Chapter Seven
Julian stared down at the letter, his eyebrows dangerously close to being swallowed up by his hairline.
Dear Julian Vos,
Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m really doing this.
You get one shot at life, though, right? Have to pull that trigger!
Okay. Seriously, though. I think you’re wonderful. Really, truly wonderful. I’ve been dying to get that off my chest for a very long time, but I didn’t have the guts. You’ve always been so quietly kind, never lording your name over anyone or acting superior, you know what I mean? Just a real down-to-earth fellow with brains to burn and a big, secret heart.
I wish I’d told you all of this a million years ago, because when you feel something, you should just say it! You know? I don’t want you to think I’m creepy (of course you’re going to think I’m creepy, I mean, look what I’m doing), but way back when, in days of yore, I witnessed your character when you didn’t think anyone was watching and it really inspired how I’ve treated other people throughout my life. Mostly! I’m not perfect. Sometimes I hang up on telemarketers. But I hope you’re happy and healthy and headed for the kind of happy future you deserve. I used the word “happy” twice there, sorry, but you get up what I’m putting down.
Okay! This was great. Let’s do it again sometime. Maybe you’ll write back? You’re never too old for a pen pal. I’m sure that’s the generally held belief on the subject.
Secretly Yours
Julian lifted his head. “What the fuck?”
A secret admirer letter?
He turned the envelope over in his hands, searched the back of the paper for some sign of the prankster’s identity—because that’s definitely what this was. A prank. But there were no clues to point him in the direction of the person apparently trying to mess with him.
Who the hell had written it?
Who knew about his habit of taking this shortcut between home and town?
A lot of people, he supposed. Anyone he jogged past on Grapevine Way in the afternoon. Shop owners. Or people who lived in the residential houses closer to the top of the path. It could be any number of women. Or men.
He shook his head, scanning the lines one more time. Nobody wrote secret admirer letters these days. Contact was made through social media, almost exclusively, right? This had to be some kind of joke at his expense, but why? Who would go to so much trouble?
As soon as Julian arrived at the guesthouse to find his sister loitering in the driveway, the mystery solved itself. “Wow. How long have you been in town? An hour?” He waved the letter. “Barely made it off the plane before kicking off the psychological warfare?”
He didn’t buy her confused expression. Not for a second.
“Uh. Thanks for the warm welcome,” Natalie said, skirting the bumper of her hatchback. Rented, based on the window sticker. “Tone down the emotion before this family reunion gets embarrassing.” Sauntering toward Julian, she eyed his letter as if she’d never seen it before. “Yes. It is I, the prodigal daughter. I would give you a hug, but we don’t do that sort of thing . . .” Her smile was tight-lipped. “Hi, Julian. You look well.”
The way she said it, with a hint of measuring concern in her eyes, made the back of his neck feel tight. The last time they’d been together in St. Helena, on the soil of Vos Vineyard, was never far from his mind. The smoke and ash and shouting and flames. The worry that he wouldn’t do what needed to be done in time. He could taste the acrid burn in the back of his throat, could feel the grit that seared the backs of his eye sockets. The hundred-ton weight pressing down on his chest, making it impossible for him to breathe in the smoky air.
Natalie scanned his face and looked away quickly, obviously remembering, too. How he’d lost his composure in a way that was so physical, he could only remember it happening in snatches of sound and movement. One moment he’d been capable of thinking critically, helping his family, and the next, when he knew Natalie was safe, he’d simply gone dark. He’d retreated into the sooty house, closed himself in a back bedroom, and gone to a place where he was comfortable. Work. Lessons. Lecture notes. When he came up for air, days had passed while he’d been in a state of numbness. Leaving his parents and Natalie to deal with the fallout from the fire. Unacceptable. He’d never go to that place again.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, a little too sharply.
Her chin snapped up. Fast. Defensive. With her face to the morning sun, he catalogued the differences since the last time they saw each other. Natalie was younger than him by three and a half years, making her thirty now. She had his mother’s ageless complexion, black hair down past her shoulders, messy from the wind constantly moving through the valley, although she continuously tried to smooth it with impatient palms. She’d arrived dressed for New York City, where she’d moved after attending Cornell. In black dress pants, heels, and a ruffled blazer, she could have walked straight off Madison Avenue into the front yard.
As for why Natalie was in St. Helena, Julian expected a practical explanation. She was in town on business. Or here to attend the wedding of a colleague. He definitely wasn’t expecting the reason she gave him instead.
“I’m taking a break from work. A voluntary one,” she rushed to add, picking lint from the sleeve of her jacket. “And if I have to stay in the main house with our mother, I’m pretty sure we’ll fight enough to invoke the apocalypse, so I’ll be crashing here with you.”
The muscle directly behind his right eye had begun to spasm. “Natalie, I am writing a book. I came here for peace and quiet.”
“Really?” Genuine, surprised pleasure crossed her face before she hid it behind amusement. “My brother, a novelist? Very impressive.” She studied him for a moment, visibly evaluating the information. “Who says I’m going to mess with your process?” She pressed her lips into a line, seemingly to suppress a laugh. “You call it your process. Don’t you?”
“That’s what it’s called.” He folded up the prank letter, already planning on tossing it into the trash can as soon as he walked inside. “And it’s your track record that says you’d mess with it.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “I’m a grown woman now, Julian. I’m not going to throw a kegger on your front lawn. At least not until I lull you into a false sense of security.” When a rumbling sound started coming from his throat, she reached for the rolling suitcase waiting behind her on the driveway. “Oh, come on, that was a joke.”
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.
“How long are you staying?”
The mug paused on the way to her mouth. “I don’t know yet.” Her attention slipped over him. “Sorry. I know unquantified time gives you heartburn.”
“It’s fine,” he said stiffly.
“Is it?” She stared into her coffee. “Last time we were here—”
“I said it’s fine, Natalie.”
His sister’s mouth snapped shut, but she recovered quickly. Even faster than he could begin to feel guilty for being harsh. “So . . .” She took a deep breath and exhaled, somewhat unevenly. “Have you had any heartwarming encounters with our mother yet?”
“Perhaps not heartwarming,” Corinne said from the kitchen entrance, arrival unannounced. “But positive and productive. That’s what we aim for here, isn’t it?”
Julian noticed the barest flash of hurt in Corinne’s eyes. Over his sister arriving without warning? Or her offhanded sarcasm about their heartwarming relationship? It wasn’t like his mother to be, or at least appear to be, upset over anything. Natalie and Julian’s stiff upper lips were genetic, after all. After his conversation with Hallie this morning, it was easier to notice a chink in Corinne’s armor, however. Not only now, but the last time she’d stopped by, too.
Was the vineyard in trouble? Would Corinne let the family business fade into obscurity, rather than request a helping hand? He was almost afraid to ask. To find out if she had the same use for him as Dalton. Namely, none. Sure, she’d asked him to participate in a festival, but that was far from hands-on. That was merely for the cameras.
“Since you’re here, Natalie, I’ll extend the same invitation I made to Julian. Wine Down Napa takes place in a week. A little Vos representation won’t hurt. Will you be in St. Helena long enough to attend?”
No movement from Natalie, save a thick swallow. “Probably.”
Corinne processed that information with a tight nod. “Lovely. I’ll make sure you’re issued a badge.” She folded her hands at her waist. “Please try and remember the wine at these events is mainly for the paying attendees, Natalie.”
“There it is.” Natalie laughed, sliding off her stool and batting at the wrinkles in her pants. “It only took you forty-five seconds to put me in my place.” Julian’s sister split a venomous look between him and his mother. “I’m thirty now. Can we all get past the fact that I rebelled a little bit as a teenager?”
“A little bit?” With a bemused expression, Corinne tucked some hair into the bun at the nape of her neck. “A little rebelling doesn’t land you in rehab at seventeen.”
Color infused Natalie’s cheeks. “Yes, well, I landed on my feet at Cornell, didn’t I?”
“Not without some strategic maneuvering.”
“I’m . . .” Natalie’s head of steam was diminishing quickly. “I made partner last fall.”
Corinne eyed the suitcase. “And how is that going?”
“That’s enough,” Julian said firmly, his coffee mug hitting the island. “Natalie shouldn’t have to explain her presence in her own home. I’m . . . sorry I made her do that. It ends now.”
Natalie’s head swiveled toward him, but he didn’t meet her eyes. For some reason, he didn’t want to see her surprise that he’d defended her. Once upon a time, it would have been a given. They might not be confidants or the closest of siblings, but he’d offered quiet support for his sister. At school, at home. Hadn’t he?
When had he let that part of their relationship fall by the wayside?
His sister was obviously going through something serious, and he found it impossible to turn a blind eye to that now, as he’d been doing more and more since they’d each left St. Helena. Hadn’t he been so wrapped up in his world that he’d missed the warning signs with his colleague Garth? One day they were discussing quantum theory in the hall, and the next, Garth was locked in his office and refusing to communicate with anyone outside. It didn’t appear that Natalie was on the verge of a breakdown, but he should pay attention.
Be more present. More empathetic.
I witnessed your character when you didn’t think anyone was watching and it really inspired how I’ve treated other people throughout my life.
Unexpectedly, that line from the secret letter popped into his head, and he mentally scoffed it away. The whole thing was a prank—and he wouldn’t think about it a second more. It wasn’t the letter that had inspired him to step up for Natalie.
Was it Hallie and the way she staunchly defended the owner of Corked, by fair means or foul?
Thinking of the gardener, he immediately caught a whiff of her soil and sunshine scent. Had it been lingering in the kitchen since Friday night or was that his imagination? What had that impulsive, curly-haired bundle of energy done to him?
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
Julian ordered himself back to the present, where his mother and sister were eyeballing each other across the kitchen. Yes, the Vos family had their share of issues—and he was far from the exception.
“Was there anything else either of you needed?” Julian asked, tight-lipped. “I need to shower and get to work.” He glanced at his watch and felt his pulse accelerate. “I’m already forty minutes behind schedule.”
Natalie staggered dramatically, gripping the handle of her suitcase. “The keeper of time hath spoken! To be idle is to smite his holy name.”
Julian gave her a dead-eyed stare. His sister smiled back, which was odd and unexpected. All because he’d intervened with their mother?
Corinne cleared her throat. “I only came down to let Julian know the gardener will be back tomorrow.”
The dueling spikes of relief and alarm in his chest were disturbing to say the least. “She’s coming back here, then.”
“Yes, I spoke with her on my walk over.” Oblivious to his imminent coronary, Corinne gestured to the side of the house facing the vineyard. “I like what she did with the begonias. The guesthouse is visible on the vineyard walking tour, you know. I should have made more of an effort to give it some exterior charm before now.”
“Is there no one else you can hire to plant some flowers?” Even as Julian posed the question, he wanted to take it back. Badly. Didn’t they agree to be friends, despite the sour taste the word put in his mouth? Someone else digging in the front yard would just be . . . wrong. Very wrong. But the thought of Hallie coming back and taking a Weedwacker to his itinerary unnerved him a great deal. Unnerved and excited him. Made tomorrow seem far away.
In other words, nothing made sense anymore.
“There is one other gardener in St. Helena. Owen something, I believe?” Corinne checked the screen of her phone. “But I’ve already hired the girl.”
So Owen was also a gardener?
Someone with her exact interests. Were they really friends? Or friends with benefits? Or had Hallie simply referred to Owen as her friend to be professional, when the man was actually her boyfriend?
Jesus Christ.
A few brief meetings and she’d already put him in a tailspin.
“Fine. I’ll deal with her,” he growled, a surprising wave of jealousy curdling the coffee in his stomach. “Is there anything else? Would you perhaps like to send the high school marching band over to practice outside my window?”
“That’s all,” Corinne said simply. Then to Natalie, “Welcome home.”
Natalie inspected her nails. “Thank you.” She wheeled her suitcase out of the room toward the guest room on the opposite side of the kitchen from Julian’s. “See you two around.”
“Good-bye,” Corinne called breezily on her way out of the house.
Leaving Julian standing alone at the counter with a ruined schedule and another visit from the ultimate distraction on the horizon. Why couldn’t he wait? “Fuck.”