Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

Naked.

Sated.

Warm.

Together.

I’m wrapping up the second day of training for the waitstaff when Micah steps through the doors. I can see two of my new part-time hostesses visibly swoon at the sight of him, and I know anything else I say is going to be in one ear and out the other.

“I’ll see you all here tomorrow at three,” I say. “Good job, everyone.”

As the staff shuffles around, grabbing their things, I head over to Micah.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Just swinging through to see how things are going,” he says, but it feels like there’s more on his mind.

Part of me wants to find out what Wes is up to. I haven’t seen him much all day. I’ve been too focused on training and getting the final details wrapped for all the visuals through the restaurant. It’s wild how much time can fly by when you’re setting up table centerpieces and rolling napkins, even when several people are helping.

But I haven’t seen my baby brother nearly enough since I moved home, so I’m thrilled that he’s stopped by unexpectedly. And I know I should take advantage of this opportunity to spend some time with him.

“I have to slip the final menus into their covers. Wanna help?”

He grins. “Sure.”

We make quick work of setting up a station where my brother slips the left page in and then passes it to me to add the right. And as we work, Micah talks about one of the vines on the west side of the property that has contracted red blotch, a new virus that has been identified only in the past few years that impacts the flavor of the grape.

“The plan is to tug up the current roots and plant new sav ones. Red blotch doesn’t really affect the whites as much, so we’ll test that for a little while to see if that’s a long-term solution.”

Micah is smart. Really smart.

Sometimes I wonder if my dad and brother give him the credit he deserves for the incredible way his mind works.

“Do you think . . .”

My voice trails off when I spot Wes emerging from the kitchen, his chef coat slung over his shoulder. He slows briefly when he sees Micah and gives us both a wave before crossing through the restaurant and heading out the door.

“Still wanna pretend like nothing’s going on?” Micah’s voice drags my attention away from Wes’s retreating form and back to where we’re seated. “Because the way you’re looking at him with hearts in your eyes says otherwise.”

I return my focus to the menus, not answering Micah right away, uncertain about what I really want to share.

We’ve always been close, the two of us. Much closer than either of us ever were with Memphis, especially as we got older. And because he has a much higher emotional IQ than my father or older brother, I’ve always tended to be a lot more vulnerable around him. More transparent about the inner workings of my mind.

I’m not entirely sure I want to share what’s been going on between me and Wes with Micah, though. Mostly because it’s so new and still feels fragile.

And partly because sharing kissing stories with my brother doesn’t sound like the most comfortable conversation.

“At least tell me this,” Micah says, tapping my hand lightly to get my attention. “Are you doing this to fuck with Dad or Memphis?”

My eyebrows twist violently. “What are you talking about?” The insinuation lands like a stone in my gut.

He assesses me for a moment before he answers. “I know there’s a lot riding on the restaurant. I’m just making sure you’re not trying to rock the boat.”

I shake my head. “I can’t imagine a world where I would even consider—” I shake my head again. “I would never do anything to intentionally jeopardize the vineyard or the family or the restaurant, okay?”

Micah shrugs. “I know you wouldn’t, but I had to ask.”

Irritation bristles inside me. The entire time I’ve known Wes, it has seemed like the concern has always been how Dad or Memphis might react to us crossing this invisible boundary. He made it clear that this job was the utmost priority.