room with it, getting a feel for where I should go next.
And then someone straggled in late to the party. He wasn’t even dressed for the event, which was cocktail attire. This guy wore distressed jeans and a flannel button-up. His dark hair was long and shaggy, tumbling into his eyes. He swept it away, revealing the deep, dark eyes underneath. Eyes that looked…oddly familiar.
He paced a second and then turned, jumping slightly, as if surprised to see me.
“Are you here for the Wright Construction event?” I asked. He blinked at me in a way that said what I already knew—he wasn’t here for that. “The vineyard is closed to the public tonight for a private event.”
“Oh. Uh, no. I’m here to talk to Jordan or Julian Wright. Do you know them?”
My eyebrows shot up. “You need to speak to the owners?”
“The owners,” he said softly. “Yeah, I do. Could you point them out to me?”
“I…” I stared at him a second longer in confusion. I wanted to ask him more, but when I opened my mouth to do so, Julian was at my side.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“Julian,” I breathed in relief. “This guy was looking for you.”
Julian held his hand out with that same charming smile. “I’m Julian Wright. How can I help you?”
The man shook his hand. “Uh, hey.” He slid a hand back through his hair, brushing the curling ends off his forehead as he blew out a breath. “I’m Weston Wright.”
35
Julian
Weston. Wright.
I froze at those words, my eyes widening. For one of the few times in my life, I had nothing to say. I had no idea where to even begin.
Because Weston hadn’t included a picture in that original email. That might have been enough to convince me that he might be who he said he was. We didn’t look identical. Not by a long shot. Not like me and Jor. But we had the same stature, the same dark hair and eyes, the same presence. That was all I could describe it as.
