“Well, it’s too late. I think we’re here.”

The GPS is yapping in its annoying voice to make a fast left and I quickly read the sign verifying it’s the right address.

Bobby pulls to a stop at the giant billboard at the entrance of the driveway.

I give him the stare. “Aha. Loser, huh? Willis & Sons Winery. He owns a freaking winery, Bobby. A pretty successful one, by the looks of it. Can you relax now? This isn’t going to be awful and he’s not going to hit you up for money.”

Bobby puts the car back into gear. “Sons. The dude has other kids. I have brothers. Shit, maybe even sisters. Why didn’t they want me?”

His jaw clenches.

Oh damn.

I didn’t take that sign the way Bobby did.

I kiss his arm. “I don’t know. But since we’re going to find out very soon, why don’t we stop with the doom and gloom thoughts in your head?”

We continue down the road and park in an empty gravel lot shaded by large oak and sycamore trees and surrounded by buildings. One is obviously the main house, a large wooden structure at least a hundred years old, and across the drive is a smaller replica labeled Tasting Room. Set back behind both structures is a larger building with floor-to-ceiling barn doors open.

I quickly inspect the yard. “It’s beautiful here. Look, they have a small lake surrounded by grass with tables so people can have picnics. It seems like a very nice winery, Bobby.”

Nothing. No comment. He’s just staring out the window. After a few minutes, I unbuckle my seat belt and pull the strap of my cross-body tote over my head.

I open my door. “I’m going to go look around.”

Bobby stops me with a hand. “No wait. Someone’s coming.”

I turn in the direction of his gaze to catch a man exiting the largest outbuilding. The closer he gets, the faster my heartbeat. Oh my God: tall, lean-muscled build, light brown hair.

Holy shit.

“Hey, kid, nice car,” he says loud enough to be heard through the open windows, pointing at us as he continues walking toward the main house.

I climb out of my seat and he turns to look at me over his shoulder. His eyes widen in that she’s gorgeous way, and he’s impressed enough by what he sees that he stops walking, pulls off his sunglasses and turns to face me.

Big green eyes.

My heart drops.

Fuck, he can’t be more than thirty-five, but the resemblance is uncanny.

Willis & Sons Winery?

This guy has to be Bobby’s older brother.

“The tasting room isn’t open yet,” he says politely into my stupor, “but it’s unlocked if you want to wait inside. I can be back in a few minutes.”

“We’re not here to taste wine,” I hear Bobby announce. When I look he’s standing half in, half out of the car, staring across the roof. “I’m looking for Greg Willis. My name is Bobby—”

“Rowan. You’re Bobby Rowan,” he exclaims in stunned disbelief.

The color drains from the man’s face.

Crap, I can tell he knows exactly why we’re here and has been catapulted into his own holy shit moment.

The vineyard around us grows uncomfortably still.

Why doesn’t someone say something?

Fine. “Do you know where he is?” I ask.

The man’s eyes shift back to me, and then he hurries across the gravel, extending his hand. “I’m Greg Willis. This is my dad’s winery. I run it with my brothers. And you are?”

Oh my God, this hot, only slightly older version of Bobby is Greg Willis? His birth father? He couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen when Bobby was born.

I shake his outstretched hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Willis. I’m Kaley Rowan. I’m Bobby’s wife.”

His eyes widen and then he smiles and steps back. Almost in slow motion, he turns toward Bobby. “I’m the man you’re looking for.”

Bobby comes around the car, stopping close next to me. “My wife has some papers that indicate you are my father.”

Greg nods. “Don’t need to see them. I can tell just by looking at you, Bobby. And I’ve waited a very long time to meet you.”

I can feel the emotion coursing through my husband. “The records had an address for you, but none for my birth mother, Ellen. Do you know where she is?”

Greg’s eyes cloud over. “She was my high school sweetheart. We married right after graduation. Never had any more children. Just you. My wife died two years ago. A car accident. But I can tell you everything you want to know about Ellen.”

I stare up at Bobby to see how that one hits him. He purses his lips, nodding and looking dazed.

“We’ve come a far way to meet you,” I say. “It’s really hot today. Is there someplace cooler we can sit and talk?”

Greg flushes. “Why don’t we go into the house?” he suggests eagerly. “The entire family will be here later. My brothers—your uncles—and my dad. Please stay. I know everyone will want to meet you.”

Bobby’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He’s choking back emotion, and I can tell he’s not going to be able to speak anytime soon.

I shift my gaze to find Greg imploring us with his eyes. “We’d love to stay. We want to meet everyone.”

Greg’s smile is enormous—exactly the same smile as Bobby’s—as he gestures us toward the front door. “Come on, then. Let’s get you inside.”

Bobby nods. He looks like he can hardly take in air. His fingers clutching my hand squeeze lightly. I kiss his arm and step ahead toward the house.

I pause at the front door and look at Greg. “I’m so happy we came.”

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he says as we step into the house.

I peek back over my shoulder to make sure that Bobby is following from the yard. God, I’ve never seen him look so overwhelmed, but his expression tells me this is all going to be OK. The room is be filled with that tentative awkwardness of two people in an intense moment not knowing where to start, but the air is also warm with pulsing emotion from both men.

This is good, really good.

Bobby needed this.

I give myself a mental pat on the back.

“Should we sit down?” Greg says. “There’s so much I want to know. I want to know everything about your life, Bobby, and your beautiful wife here. And I’m sure you have questions. I’ll answer anything you ask me.”

Bobby nods, and I cross the room trying to decide where to sit. Then I sink down on a sofa and wait for the two men—unable it seems to do anything but stare at each other—to step into this incredible moment with me.

Finally, Bobby sits in the spot beside me and his dad takes a chair close and facing us.

Bobby rakes a hand nervously through his hair. “I don’t know where to start.”

Greg laughs. “I don’t either. Why don’t I start with what I know? I know you grew up in Pacific Palisades. I know you are one hell of an athlete and was your graduating class’s valedictorian. I know who your adoptive parents are, Len and Linda Rowan. I know you’ve been traveling across the US for the past two years. Your mom, Linda, is a good woman. She’s been sending us letters and pictures of you through the adoption attorney your entire life. We never wanted to give you up. We kept you for two months, but we were just too young to do right by a baby. It was the hardest thing we ever had to do, giving you up. But it was the right thing and we felt so blessed that we found Linda for you after we received the first letter from her. It meant so much to Ellen every month to get a letter and some pictures of you. An enormous comfort to know we did well by you, especially since God never saw fit to give us more children. That would have made life impossible for Ellen if we hadn’t known you were happy. Linda is a loving woman and prolific letter writer. I know a lot about you, Bobby Rowan. A lot more than you think.”

Bobby’s tense face cracks with a smile. “I hope not,” he murmurs and both men laugh.

Ah. A joke. A good sign.

I relax into my husband’s side. There are times Linda just floors me. This is one of those times. No wonder she didn’t hesitate or argue when I asked for information to unseal Bobby’s adoption records. She’s been communicating with his birth parents on her own for years.