Thirty-two
Sadie
A sharp knock jars me awake.
I sit up, my heart thudding. It’s just after five a.m.—too early for visitors. I look toward Ginny’s room, and the light I left on for her is still glowing. She never came home last night.
Another knock, more urgent this time.
Ginny probably forgot her key. I pad barefoot across the floor and swing the cottage door wide. I don’t even think to check the peephole, my mouth already forming a sarcastic, “Did you lose your—”
But it’s not Ginny.
Beckett stands on the porch, looking like he’s aged a decade. His eyes are bloodshot, his scrubs wrinkled, his hair a mess caused by tired hands and long hours.
My breath catches in my throat. “Beckett…” I choke, the apology on my lips. I left. I didn’t even say goodbye. “I’m—”
“Sadie,” he says. “I know we have a lot to talk about, but that’s not why I’m here. I need to tell you something.”
Something about his tone stops everything in me.
He doesn’t ask to come in. He doesn’t reach for me. “It’s Rosie. Her heart gave out last night. I’m so sorry.”
The world cracks open.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head like I can undo the words. “No, no, no…” My knees hit the hardwood floor, and a sound rips out of me that doesn’t even sound human.
He’s down beside me in an instant, gathering me into his arms. I clutch his shirt, his warmth, anything solid while my whole body convulses with grief.
“She was fine,” I gasp. “She was fine when I left. She was making jokes. She was gonna see the Eiffel Tower. We were going to swim with dolphins and have one of those ridiculous spa days with mud masks and cucumber water and—” I break, a fresh wave of tears knocking me down again.
Beckett holds me tighter.
I don’t know how long I stay there, clinging to him. Maybe forever. Maybe only minutes.
Eventually, he shifts and lifts me to my feet. I’m not sure how I stand, but his arm stays around my waist, steadying me.
“Come sit down,” he says, guiding me to the couch. I sink into the cushions, and he disappears for a moment before returning with a glass of water and a throw blanket from the armchair. He wraps it around my shoulders.
“She wanted to see a play on Broadway,” I whisper, staring at nothing.
His jaw tightens. “I know. She told me.”
“I was going to take her,” I say. “We were going to go after she got the transplant. We were going to go to the Greek islands and drink wine and flirt with men who didn’t speak a word of English.”
He sits beside me, close but not touching. “She loved you, Sadie. You were everything to her.”
“I left,” I whisper. “What if she woke up in the middle of the night and I wasn’t there? What if she was scared?”
His hand covers mine. “She wasn’t alone. I was there. She wasn’t scared.”
My eyes fill again, the tears falling silently this time. “I should’ve stayed at the hospital. I should’ve—”
“Stop.” His voice is quiet but firm. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
Beckett shifts beside me and reaches into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a worn notebook—light purple with a faded sticker of a globe on the cover.
My heart races the second I see it.
“She told me a few weeks ago that she wanted you to have it,” he says, holding it out to me.
My fingers twitch, but I don’t reach for it right away. My eyes burn.
“She said it kept her hopeful,” he adds. “And that you were the only person who believed she’d actually get to cross anything off it.”
I take it slowly, like it might shatter in my hands. The cover is soft from wear. The corners are bent. Her name is scribbled inside the front, along with a tiny doodle of a heart. There’s an envelope with my name on it.
But I can’t open it. Not yet.
“I can’t…” My voice cracks. “I’m sorry, I just…not right now.”
Beckett nods. “You don’t have to.”
I set the notebook on the coffee table, like it’s a sacred thing. I don’t even look at it again.
We sit in silence for a moment.
“I always called her Rosemary,” Beckett says. “Because it reminded me to keep things professional. Keep that boundary.”
I glance over at him.
“She made it impossible, though,” he says, eyes distant. “She didn’t care if I was in a bad mood or if I told her she couldn’t have s alt. She’d still ask me about my day, or tell me I needed a vacation.” He huffs a tired breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
I feel that wound in my heart again, softer this time. Not pain. Just understanding. Shared loss.
“She wasn’t just a patient to me,” he admits. “She was…a bright spot, a constant reminder that there’s still joy in all of this.”
I swallow hard. “She made me feel like I mattered.”
“You did,” he says. “You do.”
I look down at my hands, then back at the notebook on the table. “It hurts so much.”
“I know.”
The tears keep pouring from my eyes, and my nose is running. But I don’t care.
He doesn’t say more, doesn’t try to fix it or offer hollow comfort. He just sits beside me, quiet and steady.
And that keeps me from falling apart again.
“I’m going to do them,” I say. “Every single one. For her.”
Beckett nods.
“She gave me her lucky bracelet when I saw her yesterday,” I whisper. “Said I needed the luck. It’s like she knew.”
“She probably did,” he says. “Her heart was struggling, but I had hoped she’d have more time, that I could keep her going until we found her a new one.”
I look over at him, this man I left, though it nearly gutted me. He looks wrecked—eyes raw, hands still trembling—but he’s here. Holding me up when I can’t do it alone.
“You didn’t have to come,” I say.
“I did,” he replies. “I didn’t want you to find out from anyone else.”
“I was going to come see you today. To talk. I didn’t mean to just disappear.”
He nods. “I was going to come to talk to you last night until I got paged. We can talk later. Today’s about her.”
I close my eyes and let the grief wash over me again. Becket t holds me tighter.
I feel him bury his face in my hair, hear the tremble in his breath, but he says nothing. What is there to say?
“I don’t understand,” I whisper as tears streak down my cheeks. “Why would God take someone like her? She was good. She made people feel like they mattered. She always had a smile no matter what.”
He rubs slow circles on my back as I weep in his arms.
“She was the only one who stuck with me,” I cry. “Through all of it—Alex, the move, everything—I don’t know how to do this without her.”
“You don’t have to,” he whispers. “You’re not alone. I’ll be here with you.”
But Rosie’s gone. And I don’t know how to breathe in a world where she doesn’t exist.
My eyes drift back to the notebook on the table. I don’t touch it, but the weight of it is there. Her spirit. Her laugh.
“She once told me,” I say, “that if she ever made it to Paris, the first thing she’d do was find the cheesiest souvenir shop and buy a keychain shaped like the Eiffel Tower.”
Beckett lets out a soft laugh. “Of course she would.”
“She said the tackier, the better. And that she’d bring me back a snow globe whether I wanted one or not.
” I can see it—Rosie clutching ridiculous trinkets with a smug grin on her face, daring anyone to call her on it.
“She tried to give me her dessert once, just so I’d sit down and vent to her about you,” I tell him.
Beckett arches a brow. “Oh really?”
“Yeah. She said I was holding it in like a backed-up drain, and I was about to burst.”
His laugh is quiet but real. “Sounds like her.”
“She saw everything,” I whisper. “Even when I didn’t want her to.”
He nods, and I see something shift in his expression. Sadness, but also a kind of peace.
“I don’t know what to do now,” I admit. “I need her phone so I can find her mom. ”
He turns to face me. “I spoke to her mom before I left. She’s hoping you’ll step in and take care of the services because you know what she’d want.”
I nod, and it’s the first breath I take that doesn’t burn. “She already arranged it all at her grandmother’s diner.”
I don’t know what this means or where we go from here. But in this quiet, in this moment wrapped in grief and memory, I know one thing. I’m not ready to walk away from Beckett.
I lean my head back against the couch, my body heavy. I feel Beckett watching.
“I want to talk,” he says, “really talk…when you’re ready.”
I nod. “Okay. Me too.”
He doesn’t press, just gives me a moment. I think he knows I’m barely holding the pieces together.
He shifts, elbows resting on his knees. “What are you doing for work?”
I swallow, staring at a tear-soaked corner of the blanket. “Still looking.”
There’s a long beat of silence.
“Tarryn’s rolling out your VIP tasting strategy,” he says. “She’s calling it the Barrel Society, like you suggested, and giving you full credit for it.”
My eyes blur again, the tears rising fast and uninvited. I bite my lip, trying to hold them back. “I really thought she’d like it. But I can’t take too much credit. I looked at what other industries do for VIPs and pulled together ideas from them.”
“Take the credit. You earned it. Trust me. Tarryn is impressed, and you deserve it.”
The ache in my chest splinters wide. I don’t even bother pretending I’m okay. “I lost everything,” I whisper. “You. That job. My best friend.”
He turns to me again. “Why did you quit?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t.”
His brow creases.
“I turned my phone off and overslept. When I talked to Zach I told him I was on my way, he said I was fired. I thought it was because I’d moved out of your house. Or because Zach’s a jerk…”
His lips press into a line. “You didn’t quit?”
I shake my head. “No. I loved that job.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, swears softly under his breath. “Zach told us you quit.” He shakes his head. “I knew that wasn’t right.”
My gut clenches. Zach is a jerk . Damn him for making me doubt myself, doubt Beckett…
“It didn’t make sense,” he says after a moment. “But I thought maybe…after everything with us, and the way you left… But I shouldn’t have believed him.”
My throat tightens again, but it’s not grief this time. It’s frustration. Loss. Maybe a flicker of hope trying to squeeze through.
Beckett stands, looking down at me with that steady gaze. “Tarryn’s going to call you,” he says. “You’ll get your job back.”
And just like that, he’s moving to the door.
I stand too quickly, blanket falling from my shoulders. “Beckett…”
He turns, waiting.
“Thank you.”
He nods, his eyes softer now, less guarded. “Let me know when you want to get together for dinner.”
I nod. And then he’s gone.
I should feel better, a little hope burning like an ember in my heart. Maybe I’ll get my job back. Beckett wants to talk. Maybe things aren’t as permanently broken as they felt just hours ago.
But the moment I think of Zach, that hope wavers. He’s petty. And now I’ve given him ammunition. If I return, what kind of backlash is waiting for me? Is it even worth it?
I sink into the couch, staring at the coffee table. At the notebook. Rosie’s dreams. Her heart. I can’t believe she’s gone.
My hands shake as I pick it up and open the cover. The envelo pe inside has my name written in her bubbly handwriting. I pull out the folded letter, the paper slightly creased, and read it through my tears.
Hey you,
If you’re reading this, I’m not around anymore, and I’m sorry. I wanted more time, more chances to laugh and make you roll your eyes and drag you on ridiculous adventures.
But I need you to know something, Sadie. Every time you visited me, you lit up my day. You made me forget I was sick. You made me feel alive. Like I had a future, even if it wasn’t promised.
You gave me that gift, and now I want to give you something back.
I want you to live this list. Really live it. Even the silly parts. Especially the silly parts. Take the trip. Dance in the rain. Buy the snow globe. And when you do, I want you to think of me and smile.
Don’t settle in love. I know what you’ve been through. You deserve the big kind, the messy, all-in, heart-so-full-it-hurts kind. You find your soulmate and hang on. Don’t let fear make the decisions.
And keep being you. Strong. Beautiful inside and out. Don’t shrink yourself for anyone. Keep chasing your passions. Make something of that fire inside you.
I’ll be watching, cheering you on. And when you’re old and gray and finally get up here, I want stories, so man y stories.
All my love, always,
Rosie
The tears come fast, but they don’t knock me over this time. Instead, the emotion fills me like something warm. I press the letter to my chest, breathing in the comfort of her words, the promise of her hope, the fire of her love.
She believed in me.
I need to start believing in myself again too.
Even if the path back to the tasting room is rocky and Zach makes it hell, and even if nothing turns out like I planned, she left me a map. I’m going to follow it.