Page 56 of The Voice We Find

August is on his way to the winery.

I’m heading to meet him at the front of the main house in my three-inch wedge sandals and white halter dress when I suddenly remember the denim jacket I forgot in the tasting room. We closed early today due to the private event Jasper is hosting this evening, an event he’s booked for the first Saturday night of every month under the nameArt and Social Club. Personally, I couldn’t care less what he calls it—I’m just grateful for the night off. And bonus, I didn’t even have to ask for it. Natalie had simply texted to let me know Jasper had hired a separate crew for these “club” nights, to which I responded with an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

If the plans I’d made for tonight’s dinner out with August were close by, I’d forgo a jacket, seeing as this September evening is almost warm enough to break a sweat. But the bay is always chillier—especially after the sun goes down.

I pause where the walking path forks, contemplating the lesser of two evils: being frozen on the beach or potentially interrupting my brother’s monthly snobbery club. But when I glance at my watchandthen into the picture window of the tasting room, there’s no indication that anyone’s inside. It’s still early. A few minutes to five. Yet, despite theClosed for a Private Eventsign on the door, the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Even after months of being back, there’s not a day I don’t think about the consequences of entering a dark tasting room alone after hours.

It’s fine, I coach myself.There’s still plenty of daylight outside. I’ll be in and out in a blink.

I don’t give myself another option as I dash up the walk, enter my employee code into the security box, and prop the door open with the stopper. I slip inside the empty dining room and make a hard right toward the bar to retrieve my coat from the staff closet. I stop short when I see my brother’s back arched over an open laptop on the bar’s counter. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and two wireless earbuds are shoved into his ears.

“...not good enough,” he says in a firm tone, and it’s only then I realize he’s on a phone call. The black iPhone lies face up on the bar top, next to his computer. “If you want to get paid, you’ll get it right.”

From here, I can barely make out the images on his screen but it looks as if there are a couple of paintings he’s studying closely. Is he adding to his art collection?

I know I should leave before he catches my silhouette in the reflection of his screen, but my feet remain planted. My heart stutters an erratic, nonsensical beat because something feels off, and I want to understand why.

Jasper slaps the counter with his open palm, and my adrenaline spikes. “We set up in an hour, Andre. There’s no time for second thoughts—”

I don’t hear what’s next because the pocket of my dress begins to vibrate.My phone.August must be calling. No, August must be here.

Using the “soft feet” technique I learned from my first choreographer, I flee the room, jacketless, fervently hoping that my brother’s earbuds are turned up loud enough to block the sound of the door closing behind me.

For more reasons than I care to explain—not including my currentmaddash out of the tasting room—I want to keep August far away from the messiest parts of my life. At the top of that list: my brother. When I couldn’t talk August out of picking me up for dinner tonight, I decided I’d simply play the part of goalie instead. I’d meet him out front and fight to preserve the few untainted impressions of my Gigi’s legacy.

I race across the path and up the steps to the main house, where I swipe two bottles of wine from the staff kitchen, then burst out the side door into the small parking lot. I’m just in time to spot him heading up the front walk, holding a large bouquet of flowers.

“Hey,” I call out to him, breathless.

He spins around in a circle, tracking me as I jog in my wedged sandals to his midnight-blue sedan. “Oh? Hello.” Confusion crimps his brow as he gestures toward the house with the bouquet. “You know, when I told you I would pick you up tonight, it included a walk to your front door like any respectable gentleman would—”

“That’s okay,” I quip while moving to his trunk and cradling our house red and white in my arms. “Because I’m already here. See? I saved you a trip.” I flash him a grin.

“Uh, yes. I do see.” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes on the wine bottles. “Although I’m starting to wonder if we might have different definitions of a thank-you dinner.”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “These are just for you. To try at home. We give them out to all our VIP tourists.”

He looks from me to the estate and then back again. “When did I have a VIP tour?”

“You haven’t yet. But you will. Just not tonight.”

“So that’s, like, what? Conciliatory wine?”

“Exactly.” I smile.

He bobs his chin once, yet I can tell he understands nothing. Not that I can blame him. All I know is that I want to get out of here—and fast. I’m still not totally sure my brother didn’t spot me spying on him. And I’d rather not find out while in August’s company.

“Shall we go?” I ask in my most Positive Polly voice.

He presses a button on his key fob and pops his trunk, where hehelps me secure the bottles before assisting me into the passenger seat. When he hands me the sweet bouquet of mixed wildflowers, I wish I could risk running back inside to put them in water.

“Thank you for the flowers, August. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.”

I’m reaching for the seatbelt when he asks, “Who’s that on the porch?”

I nearly lose control of my bladder before I confirm it’s only Natalie. She offers me a tenuous smile and a quick wave. I wave back. This has become our new normal since the Sunday brunch with my parents. We’ve upgraded to in-laws who smile and wave. I don’t even care if it’s probably out of pity. It’s nice.

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