Page 90 of The Spark Between Us

Chapter Thirty-Three

Braden

Goingto the winery had always made me happy, but not today. Not now that every bit of the place reminded me of Sarah. How had that happened?

She and I had only been there a handful of times, and I’d been working weekends at the place for years. The math didn’t add up. This was my retreat from the world. It had been long before I’d ever met Sarah, and it would be for years to come.

Why did the crunch of the gravel under my running shoes remind me of the way she danced with Bella in front of my truck? It was just gravel.

But it wasn’t. It was her.

I’d driven Bella out for the day because she needed some real exercise, and I didn’t feel like jogging outside. With other humans. I’d pounded out eight miles on the treadmill in the dark hours of the morning while Bella snored under my bed. Now, with the leftover endorphins still trying to elevate my mood, I watched the streak of golden fur charge through the vineyard and marveled at her boundless optimism.

In the cruddy shed behind the pressing room, I was cursing a blue streak at the drip system that had stopped watering sixteen rows of plants, which were now withering on their vines. The crew who tended the grapes a couple times a week hadn’t said anything, so they either didn’t notice, or it happened since they’d last worked.

Now it was my problem unless I wanted a bunch of dead plants.

The scrape of tires made me pick my head up, but the billowing dust from the driveway had already obscured whatever car had pulled up to the vineyard property.

Bella came barreling out of the vineyard in excitement, probably hoping to see Sarah. She seemed to figure out before I did that the car in the drive wasn’t going to get her what she wanted, and after a moment, she sulked off and sat down in the shade.

I had to wait for the dirt to settle and the air to clear before identifying whether the visitor was someone I knew or a wrong turn off the highway. When I recognized Mitch’s white pickup, I groaned. A map-challenged stranger would be more welcome than a half-brother who no doubt came armed with opinions about my life.

Without waiting for him to walk up the drive and push through the gate, I went back to examining the drip watering system as though I were a plumber and had any fucking clue how to fix it.

“Dude, I thought you owned a bar. What’s this giant garden all about?” Mitch stood in front of me wearing jeans, a denim shirt with rhinestone snaps, and a belt with a huge silver buckle that sparkled.

For the first time in a week, my spirits lifted enough that I laughed. Hard. “What in the fucking name of bedazzlement are you wearing?”

He looked down at his outfit and up at mine, which was a pair of workout shorts and a long-sleeved T, and seemed to realize he’d missed the mark. “I thought you had a ranch. Doesn’t that indicate horses?”

“It’s a vineyard, not a ranch. And even if it were, you wouldn’t show up looking like a sparkly urban cowboy. Where’d you even get these clothes?”

He shrugged. “I have clothes.”

“So you do.” I stared at him, wondering if he’d feel the need to tell me why he’d suddenly shown up when he’d never been set foot on the property in the time I’d had it. “Mitch?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s up? Why’re you here?”

“You invited me.”

I did? When had I done that? I was losing my mind.

“Regardless, now’s not a good time.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. It’s the perfect time. Now, where’s the wine? And not the cheap stuff you give to strangers. I want the good vintage stuff.”

He walked past me into the pressing room like he owned the place. I followed him because I was confused.

Once my eyes adjusted to the dark room, I saw Mitch walking down the rows of wine barrels thumping on the occasional side and whistling at the vastness of the place. I felt a surge of pride at how much I was producing this year, though he had no frame of reference since he hadn’t seen the place at the beginning.

Leaning against the cold stone wall, I waited for him to finish his self-tour and explain his unannounced visit. “Well?” he asked expectantly, looking around. “Where’s the booze? Or is all this just for show?”

He threaded his thumbs into his belt buckles and thrust his hips forward like a Halloween cowboy.

“Mitch, why are you here? If all you want’s a free glass of wine, you can have that at your house. It’s hardly worth the drive out here.”

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