Chapter 26
Twenty-six
Alaric
My last Monday appointment wraps up a few minutes early, but I barely register the win.
I shake the patient’s hand, give the usual reassurance, and the second the door closes behind them, I’m already typing my notes at a pace that would probably concern any of my colleagues.
I pretend I’m being efficient, but I know exactly what I’m doing.
Liz spent the weekend at her brother’s, and we talked last night as she drove home. This morning she met with Hudson, but I haven’t heard from her and don’t know what he said. I’ve been anxious all day, though she’s agreed to come over tonight.
In the meantime, I’m still replaying the phone call I had with Hudson on Friday about sharing a room with Liz. I told him I was sure Misty had canceled her room reservation on purpose. He wasn’t happy to hear it, but he needed to.
Just thinking about Liz sends a pulse through my chest. Hope. Nerves. Something that feels too close to longing. I try not to look like a man rushing through his day so he can get home and not screw anything up, but yeah… That’s exactly what I’m doing.
I finish charting, log off, grab my coat, and head for the parking lot. I want to be home before she arrives, with dinner ordered and the place looking halfway decent. Everything needs to feel easy for her.
The drive is a blur, full of red lights and too-loud thoughts.
She said yes and agreed to come over without any hesitation.
That has to be a good sign. I tighten my hands around the wheel when the memory of Hawaii slips in, soft and warm.
The weight of her beside me at night. The way her breathing leveled mine.
I didn’t realize how much I’d missed that until I had it again.
God, I want her to stay tonight. Even if it’s just sleep. Especially if it’s just sleep.
But beneath that hope sits a quiet knot of anxiety. I need to hear what conditions Hudson put on her after everything with Misty. She sounded steady when she texted earlier, but Liz never shows cracks unless she chooses to.
I pull into my driveway and hurry inside.
The house looks lived in, which is a polite way of saying I should’ve picked everything up two days ago.
The suitcase with my CME materials is still unopened in the hall, so I tuck it into my home office.
I toss blankets over the couch, fold the throw in a way that could generously be called “attempted tidy,” load a few dishes into the dishwasher, and gather the stack of journal articles teetering on my armchair.
I order dinner from the Thai place I like while wiping down the counter. We had a favorite place in Vancouver, and this is even better. It’s something comforting, and I can’t mess it up. As the order confirms, I finally stop moving.
The house is too quiet.
I glance at the window, expecting headlights already. I’m terrified they’ll show up before I’m ready, and I worry they won’t show up at all.
I run a hand through my hair and tell myself to breathe, to be normal, to stop acting like a teenager waiting for his crush. She’s coming. She said she’s coming.
I flip the switch to the gas fireplace, straighten one last pillow, and force myself to sit down.
All that’s left now is waiting.
I’ve only been sitting for a minute when headlights sweep across the curtains, a bright arc gliding over the living room wall. My breath catches. It’s her.
I stand too quickly, cross the room in a few steps, and pull open the front door before she can knock.
Liz stands on the top step in a dark pantsuit that fits her so well I lose my words for a second. Her hair is smooth and glossy, her face pink with cold. She looks calm and composed and utterly beautiful.
“Hi,” she says.
Something in me loosens. “Hi.”
She smiles and steps inside, bringing the faint scent of jasmine with her.
“You look beautiful,” I say before I can overthink it.
Her eyes sparkle. “Thank you. Today was…actually a good day.”
I take her coat and hang it over the back of a chair. She glances around the living room, taking in the straightened cushions and wiped counters, and the corner of her mouth lifts like she can see every frantic step I took to make the place presentable.
I shrug, trying not to seem too pleased with myself. “Dinner’s on the way.”
“Good,” she says. “I’m starving.”
The lightness in her voice warms my chest. She didn’t just come over. She wants to be here.
She sets her purse down and leans against the kitchen island, her expression shifting with a slower breath. I can already tell she’s replaying something.
“So,” I say, settling beside her. “It was a good day?”
She lets out a breath. “When I got in this morning, Hudson was waiting, and he wasn’t alone.”
My stomach tightens. “HR?”
She nods. “A woman named Mara Kelly. Polite. Serious. They wanted to go over everything that’s been happening with Misty.”
I stay quiet and let her talk.
“I walked them through the whole thing,” she says. “I had taken notes, which helped. I told them about the wild numbers she gave me. The inflated figures she sent me for Hudson’s presentation. The hotel room mess. All of it.”
I shake my head. That really was a campaign of terror.
“They asked why I didn’t tell Hudson earlier,” she continues.
“And I told them the truth. I thought they were careless mistakes, oversights. People make mistakes. I didn’t want to humiliate Misty or ruin our working relationship.
I’m the new hire. Calling someone out who’d been there longer felt…
risky. Like I’d come in guns blazing to embarrass her instead of being a team player. ”
She pauses, her throat working like she’s swallowing something sharp.
“I thought being quiet would keep things smooth,” she continues after a moment.
“That if I double-checked her work and fixed the numbers, everything would level out and we’d move forward.
But when she lied about me telling her I didn’t need a hotel room, I realized none of this was careless. None of it.”
A low burn of anger stirs in me. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. But they’re still investigating. And they’ll probably come to you.”
I rub my jaw. “I already spoke with Hudson.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You did?”
“Yeah. Friday afternoon.”
She steps closer without seeming to mean to. “What did you say?”
“The truth,” I tell her. “That when we arrived, you expected a room. That you tried to get another, but you couldn’t. I told them there was no way I’d let you stay with a stranger. And that the gossip going around is complete garbage.”
She exhales something that’s almost a laugh, her shoulders lowering. “You said all that?”
“I did. And I reminded them that I paid for my own room and didn’t charge the hospital a cent. My professional allowance just covered the conference. And I told them I have every single handout and workbook from every session I attended if they want to verify anything.”
Her mouth curves. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I absolutely did. I had to buy a suitcase just to get it all home.”
She laughs, and it slides straight into the part of me that’s been stressed about this. “You went to bat for me,” she whispers.
“Of course, I did.”
She smiles warmly, maybe even blushes a bit, but dinner arrives, breaking the moment.
I answer the door and grab the bags, and she helps unpack everything. We sit side by side at the island, plates angled toward each other.
“Thai basil chicken and pad thai,” she gushes. “My favorite comfort food.”
We eat in comfortable near-silence for a while until she sets her fork down and wipes her mouth.
“How’s your family?” she asks. “What’s going on with them?”
I push a piece of chicken around my plate. “I’m worried about my sisters.”
She tilts her head. “What’s going on?”
“They’ve put years into the vineyard. Sacrifice. Sweat. Everything.” My jaw tightens. “And my grandmother is coming undone. She’s more and more irrational, and she might give the vineyard to our cousins.”
Liz’s mouth falls open. “Why?”
“Because she thrives on chaos. She’s a narcissist who finds it fun when she pits everyone against each other. That’s who she’s always been.”
Liz frowns. “But the vineyard is your family’s legacy.”
“Well, I’m sure my cousins haven’t told her their plan for when they’re in charge.”
“What is the plan?”
“Dylan and Scott want to bulldoze everything and put in a pot farm.”
Liz lets out a shocked laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish. They’re already running the numbers.”
She shakes her head. “And Evie doesn’t know?”
“I don’t think so. But maybe telling her will make her rethink changing her will.
Or maybe it’s too late.” I stare down at my plate.
“I’m starting to realize I hate her. I know hate is a strong word.
But all her games and the ways she’s always testing us?
She’s the reason I became a therapist. I needed to find out why I was so screwed up. ”
“You’re not screwed up.” Her voice is soft but firm. She waits a beat, then adds, “I overheard people talking in the cafeteria today. About the Dempsey and Paradise feud.”
I blow out a slow breath. “Outside of the government and the hospital, our families are the largest private employers in the valley. Everybody feels it.”
“Wow,” she whispers. “That’s a lot.”
“It is,” I say. “And I hate that my sisters are caught in the middle.”
She brushes her fingers across my forearm. “I’m sorry,” she says.
I nod, swallowing the pressure building in my throat.
We finish eating and move around each other easily as we clear the dishes. When the counters are clean and the house feels calm, I nod toward the living room.
“Come on,” I say. “I have dessert.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You made dessert?”
“I’m not that reckless.” I laugh, walking to the kitchen as Liz moves to the couch.
I grab the paper bag from the counter and set it on the coffee table.
Her eyes narrow. “What is that?”
“Only the greatest dessert known to man.”
She opens the flap and freezes. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.”
She lifts out the McDonald’s apple pie like it’s made of gold. Then she laughs, bright and warm. “You’re the only person on earth who knows this is my favorite.”
“I’m not most people.”
She unwraps it and takes a big bite, eyes closing like it’s bliss. “You win,” she says.
“I like winning.”
I pull out the one for myself—after confirming she’s not going to need to eat them both—and we enjoy them together, crumbs falling onto napkins, the fire crackling. When we’re done, I toss the wrappers and move back to the couch.
She shifts closer to me, not accidentally this time. I lift my arm slowly, giving her space to choose. She nestles into me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, her head finding my shoulder, her hand curling gently at the hem of my shirt.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “It’s good.”
Good doesn’t cover it. The fire hums softly, bathing the room in warmth. Her breathing evens out against my chest, steady and soft. My entire body settles in a way it hasn’t since Hawaii.
Her hand slides across my stomach, fingers curling lightly in the fabric of my shirt. “You should do this more,” she murmurs.
“Do what?”
“Relax,” she says. “Let someone take care of you sometimes.”
I give a quiet laugh. “You’re not taking care of me.”
She lifts her head just enough to meet my eyes. “Aren’t I?”
The question lands right where all my defenses used to live, and a light shines in the dark corners. Maybe she is.
She settles back down, fitting her body to mine again. The fire glows. And everything inside me moves into place, like a truth I’ve been avoiding for years.
If she stays the night, I know I’ll sleep. If she doesn’t, I still get this.
I close my eyes and let myself hope she stays.