40
BRYN
I gasp at the computer screen. Victoria is shaking me by the shoulders, saying, “Oh my God. Did you hear him? He said you are his life on the Internet.”
“Shh, shh . . .” I push her hands away as the scene plays out in front of me, because this isn’t just about Mitchell admitting he loves me.
Mitchell is standing up to Levi.
I turn up the volume on the computer.
Mitchell looks directly at the camera and does a double take. Yes, you’re being live streamed, buddy. I bring my hand to my mouth as realization plays on his face that what he said is no longer between him and his brother, no longer contained. He pinches the bridge of his nose, causing my heart to squeeze. It makes me want to rush out into the crowd, to hell with the rules that have kept me on this side of the hill. I want to stand with him and tell him I love him, too.
But shouldn’t love be easy? Because I’m still in crisis. My business is suffering, and is the fact it took too long for us to get here—for him to stand up for himself and for me—a sign of something else? The camera streaming Mitchell now conveys the reality of our life, because even after the cameras leave, there will be the expectations, the gossip, the questions.
How can we find ourselves in all of that?
But I keep my eyes on the screen. Below the picture, the comment section scrolls down rapidly as viewers weigh in on the current Dunford drama.
Mitchell clears his throat. “And my first decision is to end this tour. I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. We appreciate you all being here, and we hope to make you proud of Dunford. I promise you that what you witnessed is less how we do business and more of the normal stuff our life is about. Besides making money, we’re also trying to keep and grow families. Maybe find new people to call family.”
The camera spins around and focuses on the people on the tour as they walk away. The laptop shuts in front of me as Victoria says, “The time delay!” She snatches the computer and heads into the living room.
“Hey!” I yell.
Time delay? What the hell?
A series of knocks makes me jump, and I look toward the French doors. It’s Mitchell, in jeans and his Dunford shirt and baseball cap turned backward. Behind him are Joel and Joey, and the rest of the tour, slowly catching up on the trail.
“Open the door, Bryn.” His voice is muffled behind the glass.
My heart hammers in my chest as I glide to the door. With a shaky hand, I twist the knob and the door slides open. Mitchell strips himself of his mic and drops it on the ground, steps in, and closes the door swiftly on the rest of the crowd. The camera remains outside, though the lens is trained on us as we walk deeper into the kitchen to the island, where I hang on to the marble edge as if it’s going to keep me from falling.
Has it only been a week since San Francisco?
I’m realizing that sometimes you don’t truly know what you’re missing until the thing that was taken away comes back to you. This week, I pretended to move on because there was no other choice. Now that Mitchell’s here, I’m mourning the time we spent apart, the love I wasn’t able to express.
“I heard what you said.” I fix my gaze between his eyes to keep myself from falling to pieces. “And I appreciate what you did, but I don’t know if I can do this, Mitchell. When I agreed to the live stream in the beginning, I was stupid and naive to think this wouldn’t bite me in the butt. I was wrong, and I’ve lost a lot.”
Mitchell takes my hand. “Then don’t let us go. This thing between us is real. It is absolutely real, and we have to fight for it. I love you. And if I have to make up for it every single day . . . If I have to come up here and weed these gardens and fix your plumbing just so you’ll talk to me and give us another chance, I will. You know, I came home missing something. I was searching for something that would put me back together. And I realize what I needed was someone who saw me despite my being broken and loved me for it anyway. Yeah, it took the show, took the cameras to make me see it, but there’s no doubting it now. I can’t do this life without you, now that I know what it feels like to have you in it.”
My chest seizes with joy. He brought everything to the table: this grand gesture of commitment to me. A commitment I can easily return. But I have my own words to say, thoughts I must articulate.
“Can I . . . can I hold your hands?” I ask. When he nods, I take them into mine. They’re rough and callused, dry from his work in the vines. They represent who he is—this valiant, get-in-the-ground messy, brave soul. He took me on like his family vineyard, willing to work for me, for us. Yet he doesn’t seek control. Just as he trains the leaves back to cajole the grapes, he doesn’t force his decisions. He wants me to choose him, too.
I entwine my fingers with his, and our connection sparks like live wires. I inhale deeply and gauge what to say, but I exhale, giving up, going with my heart. “I think too much, you know?”
I look up to Mitchell’s confused face, so I try again. “My temper, my assumptions, my doubts. They’re out of control, like knee-jerk reactions. They’ve served me well in business and in surviving, but not so much in everything else. I pushed you away, and I risked throwing us away.
“When we’re together . . . when we were pretending to be together, I was happier than I ever was with anyone else for real. For those moments, I felt like I could have it all, the career and the guy and the love, you know? When we got back from our week without the camera, I was fully committed to you, whether or not you were ready. Coming back here and realizing our lives are too complicated? I got scared again.”
“My brother, he didn’t mean—” he starts to say, but I gently lay a finger on my lips.
“It’s not about Levi, not really. It’s about us. In the beginning, I thought leasing Lavenderhill would change my life. But it’s you. It’s you who changed it.”
“Come here.” He pulls me to him so my back is against the island and he has both hands on my waist. His eyes are pleading, glassy.
I palm his face with both hands, and despite my flowing tears, I conjure a firm tone and make my final demand. “But for this to work, I want to be first in your life—”
“You are first—”
“Listen, please. One rule, only one thing: it’s you and me. We talk to each other first. We figure things out together. Even on our worst days—”
“On our worst days, through my sleepless nights, at every sunset. It’s just you and me.”
He stops me with a kiss before I can rebut, and for the first time ever, I don’t vie for the last word. My body settles into his hold, into his arms. Into his promise. With this man, I’ve already won.
This won’t be a new beginning for us, but a continuation of our version of paradise.
Paraiso.