Chapter 9 Alaric
Nine
Alaric
On Saturday mornings, Paradise looks a lot like it did ten years ago before the population bloomed.
When I step into Dot’s Diner, a bell jingles overhead and the scent of bacon, brewed coffee, and maple syrup is so familiar I can almost forget how long I stayed away.
Families crowd the booths, with kids in hockey jerseys kicking their heels under the tables.
Two men in ball caps argue about the weather and whether the vines will freeze if this cold keeps up.
A server with a pencil stuck behind her ear calls out an order over the hiss of the griddle.
I scan the room for Sera. She’s not here yet. Not a surprise. My sister runs on vineyard time, which means nothing starts until the sun hits the vines. I step into the line that snakes along the counter, hands shoved in my pockets, watching the dance of the place.
Dot’s Diner has survived every new coffee shop and brunch spot that’s tried to compete with it.
There’s comfort in that. Cracked vinyl booths, walls the color of butter, a chalkboard listing pie flavors that never change.
It’s the kind of place where everyone knows you or, at least, knows enough to fill in the blanks.
The server behind the counter flashes me a grin. “You back again, Doc?”
I nod. “Couldn’t stay away from your pancakes.”
She laughs and slides a menu toward me. “You want the open spot at the counter?”
“Waiting for my sister.”
“Then you’ll need a booth,” she says, scribbling my name on her pad. “Give me five minutes.”
I nod as I move aside and lean against the wall, arms crossed.
Even with the familiarity, I don’t belong here, not completely, but it’s the closest thing to belonging I’ve felt in a long time.
My reflection appears in the window, and for a second, I catch a look at the tired version of myself I keep pretending doesn’t exist.
The bell rings again, and cold air sweeps across the floor. I glance toward the door, and everything inside me goes still.
Liz Ward.
She’s framed by the morning light, hair loose over her shoulders, cheeks pink from the cold. A scarf hangs around her neck, soft and neutral, the kind she used to wear when we’d stop for coffee after long shifts. She looks exactly the same and nothing like I remember.
My pulse does a strange hiccup.
She spots me and hesitates just long enough for me to notice. Her expression shifts, polite but cool, the kind of look that says she’s already decided this conversation will be short.
I straighten and force a casual smile, even though it feels like my body forgot how to move.
She gives me a nod and steps toward the counter. “Morning,” she says, voice even, a touch warmer than her eyes.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” I say, trying for light. “Thought hospital administrators didn’t believe in weekends.”
Her mouth curves, but it’s not quite a smile. “And I thought psychologists preferred quiet places to drink their tea, not crowded diners where everyone listens.”
Her bag brushes my arm as she shifts, and the faint scent of her perfume pulls up memories I’d buried deep—mornings in Vancouver, the two of us fighting over who’d get the last blueberry muffin.
I lean back against the wall. “Paradise doesn’t have quiet places unless you count the cemetery.”
“That your professional recommendation?” she asks. “Spend my Saturday with the dead?”
“Could be peaceful.”
She huffs a laugh. “You always had strange ideas of peaceful.”
The line moves forward, and she brushes past me. For half a second, her sleeve catches mine. Static snaps between us. I tell myself it’s just the winter air, not everything I never said.
She glances over her shoulder. “Enjoy your pancakes, Dr. Dempsey.”
“Enjoy your breakfast, Ms. Ward.”
I need to let her go, but my eyes follow her across the diner anyway. She stops near the window where a man stands, waving. Mid-thirties, neat haircut, pressed shirt, the kind of guy who looks like he irons his socks. He steps around the table as she approaches and folds her into a hug.
My jaw tightens. She laughs at something he says and tilts her head the way she used to when she was comfortable. I don’t know the man, but I already don’t like him.
The bell over the door sounds again, and a rush of cold air pulls my attention back.
“Ric!”
Sera waves, cheeks flushed from the cold, dark curls under her knit hat. She reaches me in two strides and gives me a quick hug that smells like wine and winter. “Sorry I’m late. The guys forgot to cover the pruning gear last night, so I had to deal with a minor frost tantrum.”
“Sounds fun.”
She follows my gaze toward Liz’s table. “Who’s she having breakfast with?”
The hostess appears with two menus and gestures for us to follow her to the corner booth. We slide in. I already know what I’ll order. Across the room, Liz leans forward, talking with her hands, and the man nods like he’s hanging on every word.
“No idea.” I keep my voice even. “Work thing, maybe.”
Sera gives me a knowing look, the kind only sisters have mastered. “Right. A work thing that requires laughter, and he just touched her arm.”
I shoot her a warning glance, but she just smirks. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to eat before you sprain your neck.”
The server pours coffee for Sera, promises to bring water for tea, and asks if we’re ready to order. I nod, barely hearing her.
Sera studies me. “You’re subtle as a tractor in a vineyard, you know that?”
“Just hungry,” I mumble, though we both know it’s a lie.
The server leaves with our order, and Sera keeps watching like she’s waiting for me to slip. She’s always been the one who sees too much.
“So,” she says, stirring cream into her coffee, “how’s life in hospital land? Still saving souls one therapy session at a time?”
“Trying,” I say. “Some days it feels like more paperwork than people.”
She grins. “At least you get to sit inside where it’s warm. I’ve been in the vineyard since before dawn. Frost on the wires, mud up to my knees, and Josie barking orders like we’re in boot camp.”
“You love it,” I say. “Admit it.”
“I could never work inside like you do.”
“How’s the winter pruning?”
She shrugs. “We’re behind schedule after the holidays, and the snow doesn’t help. Once pruning’s done, we’ll start blending and bottling last year’s reserve. Then comes the real chaos when we start the process all over again.”
She talks with her hands, animated and alive in a way that always pulls me in. The vineyard is her oxygen. Even when she complains, she glows.
“Do you ever take a day off?” I ask.
“Not when there’s work to do.” She sips her coffee. “You should tell Evie that. She thinks I don’t spend enough time at the vineyard, and I rarely get away.”
“The only one who’s perfect in Evie’s eyes is Evie. Don’t let her get to you.”
Her laugh draws a few glances from nearby tables. She doesn’t care. Paradise has always watched everything we do and then gossiped about it.
I lean back in the booth. “Are you seeing anyone these days?”
She raises an eyebrow. “What’s this? Concerned big brother energy?”
“Curiosity.”
“No time,” she says. “Men don’t mix well with long days and cold nights. Besides, I’m not sure I’d trust anyone who wanted to date a woman who smells like fermentation.”
“Someone will appreciate that someday.”
She nudges my foot under the table. “What about you? You and Liz have actual conversations now or just those awkward hallway nods?”
“We talk. Work stuff.”
“Uh-huh. And that’s why you’re glaring at the guy sitting with her?”
“I wasn’t glaring.”
She smirks. “Sure. If you say so.”
I drop my gaze to the table, giving me an excuse not to look across the diner.
Sera sets her cup down. “She’s the one that got away, isn’t she?”
“No.” The word comes too fast, too sharp. I take a breath and try again. “We had our chance. It didn’t work.”
She tilts her head. “Didn’t work, or you didn’t fight for it?”
I look out the window. “Does it matter?”
“Only if you still care.” The silence stretches, and eventually, she softens. “You deserve to be happy. You always carry everything like it’s your job to fix it.”
“That’s exactly my job.”
“You were miserable when you returned to Paradise without Liz. Maybe it’s time for you to take care of yourself, rather than worrying exclusively about the rest of us.”
The server returns with our food and my tea. The smell of butter and maple syrup cuts through the tension. Sera digs in, unbothered by my quiet. She’s never needed me to talk to understand what’s going on.
By the time we’ve made a dent in our pancakes, Sera’s energy has shifted. The sparkle fades from her eyes, replaced by something tighter, heavier. I know that look. It always means one thing. She’s gotten to the main business of this breakfast.
“How’s Evie?” I ask.
Sera sighs and pushes her plate away. “Up to her same tricks. You know how she gets when she’s bored.”
“Duplicitous and dramatic?”
“Add conniving, and you’ve got the full set.” She folds her napkin and sets it beside her plate. “She’s angry at the world. Angry that she’s getting older. Angry that she can’t control every decision we make. She blames Josie and me for everything.”
I take a long sip of tea. “What’s Dylan doing for her these days?”
“As far as I know, nothing. But if she promised him a share of the vineyard, he’d come running.”
I take a breath. I don’t want to make the situation worse, but I wonder if Sera knows Evie has said as much to me. “You think she’d do that?”
“She’s done worse.” Sera’s voice drops low. “She turned on Dad and the rest of her children? She’s unpredictable.”
I remember—the shouting, the slammed doors, the way the house never felt safe. “You and Josie need to protect yourselves.”
Sera’s jaw flexes. “We’ve tried. But if Evie wants to make things ugly, she will. She likes the power. The constant guessing. Some days, I think she pits us against each other just for entertainment.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She told me last week she was revising her will.”
I meet her eyes. “And?”
“She didn’t say anything else. Which is worse than knowing. I’m tired of jumping through her hoops, but if she gives the vineyard to Dylan and Scott, the business will be gone in two seasons.”
So she has put the pieces together. Of course, she has. “If Evie leaves that vineyard to anyone other than you and Josie, she’ll tear the family apart.”
“She already has.” Sera exhales. “I love that land. Every inch of it. If she hands it to Dylan or Scott, I’ll survive, but it’ll break something inside me. We’ve worked so hard to make Black Bear what it is.”
I reach across the table and rest my hand over hers. “You and Josie have made a small local vineyard into something incredible. She can’t take that from you.”
“She’ll try.”
I sit back. “You don’t have to handle her alone,” I say, even though part of me wishes my sisters could do just that.
Sera gives me a small smile. “You know she won’t change.”
“True. But I can make sure she doesn’t destroy you.”
Her smile falters. “You already came back for us. That’s enough.”
For a moment, I see the little sister who used to follow me through the vineyard rows, skipping between the vines, trusting that I could make everything right. I wish I still believed I could do that.
Sera’s phone buzzes, and she flips it to look at the screen. After a moment, she frowns and slides it into her pocket. “Josie. She’s asking if I’m on my way.”
I look around the diner, and most of the breakfast crowd is gone. Only a few stragglers linger with half-empty mugs.
Across the room, Liz rises from her booth.
Her companion stands too, resting a hand at her back as they walk toward the door.
The sight knots my stomach before my head can reason with it.
He says something that makes her laugh, and she touches his arm—light, familiar.
They pause at the door, the bell chiming as they step outside.
Then he leans in, and she hugs him. For too long.
Sera follows my line of sight. “You want to tell me who’s with Liz?”
“No idea,” I say, reaching for my tea. “Probably someone from work.”
She snorts. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“Just trying to drink my tea in peace.”
“Uh-huh.” She gathers her coat, still smiling. “You seem jealous.”
“Not jealous.”
“Sure.” She shrugs into her jacket. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I watch her adjust her scarf. “Are you heading back to the vineyard?”
“Yeah. We’ve got tanks to check and a few blends that need attention. And I have to finalize our entries for the International Wine and Spirits competition before Josie panics.”
I nod as I rise as well. “Paradise Hill entering again?”
“Of course. And Evie won’t miss the chance to gloat about our incompetence if we lose.
” Her tone softens. “But we won’t. She thinks it’s all a waste of time, even though we’ve taken more gold medals than Paradise Hill four years running and I can prove it’s valuable to our bottom line.
” She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, though. I plan to make it five because that’s what I want. ”
“That’ll drive her wild.”
“That’s the plan.” She grins fiercely, a glint in her eyes. “We leave for London in two weeks. I can’t wait to get out of here for a bit.”
“Try to have fun while you’re winning medals.”
“Always do.” She leans over and hugs me. “Thanks for breakfast, big brother.”
“Anytime.”
She disappears outside, and I stay a moment longer, nursing what’s left of my tea. But I have nothing to hold my attention now. Liz and her mystery date are gone, leaving only empty plates and a tip folded under the sugar caddy.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business who Liz spends her Saturday with. But the thought follows me as I slide out of the booth and drop a few bills on the table.
Outside, the morning has brightened. Snow melts on the sidewalks, turning to puddles that reflect the pale blue of the sky. I pull my jacket tighter and start toward the hospital. That’s why I’m here. That’s my life’s work.
Lately, I can feel the slow pull of things I’ve tried to leave behind. Family drama. Old wounds. And Liz—always Liz.
I walk faster, as if somehow I can outrun it.