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He watched in disbelief as she dragged the suitcase up the stairs, letting it smack loudly into each wooden step. “Natalie, there has to be somewhere else you can take a break.”
“Nope.”
The screen door snicked shut behind his sister, her heels tapping toward the kitchen.
Julian followed her, nearly wrenching the door off its hinges in the process. This couldn’t be happening. Fate was determined to fuck him over. This guesthouse had been sitting empty for four years, and suddenly both of them were back? And at the very same time, it had also been imperative to plant begonias? The women in his life were dead set on derailing his goals. At this very moment, he was supposed to be in the shower, preparing for the second half of his writing day.
Julian arrived in the kitchen and watched his sister remove her jacket, hanging it neatly on the back of a chair. Thank God, at the very least, they had tidiness in common. Their father hadn’t tolerated anything less growing up. When Natalie and Julian were younger, the driving force in Dalton Vos’s life had been crafting wine better than his father. To make the vineyard twice as successful and rub it in the face of his estranged old man. And when Dalton succeeded, when he’d been showered in accolades and become the toast of Napa, being better than his father wasn’t as satisfying as he’d hoped. Nor did he have a son he found capable of bestowing his legacy upon. The fire was the final blow to Dalton’s invincibility, so he’d signed over Vos Vineyard to his ex-wife as a parting gift in the divorce and moved on to the next project, leaving this one behind for Corinne to assume.
As badly as Julian wanted to believe himself nothing like Dalton, there were similarities, and he’d stopped trying to fight them. Did he resent anyone who interfered with his plans? Yes. Was he competitive? Perhaps not as much as Dalton, but they both craved perfection in every one of their undertakings. In a way, he’d even followed in Dalton’s footsteps and abandoned the vineyard for the last four years.
Just for a very different reason.
Clearing the discomfort from his throat, Julian moved to the coffeepot and pressed the on button, the sounds of it warming up filling the quiet kitchen. “Afternoon caffeine boost?”
“Count me in.”
While removing mugs from the cabinet, he observed his sister, taking note of the bare ring finger on her left hand and raising an eyebrow. At Christmas, she’d emailed him and Corinne to inform them of her engagement to “the Tom Brady of investing.”
Had it been called off?
Natalie caught him noticing her lack of hardware and glared. “Don’t ask.”
“I’m going to ask.”
“Fine.” She hopped up onto a stool and crossed her arms, mimicking his earlier posture. “There’s no law that says I have to answer.”
“No, there isn’t,” he agreed, getting the milk out of the fridge and trying desperately not to panic over the minutes as they slipped away, one by one, right through his fingers. As soon as he drank this cup of coffee and squared the Natalie situation away, he would tackle his afternoon schedule. In fact, he would add extra writing time to put himself ahead. Julian’s shoulders relaxed at that reassurance. “I don’t know a lot about the financial sector, but I know it’s too competitive in New York to simply take a break.”
“Yes, it’s part of the doctrine. You don’t leave New York City finance unless you die or get fired, right?” She gestured to herself. “Unless you’re a unicorn like me and you’re valuable enough to earn some leeway. I’m a partner at my firm, Julian. Stop hunting. I just wanted a vacation.”
“And you came here.” He paused for emphasis. “To relax.”
“Is that not what people do here? In the land of endless wine?”
“Other people, maybe.”
Her arms dropped heavily to her sides. “Just make the coffee and shut up.”
Julian gave her a dubious look before turning back around and doctoring the mugs with milk, plus one sugar for Natalie. Unless she’d changed her order in the last four years, that’s how she took it. When he set it down in front of her and she sipped without comment, flicking him a reluctantly grateful glance, he guessed her ideal formula remained the same.
It surprised Julian that he experienced a tug of comfort in that. Knowing the way his sister took her coffee. They weren’t close. Twice a year, they exchanged emails to wish each other a happy birthday and a merry Christmas. Unless his mother needed to inform them of the death of a relative, their line of communication was pretty inactive. Shouldn’t she have contacted them about her engagement being called off? With three thousand miles between them, he never stopped to wonder about his sister’s personal relationships. But now, as she sat in front of him clearly trying to outrun something, the lack of knowledge was a hole in his gut.
