In the five years since Trevor had taken over, Harvest had gone from a well-respected but relatively unknown winery to a national darling with several national and international award-winning vintages. Of course, a big part of the success was the quality of the wine, but Trevor’s efforts at marketing and branding played a part, as well.
“It’s more than decent,” Maggie said gently. She understood the animosity that had simmered for years between the brothers: Griffin, the elder rebel, and Trevor, the golden boy and apple of his father’s eye. But even though Griffin had hurt her with his rejection, she couldn’t let Trevor discount what he’d done here. “It’s incredible, Trev, and we both know it, especially given the setbacks he had because of—”
She broke off as Cole Maren, the former object of her sister’s affection, walked out of the front of the tasting room, carrying a rolled-up set of plans under one arm. He glanced over and his steps faltered for a second as he met Maggie’s gaze. His mouth curved into a ghost of a smile in greeting before he headed around the side of building.
“Yeah, incredible,” Trevor admitted reluctantly. “Although I can’t believe he kept that degenerate kid working here after his part in the fire.”
“The fire was Morgan’s fault,” Maggie said clearly, “and she still feels terrible.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “I still think she’s covering for him.”
“You know that’s not—”
He held up a hand. “I don’t want to argue with you. I know how you are when you believe in something.” His mouth quirked. “A bulldog in a St. John’s suit.”
“It’s Calvin Klein,” Maggie corrected, color flooding her cheeks. In truth, she was as overdressed as Trevor for this meeting but she’d worn the chic fitted jacket and pencil skirt like a warrior might have donned his armor in medieval times. The suit made her feel braver than she knew herself to be. “Anyway, I appreciate how much your mom has done for the gala this year.”
“She’s enjoyed it.” Trevor rocked back on his heels. “It gives her a purpose other than trying to come up with bonding experiences for Griffin and me.”
“You’re both dedicated to the vineyard. Isn’t that something to bond over?”
“He walked away from us a decade ago.” Bitterness laced Trevor’s tone. “Had his own life in the army and working in construction until he deigned to once more grace us with his presence. That’s not dedication. It’s convenience and guilt over leaving in the first place. We’ll see how long he lasts once his debt is paid.”
By debt, Maggie knew Trevor was talking about the fire that had damaged the original tasting room, accidentally set by a teenage Griffin and several of his friends while they were partying. The careless mistake had led to a huge fight between Griffin and his dad, resulting in a rift among the Stone family that still hadn’t been fully repaired.
“We’ll agree to disagree,” she said simply, unwilling to engage in this argument.
Trevor studied her for a long moment. “He’s not here today, if you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” she lied.
“He went to Seattle with his ex-girlfriend.”
Maggie couldn’t help but notice the note of triumph in Trevor’s tone and kept her features placid. “We weren’t expecting him at this meeting anyway. Is your mom around?” She glanced at the driveway. “The rest of the committee should be here shortly.”
Trevor nodded. “She’s finishing up a call. That’s actually why I’m here. She sent me over to tell you she’ll be a few minutes late.”
“No problem.”
An awkward silence descended between the two of them.
“You don’t have to wait with me,” she told him after a moment.
His mouth tightened. “I miss our friendship.”
“We’re friends.” She shrugged. “Just not the same kind as before.”
“Want to grab a beer after work one night?”
“I...” She paused, unsure of how to answer. “Things are crazy with preparations for the gala.” His mouth pulled down into a frown and she saw him sigh. “But after it’s over, I’ll have more time. Maybe then?”
“Great.” Trevor flashed the boyish smile that was his trademark. “It’s a plan.”
He strode away from her and Maggie blew out a breath. Most of the time she loved living in a small town. She liked the familiarity of knowing her neighbors and the comfort that came from her routine. But some moments made her wish for the anonymity of big-city life. Like breaking up with someone and not having to worry about running into them or their mom or their brother or a dozen other mutual friends.
Her phone pinged and she pulled it from her purse. Her grandmother texting instructions on the size and placement of the centerpieces. She regretted encouraging Ben to teach Grammy how to text. It had quickly become her favorite means of lecturing Maggie.
“Ms. Spencer?”
She looked up to find Cole standing in front of her, looking like he hoped the ground would swallow him whole.
“Hey, Cole. I hear you’ve been a big part of keeping the tasting room renovations on track. Things look great.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, his gaze darting to hers before dropping again. The kid had probably grown three inches since Maggie had last seen him. He wore jeans and a Harvest Vineyards T-shirt with a small hole in the arm that looked like it came from catching it on a nail or something.
“I wanted to talk to you.” His brow furrowed. “Duh. Obviously.”
“What did you need?” She smiled, feeling sorry for the teen and his level of discomfort.
“It’s Morgan.” He looked at her, then away.
Maggie’s smile froze. “What about her?”
“You need to—Your dad needs to watch her better. She’s still running with the bad crowd.”
“Your crowd?” she asked.
He gave a sharp shake of his head. “I’m steering clear of them, and Morgan should, too. They’re not her real friends.”
Maggie shrugged. “I appreciate your concern, Cole, and I’ll talk to her. But we can’t control who she’s friends with at school. I wish—”
“What about on the weekends?”
“She’s still grounded,” Maggie said with a frown.
Cole took his phone from his back pocket and keyed in a code to unlock the home screen. He punched the screen again and then held up the phone to show Maggie a photo from one of the popular social media sites. Morgan had her arm around another girl, both of them wearing too much makeup and holding up red plastic cups.
The picture had been tagged “Saturday night shenanigans.”
“When was this taken?” she demanded.
“Two nights ago.”
After they’d had pie together and she’d gone to bed.
“Why are you showing it to me?”
He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “I’m telling you that group she’s trying so hard to be a part of is bad news. Trust me, Ms. Spencer.”
“I