Thirty-seven
Beckett
I wake to cold sheets and a sinking feeling. Sadie’s side of the bed is empty, the imprint of her body already fading. No note. No sound or movement in the house. Just silence.
I drag a hand through my hair and stare at the ceiling, cursing myself.
We needed to talk before we fell in bed and let our hormones talk for us. That gets us nowhere. I had one chance to peel back the layers, to say the hard things. And instead, I let the pull of her skin, her scent, the way she moaned my name, take over.
I wanted her so badly, I forgot everything else.
Grabbing my phone, I type out a message.
Me: Thank you for last night. It meant more than I can put into words. But we need to talk, Sadie. We’re not done. Not by a long shot.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the typing dots to appear. They don’t.
With a bitter breath, I toss the phone on the bed and tug on my running shoes. I need air. Space. Punishment, maybe.
The path along Black Bear Lake is quiet this early. My feet pound the trail, keeping pace with the whirlwind of my thoughts.
I let my body burn, trying to outrun the guilt crawling up my spine. I let my damn libido steer the wheel, and now, I’m left chasing a woman who’s slipping through my fingers.
Again.
When my run is over, I head for the shower. The hot water pounds against my shoulders, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to wash away the memories.
Sadie’s soft moans still echo in my head. The way her nails scraped down my back, the way she arched into me like she needed it just as badly.
It was incredible. But it wasn’t healing. And it wasn’t clarity.
And I owe Caleb the truth. That’s part of this process.
I brace my hands against the tile and hang my head. He’s my best friend. I’m sleeping with his little sister. That’s a line you don’t cross without owning it.
She’s not just some fling. She never was.
Still, the coward in me whispers that if she’s already walked away, if she doesn’t want more, what’s the point in detonating everything with Caleb?
That voice makes me sick. I still need to come clean. If there’s any hope of salvaging this, I need to get ahead of it.
I step out, towel off, and run a hand through my damp hair just as my phone chirps. My pulse jumps.
Please let it be her.
I grab the phone .
Not her.
It’s my brothers in our group chat.
Kingston: Should we go in and stand with Tarryn?
Ryker: Full schedule. At the clinic all day.
Greyson: Emergency shift. Can’t step away.
I type fast.
Me: I’ll go.
Kingston: Already on my way.
I dress quickly, grab my keys, and head out.
As I drive, I try to push Sadie out of my mind to focus on Tarryn and her confrontation.
Not that Sadie isn’t part of that too. The route up the back side of the estate is steeped in old oak trees and winding gravel.
I spot Kingston’s helicopter cresting the hill ahead of me, speeding like he’s got something to prove.
I meet him at the helipad. We both climb out at the same time.
He gives me a long look. “You have a rough night?” he asks.
I slam the door shut. “You could say that.”
He raises a brow.
I shake my head. “Not getting into it.”
Kingston doesn’t push, and I’m grateful. We walk up the steps toward the house. But before we reach the door, Mom steps out and holds up a hand, her chin lifted like a general calling off the troops. “Tarryn doesn’t need your help.”
Kingston doesn’t even blink. He strides past her into the kitchen and heads straight for the espresso machine like this is any other Saturday morning.
“You sure?” he says, fiddling with the portafilter.
“Dad has a habit of siding with Max. And if he’s not ca reful, the vineyard’s going to end up in Zach’s hands. ”
Mom smiles, but there’s steel behind it. “He understands that. And he knows Max and Zach went too far.”
I cross my arms, my mind still raw from last night, my gut burning with regret—and anger. “Zach fired Sadie,” I say, voice tight. “Then told everyone she quit.”
Mom shakes her head, disappointment in her eyes. “He knows,” she says quietly. “Your father met with Tarryn this morning. He knows what Zach’s been doing. And he knows she’s got proof he’s been skimming from the till.”
I take a slow breath, letting that settle. So he knows. That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Not really.
“What’s he thinking?” Kingston asks, pressing the brew button.
Mom shrugs. “I think he’s giving Max and Zach enough rope to hang themselves.
Let them dig their own graves. He’s tired.
He loved working with his brother, but it’s not the same anymore.
Your father’s ready to retire, and he wants Max to do the same.
” She sighs, softer now. “But Max won’t walk away unless he thinks Zach has a future here.
And your father’s done waiting for him to realize that isn’t going to happen. ”
I shift on my feet, heart still thudding. Dad’s playing the long game, and that’s what I should’ve done with Sadie last night instead of chasing something I hadn’t earned back yet.
Kingston hands me a shot of espresso without asking. I take it and stare out the window toward the vines, wondering how many people we’re going to lose before this thing rights itself.
After another minute, Kingston gets his espresso, and we follow Mom out to the long, cushioned bench that runs along the back deck. It’s peaceful, or at least it seems that way, considering what’s brewing beneath the surface.
Kingston leans back, stretches out his legs, and glances toward the office. “How long do you think this meeting’s going to go?”
Mom sips her coffee, then checks her watch with a frown. “Your d ad was pretty upset. I think this could be a long one.”
I cross my arms and lean against the deck railing, feeling the warm breeze. Dad doesn’t get upset easily. But when someone’s crossed a line so clearly, so blatantly, there’s no going back. Today might be the day he finally draws the line in ink.
Kingston tips his head toward me. “You good?”
I nod, but it’s a lie.
Mom doesn’t even look at me when she speaks. “It was great to see Sadie last night. I’ve always liked the two of you together.”
Kingston grins behind his espresso.
I rub the back of my neck, bracing for where this is going. “We’re not…together.”
Mom just hums, unbothered. “Still, I like you two together. You mellow each other out.”
Mellow ? That’s generous. Last night was anything but mellow. It was raw and desperate and tangled in everything we haven’t said.
I don’t know what to tell Mom. So I don’t tell her anything.
Thankfully, Kingston shifts the conversation. “So what’s your plan? You going to retire and hand the practice over to Ryker?”
She smiles, a little wistful. “I’m more ready than Ryker would like. But I’ll stick around until he says he’s good to take it on. It’s tough. I’ve been there since before most of you could walk. I know everyone’s stories, their losses, their wins. Ryker’s still getting to know all that.”
“But he’ll get there,” I say.
She nods. “Of course he will.”
The sound of a door slamming snaps all of our heads toward the offices. Zach storms out, fists clenched, mouth tight, eyes straight ahead as he marches to his truck.
Kingston takes a slow sip of his espresso. “Looks like Tarryn won this round.”
A smirk pulls at my lips. “Good.” I feel a little release of tension .
Not long after, the back door opens again and Dad steps out. He spots us and raises an eyebrow, like we’ve shown up uninvited in his backyard. “Well,” he says, walking over. “Didn’t expect to see you two here.”
“We were here to support Tarryn,” Kingston says. “Whether she needed us or not.”
Dad nods, the corners of his mouth twitching like he might smile. “Well, you’ve both lost half the morning sitting around. Plenty of chores to be done.”
I chuckle. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Kingston finishes the last of his espresso and stands. “Let’s get to work.”
And just like that, we fall into the rhythm we’ve known our whole lives—sun, sweat, and dirt. But this time, there’s a quiet understanding that things are shifting. Maybe we’re finally on the right side of that change.
By late morning, my shirt’s clinging to my back, and my fingers are stained green from pinching off excess vine growth. It’s quiet out here, the kind of quiet that lets your mind wander. Mine keeps drifting to Sadie.
These vines need attention—hands-on, deliberate care. We prune so the grapes can thrive, concentrate all that energy where it matters most. I wonder what could happen if I gave Sadie that kind of attention…rather than just hoping she’d grow around me.
Kingston’s off near the hives, his sleeves rolled up as he pulls frames, checking on the bees and siphoning honey.
The little bastards are crucial, pollinating the fruit trees and flowers that end up in the flavor bouquet of every damn bottle we sell.
Funny how something so small makes such a big difference.
The crunch of gravel behind me has me straightening, brushing the sweat from my brow. I turn just as Tarryn wraps her arms around me in a full-body hug.
“Hey,” she says, beaming up at me. “Thank you. I mean it. I really appreciate you being here.”
“Always,” I say .
Kingston strolls over, wiping his hands on a rag. “So? What happened?”
Tarryn lets out a huff. “Zach showed up over an hour late.”
I glance at Kingston. “You think that was on purpose?”
“Oh, absolutely. Dad started the meeting without him, asked Max when he’s planning to retire. Max dodged, of course. Said he’s still got pep in his step.”
Kingston snorts. “Margolin hasn’t dragged him on that river cruise she’s always talking about?”
Tarryn smirks. “Dad asked about that too. Max said it’s not time yet. But Dad pushed hard, told him to set a retirement date, suggested the end of this year.”
I whistle low. “He’s serious.”
“Yeah,” she says. “But Max didn’t commit. That’s when Zach finally showed up, no sommelier résumé, nothing. Dad sent him back to get it. Took another half hour.”
Kingston shakes his head. “Classic.”
“We finally sit down,” she goes on, “and Dad asks me why I think hiring a sommelier is a bad idea. I lay it all out. She’s too expensive, she’s not focused on sales, and we don’t have the money.
Zach insisted we do, so I reminded him that what we have is our emergency cushion.
What happens if another fire sweeps the valley?
He insisted she would pay for herself, and I asked how he could guarantee that. ”
She pauses to sip from the bottle of water I offer her before continuing.
“I told them she doesn’t know our wines.
Zach said knowledge of our wines will come easy to someone with a third-degree sommelier certificate.
But then I pulled out the numbers—Sadie’s VIP proposal, her conversion rates.
She’s outperforming everyone. If we’re going to spend money, I suggested we promote her. ”
I clench my jaw. “Did you tell him you knew he fired her rather than the BS he was promoting that she quit?”
“I didn’t have to. Dad stepped in and told him Sadie said she wa s fired—for being late. Zach looked at Max, hoping he’d bail him out. But Max stayed out of it. Probably knew Dad would push him out too if he didn’t.”
“And?” Kingston asks.
“Max backed Dad. Said the timing wasn’t right for a new hire. We’re sticking with Sadie. Dad then suggested maybe Zach needed a break from the tasting room and is moving him to a cellar-hand role.”
My eyes widen. A cellar hand cleans and sanitizes tanks, barrels, equipment, and floors. It’s real scut work.
Kingston laughs. “That’s what that douchebag deserves.”
Tarryn nods, letting out a long breath. “Dad and I had a talk after. He told me he supports me, even if he doesn’t always show it.”
I glance toward the tasting room. “Are you worried about retribution?”
“Maybe,” Tarryn says. “But as long as I know Dad has my back, I’ll be fine. And the best part is that Dad agreed with me. Sadie is the new tasting room manager.”
Yes ! Inside, I’m pumping my fists. “That’s great news.”
“Sadie is going to kill it,” Kingston says.
We hug Tarryn again, congratulating her on the win.
“I need to confirm all that with Sadie after her leave, of course. But for now, I didn’t sleep last night,” she admits. “So I’m going to take the rest of the day off, start again early tomorrow.”
We wave goodbye, and as she walks away, Kingston and I decide to finish up with the chores portion of our day. A little while later, we say our goodbyes and head back toward his chopper and my car.
Just as I open my door, he glances over.
“You know,” he says quietly, “Mom’s right. Sadie’s good for you.”
I exhale. “I know. But it takes two. And right now…I’m not sure she’s there.”
He nods. “I’ve been there,” he says.
That stops me. A rare sliver of the past he never talks about. I don’t ask, but I don’t forget it either.
We go our separate ways, and I barely resist the pull to drive straight to Ginny’s cottage. But instead, I get an idea.
At home, I wander through my place, snapping pictures.
The pool first. It looks empty without her lying in that bright yellow bikini.
The kitchen counter where she stole bites of my dinner.
The guest room door, still closed, still confirming her absence.
I send the photos one by one, each with a message.
Me: You made this place feel like home.
Me: I miss you.
Me: I know you’re focused on Rosie’s service right now, but when that’s done, let’s have dinner. Just to talk. I want to do this right.
I hit send. And wait. There’s still no reply.
Not yet.