Chapter 22
Tristan
Gravel crunches under my boots as I leave the ridge behind.
The mask is still in my pocket—cold, heavy, wrong.
By the time I reach the distillery, dawn has already burned through the fog. Calder’s truck is parked outside. He’s waiting on the steps, coffee in hand, watching me like he’s known all along.
“Rough night?” he asks.
“Don’t start.”
He does anyway. “I heard about the screaming on the ridge. You gonna tell me why the woman you can’t stop staring at thinks someone broke into her house?”
Something in me breaks. “Because it was me.”
Cal doesn’t move for a long beat. “Jesus, Tristan.”
“I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I just—” I drag a hand through my hair. “I needed her to see I could protect her. I needed her to understand she’s not safe there alone.”
“By scaring the hell out of her?”
“I know how it sounds.”
He stares at me. “You’re just like him.”
The words hit like a blade.
Cal softens his tone, his voice lower. “Dad had that same fire. Controlled everything he loved until it burned. But Mom… she loved him anyway. She used to say love’s not about taming the storm—it’s learning to stand in it.”
I swallow hard. “And it killed her.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. When he died, she couldn’t stand the quiet.”
Silence stretches between us.
Cal steps closer, gripping my shoulder. “You’ve got the same damn fire, but you don’t have to let it consume you. You love her, don’t you?”
I stare past him toward the ridge. “I do. I love her. I want to give her everything—help her rebuild, fix the vineyard, make it hers again.”
“Then prove it,” he says. “No masks. No fear. Just you.”