Fifteen
Sadie
I check the clock on the dash. I’ve been on time for everything this week.
In addition to working thirty-eight hours in the tasting room, I coordinated auction items, followed up with businesses, and organized all the paperwork.
But somehow, today, of all days, I’m nervous about being late.
I steer the Jeep down the winding road toward Paradise Vineyard, my fingers tightening around the wheel as I approach the main house.
Not that anyone gave me a strict arrival time. But still.
The sun slips in and out of the clouds overhead as I make the final turn toward the family estate. The vineyard rolls out like something from a postcard—rows of vines stretching in neat lines toward the lake, its surface glinting in the late-afternoon light. It looks calm. Unlike me .
I exhale and try to focus on what I’ve accomplished.
This week, I’ve been all-in on the silent auction for the fundraiser supporting rural medicine.
Cold calls. Follow-ups. I picked up things every day and dropped them at the hospital.
Vicky was there when I brought the last of it yesterday.
The room was overflowing, and she was practically giddy as she reviewed the items.
“ I want you at my table ,” she told me, like it was the most natural thing in the world to invite me to a black-tie gala. “ You’ve earned it .”
I’d thanked her, blushing like a kid caught playing dress-up. “ I don’t even have a dress .”
That’s when she’d grinned and waved away my concerns. “ You’ll borrow one of mine. Come to the house early on Saturday and spend the afternoon with us. Get ready with the girls. ”
The girls as in Tarryn, Elise, Trinity, and Vicky herself. Women who are stunning and polished and belong at a fundraiser. I still can’t believe I managed to smile and accept. I’m an orphan who doesn’t have a pot to pee in.
I park the Jeep in the gravel drive and stare up at the main house. Every window sparkles in the sunlight, like the whole place is waiting for something magical to happen—or someone more prepared to walk through the front door.
I smooth my hands over my jeans and reach for my bag, heart thudding. Fancy fundraisers aren’t exactly my comfort zone. I’m more jeans and boots than cocktail dresses and champagne. But I promised Vicky. And honestly…a part of me wants to belong. Even if it’s just for one night.
I step inside and immediately freeze. The house seems entirely different than when I’ve been here for dinner.
The housekeeper leads me upstairs to the main bedroom suite, which has been transformed into a salon.
Stylists bustle between women in chairs—curling hair, painting nails, and applying makeup with precise strokes.
The air smells like hairspray and perfume and something floral.
“Sadie!” Vicky says. “Come with me. You’re going to love this.”
The bedroom suite is bigger than most apartments I’ve lived in. The walls are a soft cream, and floor-to-ceiling windows frame the view of the vineyard and Black Bear Lake like a painting come to life.
I step toward the window, momentarily lost in the view. “This is…beautiful.”
Vicky smiles. On the bed is a large box, and after looking at me a moment, she pulls out a sleek black dress. “What do you think of this one?”
It’s a sheath dress with a lace overlay—form-fitting, strapless, with a high slit up one thigh. Classic and elegant and very feminine. Terrifying. And it has a price tag that’s more money than I make in three months.
I narrow my eyes. “This isn’t your dress.”
“I couldn’t resist. I had it brought in from Montreal. I saw it and thought it was perfect for you.”
I press my palms together. “It’s gorgeous. But you didn’t have to do this.”
“Of course I did. After all the work you’ve done, you should get the chance to enjoy the party.”
I hold the dress up. “I just hope it fits.”
She walks over and takes the dress from me. “It will. And if it doesn’t, I have backups. But this one will look incredible on you.”
I don’t say it out loud, but dresses like this don’t usually work for me.
I’ve got hips and a bust that demand their own zip code, and the idea of stuffing them into something tight and unforgiving makes me want to hide under a blanket.
Still, I nod and take the dress, whispering a silent prayer as I carry it to the adjoining bathroom to change.
It slips over my hips and after tucking the girls into the dress so I don’t make the local papers for exposing myself, I look in the mirror and twirl. I feel like a real princess. The slit is nearly to my hip. I hope I can wear a thong with this . Jeez.
When I come out, Vicky gasps. “You’re stunning.” She shows me the shoes—black, strappy stilettos that somehow look both delicate and powerful.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away. “Thank you. This is so generous of you.”
“You earned it.” She gives me a hug. “Okay, change back into your shorts and the button-up shirt I asked you to bring. That way Darla and her team can get you ready.”
I change, putting the dress back on its hanger for now, and we spend the rest of the afternoon getting primped, plucked, painted, polished, and preened.
Trinity talks about vineyard tours gone wrong, including something about a goat getting loose during a bachelorette party.
Elise tells a story about Beckett losing a bet and having to pick grapes barefoot for a week.
He hates spiders, which love the vines. Tarryn laughs so hard at one point she smudges lipstick over her cheek.
I laugh, too—really laugh. The kind that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside and feels warm, whole, and real.
Vicky heads off early with a wave while the rest of us are still being prepared. “I’ll see you there,” she says.
When they’re done with me, I barely recognize the woman in the mirror.
Chestnut waves fall in soft curls over my shoulders, and my makeup—subtle smoky eyes, warm blush, lips the color of ripe berries—makes me look like someone else.
Someone elegant. Effortless. Like the kind of woman who belongs at a black-tie fundraiser, sipping champagne without worrying about the price tag on her shoes.
But that’s not me. It can’t be. And yet…here I am. I slip into a dress that hugs every curve without apology. The slit up my thigh is bold, scandalous even, and the strappy stilettos make my legs look about a mile long. I should feel like an imposter. But instead I feel…fantastic.
“Ladies!” Greyson bellows from downstairs. “If we don’t leave soon, Mom’s going to donate me to the auction!”
Laughter erupts around me, but I smile politely and step into the bathroom one last time.
It’s silly, maybe, but I want to make sure I’ve done everything before we head out.
The nerves are real now, coiled low in my stomach.
Once we get to the vineyard ballroom, I won’t have a second to myself.
There’ll be crowds. Champagne. Expectations.
And Beckett.
Oh God.
I take a deep breath, smooth my dress again, and step out. The others are already heading down the sweeping staircase, chatting and laughing, a swirl of silk and perfume.
I follow a few steps behind.
The staircase is long, and I’m the last one, white-knuckling the railing. One wrong step in these stilettos I barely know how to walk in, and I’ll go down like a domino, taking out every perfectly polished woman ahead of me.
When I get to the bottom, I look up and there he is.
Standing near the base of the stairs, Beckett waits in a black Armani tuxedo, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a single cufflink as he talks to his brother Kingston. He looks every bit the headline—confident, powerful, devastating.
Everything else stops.
Beckett goes still.
So do I.
His gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. And then—like he forgets how to speak—his mouth parts, but nothing comes out.
I force a smile, nerves rattling. “Is that a full sentence, Dr. Beckett?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “You’re…”
A pause. A beat too long.
“Wow,” he finishes, his voice low, almost stunned.
I arch a brow. “Still not a full sentence.”
He huffs a quiet laugh and steps closer, his gaze dropping to the slit in my dress and then trailing back up, lingering on my mouth. “You look perfect,” he says softly.
It hits harder than it should. Not because he’s handsome or wearing a tux or because the words are nice. But because there’s no smirk. No sarcasm. Just quiet awe, like he means it.
I suddenly forget how to breathe. “You clean up okay, too,” I say, trying to lighten the moment, but my voice wavers. He’s always handsome, but in a tuxedo he’s drop-dead gorgeous.
He chuckles and smooths his hand down the front of his jacket. “I was coming to pick you up, but it looks like you’re about to shut the whole event down.”
I laugh despite the heat blooming in my cheeks. “Stop.”
“I’m serious. You’re going to cause a scene.”
Behind him, Trinity appears, looking like a queen in sapphire silk. “You two ready?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I think I am.”
Beckett offers his arm, and I slide mine through it. His touch is warm, grounding. And just like that, I’m not afraid anymore.
As we walk out to the car, heels tapping in rhythm, the sky blushes pink above the vines, and Black Bear Lake shimmers in the distance. Under the portico of the main house, four black limousines wait in a neat row, their engines idling, headlights glowing in the dusky light.
Greyson and Trinity are the first to go.
He opens the door for her, but not before whispering something that makes her laugh and swat his arm.
Her cheeks are flushed, her lipstick fresh, and her hair perfect, but there’s something unguarded in her smile that surprises me after spending the afternoon with her.
Trinity is guarded. Smart. Private. But around Greyson… she softens.