by Tif Marcelo
“Things are really coming along with Lavenderhill. I mean, Par— Par—” Levi struggles with the name.
“Paraiso.” I smile. “It’s okay, it takes a little practice, but after you say it a couple of times, it rolls off the tongue.”
“It’s . . . interesting,” he says, with a tone that says otherwise.
I turn on my spiel, feeling the need to turn the tables so I’m in control of our conversation. “It’s been an amazing journey. The only things left on the list are the touch-ups, the final furnishings, and of course marketing and advertising.”
“It’s certainly good timing I’m here, then. We’ve got some space issues we need to discuss, since we’re in the process of relaunching Dunford. We have to remedy the parking situation, and maybe even change the lines where Paraiso’s boundary begins. I was thinking we could build a gazebo for the winery. A picnic area.”
Surprise courses through me. Levi is forward. Aggressive. And specific. I glance sideways at Mitchell, who’s showing the taxi driver his own mapped directions on his phone. Does he hear this? I will for him to turn and put his brother in his place—this conversation is inappropriate and ill-timed. My feelings for Mitchell, my promise to trust him, are holding my tongue in place.
At my silence, Levi plows through my thoughts. “Surely my brother discussed some of the plans I drew up? Just suggestions, and a starting point if you will, though I’m very open to negotiations.”
“Oh, uh, yes,” I say airily, though my stomach falls. Because he’s right. I should have been in discussions with the Dunfords well before now. Mitchell should have already involved me.
Behind me, Vic, Ellie, and Joel chat, oblivious to the change in my vibe.
“Good, well, glad to be able to sort this out before I go.”
“Right.” Like prey anticipating the sound of a hunter’s footsteps, I slink away from the conversation, for now. I don’t exhale until the car drives up to the front door of the brewery. When we disembark, I make my decision. I’m not waiting to be railroaded. Not if I can help it.
28
MITCHELL
The hostess at Cavern Trail Brewery sits us at a raised table made of a two-inch-thick plank of wood set upon two wine barrels. A pendulum lamp above casts a moody spotlight on the table, shadowing our faces as we hop onto our chairs, with Bryn to my left, Levi in front, and the other three on my right, with two empty chairs for Cody and Monica.
Yeah, this place. This is the mood we want for our winery, but with the Dunford touch. Requirements include wood, a cozy environment, and classic decor. Not so much the basement, old-world vibe. We want chalkboard signs, a brighter aesthetic. A place that’ll bring both millennials and seniors alike.
Granny’s people cannot be ignored, of course. They are the ones who keep Golden’s history alive. Granny won’t come to a place that feels like a basement shelter, or what she’ll surely call a coffin.
Details cycle through my brain as they have for the last few days, and I spill over with an excitement I haven’t felt in forever. It’s one of hope, that I’ve not just left my past behind in the Army, but that I’m building something for my future. I reach for Bryn’s hand on her lap, taking the chance she’s up for some PDA in front of this mixed crowd. The need is instinctual, primal, to hold the woman who’s been by my side throughout this journey.
I’ve missed my daily rituals with Bryn. I’ve needed her in my bed. But the focus has shifted, and with my brothers in town for a couple of weeks, with less than a week to go, we’ve gone balls to the wall getting shit done. The days have been spent on the live stream, which has shifted to Dunford and our own build. Last week we hired more workers, and then oversaw the maintenance of our equipment. The fermentation chambers came this week and were installed. We inventoried our current stock of my father’s extensive personal stash of bottled wine, and while we won’t make substantial sales of wine this year, we hope to offer the vineyard as a destination for corporate and private events because of the premium view and location.
Levi is a beast, a relentless, organized businessman, as expected. He is every bit reliable, the caretaker, the rock as he has been all my life, but holding him back has been a struggle. He thinks the world is his to mold, and I’ve had to remind him our world ends where Paraiso begins.
But just as my fingers reach hers, Bryn slowly turns away, avoiding contact altogether by clasping her hands above the table.
Huh.
After our waitress passes out the menu and drink lists, the sound of Cody’s voice filters through the room. The guy has friends wherever he goes, can’t get from one end of the room to the other without being stopped at least twice. I feel a kick against my shin, and follow Levi’s targeted gaze toward Cody’s outstretched hand behind him, to a woman’s hand. A gorgeous woman, tall like Cody, with spiral curls and a definite bump on her belly.
Cody lands a paw on my shoulder as he passes. “Monica, this is everyone. My dumb older brothers, Mitch and Levi, though they’re not really important. This is the amazing Bryn Aquino, of Paraiso Retreats.”
“Hi.” Bryn reaches out to shake Monica’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“She’s also dating Mitch. Poor girl,” Cody adds.
Monica’s eyes gleam. “I hope you don’t think it’s weird, but I’m a total fan. You guys are hilarious.”
“Thank you so much for supporting the show. That’s exactly what we want to hear.” Bryn has a genuine smile on her face, and loops her arm around her sister. “This is Victoria, my sister. Joel, the cameraman. And Chef Ellie, who’s just arrived from Dallas.”
“It’s so nice to meet all of you.”
Cody pulls the chair out for Monica, hangs her purse on the chair, and takes her coat to the back wall to hang. Levi and I are stunned, and all we can do is watch. My younger brother usually cares for no one but himself. Everything was done for him as a kid—all he’d have to do is whimper for one of us to jump up to keep him from having a tantrum.
Monica settles into her chair and smiles sheepishly. “He’s making such a fuss. Opens every door, doesn’t ever let me carry anything. Well, you know, because, um . . . I’m pregnant.”
“Really?” I exaggerate the question. “I thought for sure you were sneaking in our appetizers under there.”
“Yeah, I was hoping you would have brought a cheesecake or something.” Levi’s expression is deadpan.
Monica’s mouth drops open. The entire table is stunned into silence.
I slap my hands on the table. Swooping out of my chair, I wrap her in a hug, then plant a loud kiss on her cheek. “You know you can’t get away with such a measly introduction. Welcome to the family, Monica.”
An audible whoosh of a collective breath rises from our table as Levi stands to hug us both. “We love you and the baby already.”
Cody returns. “Hey, how do I get in on this?” He wraps his arms around the three of us, adding to the ruckus that is our family. “Happily ever after, forever.”
“Okay, never mind. Uncle!” Levi announces as we disentangle ourselves, while Cody and I laugh.
“Whew.” Monica fans her face with her napkin, eyes glistening. “I was so nervous, you know?”
I look over at Bryn. Her face is flushed with laughter, eyes brightening as she watches my brother and Monica. What looks like longing lingers on her face, and I wonder—is this what she wants? A happily ever after?
Levi hands Monica his menu. “No need to ever be nervous. Once family, always.”
Bryn’s expression changes, a tidal shift, giving me pause in my running thoughts. Before I can ask her what’s up, the waiter disrupts our table’s growing roar of conversation.
Except for Monica and Joel, all of us order beer. Conversation flows like the American River, a short half hour away, where we spent our summers rafting and fishing—swift, riveting, with unexpected twists
and turns in topics, from baby talk, to our winery plans, to the weirdest food we’ve ever eaten, to El Niño. Even Joel, seriously quiet Joel, has busted out in laughter, fitting right into our gregarious circle.
We order everything from the appetizer menu and attack the meal family-style, without pretense. Hands clash as we reach for wings. The cheese from Bryn’s nachos dribbles onto my silverware. Napkins are passed around and someone spills their drink. It’s messy, loud, and confusing.
My Army family had this electricity. They, too, were loud, demanding, and equally giving. Forced together by official Army orders, where there’s no other option but to make ourselves work together, live together, accept each other for each other’s gifts and misgivings.
I was lucky back then, just as I’m lucky now. I had—I have—people who care about me, who, even after my leaving, have accepted me back. In the case of Sergeant Murray, who came looking for me.
Then, as if a bright light has been shined in my face, a thought breaks over my head. I sit up in my chair.
I can’t miss Murray’s retirement. Just as I wouldn’t have missed this dinner tonight, I can’t disregard this incredibly important and life-changing event.
All this time, I was thinking of myself and my feelings. But this ceremony is not about me. It’s about honoring her.
I stand, now needing to make it official. “I’ve got to . . . make a quick phone call.” But no one pays me any mind, the conversation on baby names. Levi is insisting the baby should be named after him. With my body staggering a beat slower than my mind with the beer in my system, I make it to the restroom area.
After finding the number through my received messages, I listen to the phone ring on the other end. The call goes to voice mail.
“Hey, Sergeant Murray. It’s Captain Dunford. Mitchell. Listen, I know I should have called earlier, but . . . but I’d be honored to come to your retirement. I wouldn’t miss it. Consider this an RSVP yes.” My eyes glass over. My heart’s beating loudly in my ear. “I have the details in the invite, so I’ll see you in a few days. Thanks. Out.”
I run a hand through what should be my long hair, except it’s a high and tight.
As if I did it on purpose.
Well, shit. I log this as something to mention to Bryn for when she and I catch up, and as if conjured by telepathy, Bryn appears. I jump in with the news. “Guess what I just did?”
Except my joy is returned by glowering.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“What’s wrong? You held out on me, Mitchell.”
“What? I didn’t—” And yet, as I’m saying the words, I know I’m lying. While my brain is doing the slow switch from the retirement to this, I recall the thing I’d avoided telling Bryn earlier tonight.
My brother wants to negotiate the common areas of the vineyard to accommodate more traffic. He’s been requesting a meeting with Bryn ASAP, but I’ve been stalling, hoping if I hold him off long enough, it will be time for him to head back to DC, and it’ll be back to me handling the winery.
“I see the truth in your face. Why didn’t you tell me all about your plans? Instead, you sicced that fucking brother of yours on me.”
While I can curse with the best of them, and one of the things that draws me to this woman is her straightforward nature, insulting my brother doesn’t sit well with me. “Now, now, just calm down. No one’s sicced anyone on anybody. We were just talking—”
She lowers her voice. “I’m trying to calm down. I thought I could put this off until after dinner—I wanted for all of us to be together and have a nice night—but I can’t pretend I’m having fun. Not when Paraiso is being threatened. So I’m going to call it an early night for me. Tomorrow we are all going to sit down and you’re going to tell me what the hell you’re planning. It might be all talk, but I’m going to make sure it stays that way. You’ve kept me in the dark long enough.”
When Bryn gets going, she’s a locomotive with no brakes, so I don’t stop her speech, don’t stop her hands as they punctuate her words, nor call out when she leaves the restaurant.
When I return to the table and find that Victoria, Joel, and Chef Ellie have left with Bryn, my brothers and Monica greet me with questioning looks.
“Trouble in paradise?” Cody raises an eyebrow.
“Paraiso.” I look at Levi. “But . . . yeah. A fucking mess.”
My voice echoes louder than I expect, and other patrons turn my way. Levi shoots me a warning look. True, this is neither the time nor the place, but Bryn is the one thing—is the one person—who made Dunford home for me. And while I couldn’t let her insult Levi, there’s no way I’m going to allow my big brother to mess up my relationship with her.
Slipping back into my chair, I lean in to Levi. “You just had to bring it up.”
He sips his drink defiantly. “I assumed you’d already talked to her. Besides, these are legit business discussions, little brother.”
The hair on my neck prickles. “You didn’t consider the timing? Or that maybe this is something I should have told her myself because she’s my girlfriend?”
“I’m . . . I’m going to the ladies’ room,” Monica says. When Cody begins to stand, she pushes him down by the shoulder. “Honey, it’s okay.” Sad but understanding eyes meet mine, and it’s official, this woman has my approval. Cody watches her as she turns the corner, then comes down like a lion—the Dunford he is.
“Nice. Thanks for the fucking family drama.” He throws his hands up.
“Quit cryin’,” both Levi and I say.
Levi chugs the last of his drink. “Listen, Mitch. I didn’t fly all the way out here to dance around the hard questions. Everything is on the table to negotiate. And have you forgotten? This relationship of yours with hers is fake.”
My body rears back as if punched. Fake? My hands ball into fists. It’s true, Bryn and I technically started as fake, but we now have something. Though I don’t know what the fuck we are, my brother’s tone is out of line. “That’s where you’re wrong, Levi.”
“What?” A smirk plays on Levi’s lips. “Did you hit that?”
“Fuck you.” I seethe. “I’m not going to let you mess this up. It was your idea for me to start a relationship with her, and now you’ve put me between a cannon and a fucking cliff. This is how it’s gonna go. You’re not touching any of the common areas we share with Paraiso.”
“It’s Lavenderhill,” Levi warns.
“It’s Paraiso.”
29
BRYN
Holy hell, my head. It’s like someone has taken a pickax and driven it right into my temple. When I sit up, the room tilts to one side, my insides twist, and I have to hold myself steady to keep my body from flopping forward.
The curtain has let a sliver of light in, and it’s blinding. Eyes blinking to accommodate the change, I see my clothing bunched on the floor. The acrid taste of last night’s beer lingers in my mouth.
And the memories rush back.
Groaning, I cover my face with my pillow.
Right. Last night was awful. After my confrontation with Mitchell, I set a meeting time with the Dunfords through text, then came home with my sister, Ellie, and Joel. Later, after Joel left, my girls enabled my complaints with white wine. Furious about what happened, I told them everything and bared my soul about this supposed fake arrangement, our haircuts, the kisses, the sex. And now, the Dunfords’ chicken move to take back some of Paraiso.
What is it they say? Beer before liquor? Last night, it made me emotional. This morning, I have the hangover from hell to show for it.
Trudging down the stairs in bare feet and pajamas and with one eye open, I turn on the kitchen lights, only to turn them right off. Nope, too bright. The clock on the microwave says it’s 9 a.m., and today’s meeting has been set for ten.
Crap, how the hell am I going to do this? Withou
t my sight and sense, apparently, because I reach for the can of Barako in the pantry and, with the dexterity of a bear, spill the contents onto the floor. Little black beans scatter on the ground and spread over tile, the sound panic inducing. But all I can do is watch.
“Dammit,” I whine.
My first thought is to grab coffee from Mitchell, even if it’s the crap kind. The next? I’m pissed off all over again. Because this issue is way more than the stipulations of the lease. It’s the knowledge that Mitchell didn’t come to me first, didn’t seek my feedback. I naively held our relationship to a higher standard. Despite our agreement that we shouldn’t interfere with each other’s businesses, I assumed we’d still look out for each other’s best interests.
I was wrong.
Back upstairs I go. I pop open the door to the guest room, where Vic stays between trips. A quilt covers half her face, so I only see her forehead and eyes. My voice cracks when I speak. “You’ve got to get up. Folks will be here in an hour, and there’s no coffee in the house. Want a latte from Golden Café?”
She mumbles something incoherent, then flips around and throws the cover over her head.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
My sister. She’s even grumpier than me in the morning. I rummage through my closet and grab yoga pants, a long-sleeve top, and a baseball cap. After pushing a large pair of sunglasses onto my face, I throw the front door open.
To Mitchell.
My body reels back at the strong smell of java, at the spice of Mitchell’s body wash, at the bright sunlight. “Mitchell.”
“I was just at Golden Café with Granny and I thought . . .” He raises two extra-large coffee cups in a carrier.
Oh, it’s tempting. The coffee calls to me like a sinful temptation, and from the look on Mitchell’s face, he knows it. The coffee is his olive branch, and the weak part of me is touched by the gesture.
Damn. I really should have just ground the dirty coffee beans. I need every bit of my strength and mental acuity to deal with this drama, because, God, I know he’s sorry. He doesn’t have to say a word, because I know Mitchell’s insides. He would never do anything behind my back, not on purpose anyway.
