Page 21 of Love You Too

Honestly, I don’t know what to make of him. The flirtatious texts feel like the guy I used to know, but that was before hebroke my heart. He has no right to flirt with me now. And I need to focus on my job.

I need to decide which company to hire to install wet steam rooms and dry saunas, but today those tasks feel like a burden.

What is happening to you? You used to nerd out on details like that.

I’m probably just suffering from burnout. I shouldn’t have told my family I could handle renovating the inn along with running both restaurants. I like a challenge, but I have to admit it’s more work than I want to be doing. I can’t remember when I’ve slept more than five hours a night, and it’s starting to take a toll on my energy level during the day.

“Did you eat?” My sister, PJ, sends a plate of scones down the big plank table in the employee kitchen down toward where I’m daydreaming. I catch the sliding plate before it careens off the edge of the table and pluck a scone from the pile. I don’t have much of an appetite, but we don’t have scones on the menu at Sweet Butter, which means our youngest brother, Dash, baked them himself. He’s two years younger than me, but miles ahead as a chef, so I have no doubt he found the recipe on some fancy blog and made it even better.

I look up and see Dash eyeing me, waiting for me to take a bite. I break off a corner and let the pastry dissolve on my tongue. Oh my God, it’s like a dreamy slice of heaven. I realize I actually am hungry and take another, larger bite before giving him a thumbs-up.

He grins and gulps down some coffee.

I debate texting Ren a response, but I don’t want to encourage his flirting. And I hate to admit that a tiny part of me likes it a little bit. It’s the most interesting my social life has been in years, even if I don’t plan to see him after he picks up his dog.

“This is your meeting.” My oldest brother, Archer, looks down at the screen of my phone, which I shut off before he can read the texts. Then I look up at his usual grouchy face to ascertain whether he sawanything. His expression only tells that he’s as impatient as always. He’s worn a permanent scowl ever since he took over running Buttercup Hill after our father’s Alzheimer’s disease advanced to a point where he was declared legally unable to run the company.

Unlike my siblings, I don’t blame Archer for the scowl or his irritable moods. He inherited the most stressful job, one he never asked for, and we’ve been digging out from one financial disaster after another since we each took on bigger roles last year.

Looking around, I see all my siblings present, even if busy dawdling over the coffee machine and nibbling on Dash’s baked goods. “Right. I’m ready. Should we start?”

Archer nods and pulls a chair out. Its scraping noise against the raw cement floor draws everyone’s attention, so I start circulating the design boards I’ve put together in the days since I picked up the fabrics last week. “These are the color schemes for the inn. The lobby is here, all designed to complement the rustic chic vibe of the old brown barn and the tasting rooms, but it’s being updated with vintage lighting fixtures and an oversized hearth.” I point out these details on one board before moving to the next one.

“Rooms will all have natural woods, earth tones mixed with bright accents, modern and clean design mixed with antique finds that will give each room an individual charm,” I explain.

PJ points to the board with the new fabric swatches. “All the rooms will be identical, right?”

“Not exactly. We want them all to have a similar look, but the rooms aren’t all the same shape and size.” I walk over and tip the board against the back of a chair. “The suites will have a living room area with these fabrics. This on the couch, these on the pillows.” I point to a peach and white paisley print and a brighter accent pattern with stripes and a third in contrasting floral.

Dash and PJ nod and make sounds of approval. Jax is busy staring at his phone, which only means he’s going to go with whatever I recommend. He handles finances and has had his feetto the fire because we’ve been bleeding money, so we sort of have a tacit agreement that I won’t mess with his area of the business, and he’ll stay out of mine.

Archer and I have no such agreement, and I ready myself for pushback as soon as I finish presenting all of the design changes.

“I’m not seeing it, Trix. Sorry.” Archer crosses his arms and looks from the design boards to me. I don’t take offense at his tone or his questioning. It’s his job to run the winery, which is a multimillion-dollar business, so he’d be remiss if he didn’t sweat the details. And I sure don’t want his job.

“What aren’t you seeing?”

He flicks a hand at the boards. “You’re just changing fabrics? We’re rebranding the inn as an unrivaled wine country experience. This just looks like any other room at any other hotel, no offense.”

I love when people say “no offense” right after they’ve said something offensive. Archer knows this is only a part of what’s different at the inn because I’ve told him as much. My other siblings know too. “None taken. This is just the design piece. The visual. The point is that there’s a calm aesthetic from the moment a guest enters the lobby of the inn right on through the last look at a room before going to sleep. Relaxing music will play in the common areas and in each room when a guest enters. We’re adding a gym, a spa, and pickleball courts, which will be available exclusively to guests and a short list of local residents who need to apply for the privilege. The point is to create scarcity and exclusivity.”

Archer nods. I’m using buzzwords that resonate with him. “Sounding better. So we’re marketing the inn facilities to a handpicked few. I like that.” Just like I knew he would.

Dash pipes up, raising his hand like he’s in school. “This is looking great. I just recruited a concierge who I think you’ll love. Lured him away from Meadow Hill, and he was the reason that place has the reputation it does.”

Meadow Hill produces small-batch wines priced so high none of us believed they’d sell a single bottle. Instead, their vintages sold out in the first hour and inspired half the wineries in the area to come out with their own exclusive editions. “That’s a good get, Dash. Can’t wait to meet him.”

I’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s my favorite sibling. We’ve always had each other’s backs, even though he’s two years younger than me and we didn’t interact much as kids. His friends were boys and might as well have been a decade younger for how interested my friends were in having him around. Once we got older, I came to really appreciate the steady, sweet guy he turned out to be.

“I know Ruby would love to work on an exclusive wine list for the inn,” Jax says.

“Thanks.” Ruby, Jax’s fiancée and our newest sommelier at Butter and Rosemary, is the best at her job. I’m grateful Jax is jumping on board with the concept. That just leaves Archer to sign off officially.

He looks around the room but says nothing. Pushes his chair back and goes over to inspect the design boards at close range. Then he nods, sits back at the table, and shakes his head. “I talked to the Fire Investigator yesterday, and they have no leads.”

I’d worried that would be the case. We’ve been waiting a month since a fire burned through our half brother’s vineyards one night out of the blue. We later found out from the fire department that the fire was started on a corner of Buttercup Hill, but the winds blew it away from our land and ignited Graham’s vineyards next door. Thankfully, the winds died down enough while the firefighters were battling the blaze that he didn’t lose too much of his crop, but the bigger issue is why someone set a fire in the first place.

My family’s relationship with Graham is precarious and new, so we’ve all kept it under wraps. There’s no way to know if whoever set the fire was trying to burn our property or Graham’sas well. Either way, though, we now have an uneasy bond against a common threat.

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