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Tyler chuckled. “I’m sorry too, Tate. My comment about Kelly was uncalled for. I like her. Although she’s a bit older than you, isn’t she?”

Why were people so hung up on the age difference? He didn’t care if she was younger or older. He liked her. Liked spending time with her. He found her funny and attractive and he couldn’t wait for their weekend away.

“I don’t see the difference in our ages as a big problem.”

“That’s good then. As I said, I like her and I think you like her too.”

Tate took another sip of the wine, as much as he and Tyler were back on the shaky ground they called normal, he wasn’t going to share his innermost thoughts about Kelly with him. “So, the wine. What’s the plan? I know you’re not planning to launch until the fall, so what are you wanting to achieve with the festival being held here?”

Tyler’s raised eyebrow was the only indication he noticed Tate’s attempt at changing the subject. “Why don’t we go inside? I cooked while you were talking to Kelly.”

Tyler disappeared back in the house, leaving Tate gaping at his retreating back. His brother had cooked dinner for them? Since when was Tyler domestic like that? Tate supposed he’d have to be, considering he lived by himself.

Inside the house, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filled the air. Tate’s stomach grumbled, reminding him it had been a long time since he’d last eaten. He walked into the kitchen and burst out laughing. “Did you use every single fucking pot to make dinner?” The sink was piled with dishes and the countertops were covered with salad cuttings and what looked like a piece of uncooked chicken. Mrs. Bates, their housekeeper who came once every two weeks, would freak out if she walked in and saw the mess Tyler had made. “Also, I thought you said we were going to order food.”

Tyler looked around him and shrugged. “I changed my mind. I made a couple of different things to go with the wine.”

Tate sat on one of the bar stools. “Well, don’t expect me to clean up this mess. You made it, I didn’t.”

Tyler waved a spoon at him. “Nuh-uh, that’s not how it works. The cook doesn’t clean up.”

“Not sure where you heard that, but doesn’t apply here. I cook, I clean. Dad cooks, Dad cleans. Tyler cooks. Tyler cleans.”

Tyler burst out laughing. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so difficult to heat up Mrs. Bates’s meals.”

“She hasn’t made us a meal in years.”

While they bantered, Tyler had been putting the chicken pasta he’d made into some bowls. “Why don’t you grab the wine and bring it over to the table while I bring the food?”

Tate’s stomach grumbled again; he really needed to eat. “I can do that, where is it?”

“In the ice bucket on the counter.” He headed toward the round table situated in the bay window. The table he and Dad always sat at to eat breakfast. The table Tate hadn’t been near since his father had his stroke.

No way was he going to tell Tyler that though. Tyler wouldn’t understand how hard this was for him.

“Food’s getting cold and my glass is nearly empty.”

“Nothing about this is going to be pleasant,” Tate muttered to himself as he picked up the ice bucket.

Chapter Eleven

“So I’m goingto hire a PR firm in New York to help come up with a great label design for the wine. I’m also going to get them to help with some launch activities, create a campaign I hope will attract some of the biggest wine merchants to the area.”

While Dad had agreed to help with some of the launch costs, Tate didn’t think he meant for Tyler to hire a firm out of New York. “How expensive is all this going to be? Couldn’t you use a firm from Houston or something? Why New York?”

“You don’t have to worry the cost, I’ve allocated some of my business loan for this sole purpose. I won’t be needing much from Dad like I first thought. Plus the firm I’m using, one of the guys I went to college with works there. He said he’d be able to get me a good deal.”

“Yeah, be careful with that. I’ve found that sometimes when friends say they’re going to help you they actually can’t and it costs you twice as much as you thought it would be.”

Tyler laid his flatware down on his empty plate. “You really don’t trust me, do you? You think I’m going to fuck this all up and cause embarrassment to Dad and the family company.”

Tate thought carefully before he spoke. Prior to Tyler telling him of his marketing plans for the wine, the two of them had had a pleasant meal. The food Tyler cooked was delicious and he could admit his brother’s wine was pretty damn good. But Tyler was right, Tate didn’t trust him. Tate might have only been fifteen when Mom died, but he’d seen the way Tyler had acted after her death. Not only had he closed himself off from everyone, he’d gone off the rails as well. He’d gotten caught underage drinking more times than Tate could remember. Tyler also got into many fights and Dad had been worried his middle son was going to end up in jail. The local sheriff had been more understanding than one of his city counterparts would’ve been, Tate was sure. It helped that Sheriff Hodgson had been a good friend to Mom and Dad so he understood that Tyler was grieving.

While Tate didn’t think Tyler was going to go off the rails quite like that should the wine venture not work out, some of Tyler’s decision-making processes still left a lot to be desired.

“You’re taking an awful long time to answer my question, which really gives me the answer I expected.” Tyler pushed back from the table. “One day, you, Dad and Trey will trust me. I know grapes, wine, and winemaking, Tate. I’ve got a fucking viticulture degree, just like you’ve got your agriculture degree that helps you manage the farm. You’re younger than me, but Itrustthat you know what you’re doing. That you’re not going to kill all the peach trees. All I ask is you give me the same courtesy.”

Tyler gathered up his plate and stalked over to the kitchen, leaving Tate to give himself yet another mental kick for fucking things up.