Chapter 4
Four
Kingston
My eyes snap open at three thirty a.m., and I know right away that I’m not going back to sleep. My body clock is messed up. London time lingers in my veins, pulling me toward action while the rest of this valley sleeps.
I shove back the duvet and swing my legs to the floor. The house is silent. No faint hum of traffic, no voices on the street, no city energy bleeding through the walls like in London or Vancouver. Just the storm. And this is what I love.
I pad to the window and curse under my breath. The helipad is buried under a thick white quilt, its clean lines erased, the landing light barely visible. Clearing it will take half the day. No quick escapes.
Big Bear Valley doesn’t get much snow for the most part.
A flurry here and there, a dusting that melts by noon.
But once or twice each winter, we get hit with a storm that buries everything.
This is that storm, the kind that shuts down the roads, bends fences, and makes the world feel smaller, quieter.
This means Elise isn’t going anywhere. No chance we can dig the truck out today. I doubt the plows make it up here before afternoon. She’s stuck in this house with me.
I rub a hand over my jaw. Tonight is family dinner. My mother will insist I be there. I’ve skipped too many lately with half-hearted excuses, and she sees through all of them. For her, Sunday dinner is tradition, obligation, ritual. For me, lately, it feels like punishment.
Because I’m the odd man out.
Greyson has Trinity and Theo. Beckett has Sadie and a baby on the way.
Ryker has Ginny. Even Tarryn has Declan.
The table is loud with laughter, crowded with private smiles and inside jokes, couples leaning close.
And me? I’m sitting there like an extra chair pulled up to the side, empty in every way that counts.
Because that’s what I’ve chosen. That’s what protects me, makes sure no one can ever hurt me like Cara did again.
I think about Hope in Vancouver—beautiful, ambitious, sharp as glass.
She’s been my lawyer for a few years now, and somewhere along the way, we blurred the lines.
For months, we circled each other, and then started connecting occasionally, but it’s always been more convenience than anything else.
She’s made it clear small-town life isn’t for her, and I’ve never thought we were heading anywhere.
My business trip to London only reinforced that, as I hardly gave her a second thought, and she didn’t reach out either.
We’re not building a future, just sharing the benefits of something that works right now.
But then, inexplicably, another woman comes to mind.
Elise.
She was swimming in my clothes last night—my T-shirt swallowing her, my sweatpants rolled at the waist until she looked ridiculous.
And still, she pulled it off. More than pulled it off.
That image has been burned into my brain ever since—her small frame lost in my things, hair damp from the shower, face soft and unguarded.
She didn’t look like a guest. She looked like she belonged.
But that can’t possibly be right.
It’s just that I know her. She’s practically family. Tarryn’s best friend. The kid who used to chase us across the vineyard rows, demanding to play. I can still hear her laughter from those summers, shrill and determined.
That was a long time ago, I remind myself.
I was someone different then. I drag myself downstairs to the gym, hoping sweat will burn these strange thoughts out of me.
I push through ten kilometers on the treadmill, every stride pounding out frustration, and then punish myself on the stair climber until my legs are on fire.
By the end, sweat soaks my shirt, my chest heaves, and my muscles tremble. And still, the restlessness lingers.
A shower doesn’t fix it either. The storm is still lingering when I come out, snow weighing on the house, the sky mostly dark.
I fill the percolator and let the slow hiss and gurgle ground me.
My father has always made coffee this way, long before single-serve machines and pods.
He’d let me sip the bitter dregs, warning me not to tell my mother.
When the coffee is ready, I pour a mug and open my laptop at the long farm table in the kitchen.
The inbox is worse than I expected, bloated with overnight emails.
Half of them are board questions, updates, and issues that should’ve been handled without me.
Renew Motion, the medical device company I founded to produce less-invasive knee replacements, is supposed to run itself while I’m gone.
Apparently, no one got the memo. I have a great team, but sometimes, they don’t want to make decisions without my buy-in.
I’m so deep in irritation that I don’t hear Elise until she speaks.
“I smell coffee.”
I look up, and Elise stands in the doorway, her hair a wild halo, cheeks pink from sleep. She’s still drowning in my clothes, bare feet curling against the cold tile. She looks…cute. I wave toward the pot. “Help yourself.”
She pads over, pours a mug, and takes a sip. Her eyes widen. “I think this is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “Kopi Luwak. Beans go through a civet before they’re roasted. The percolator helps, but the beans make the difference.”
“What’s a civet?”
“It’s a mammal in South America.”
Her nose wrinkles. “You’re telling me I’m drinking coffee some animal has pooped out?”
I nod.
She stares at the mug, and then takes another slow sip. “Well, whatever it is, don’t say anything else and ruin it for me. I don’t want to think about why it’s perfect.”
The corner of my mouth lifts again. What is going on with me? This storm has shifted more than snow.
She looks out the window. “I take it no one came in at first light?”
“Nope, but the rain, then sleet, and now, snow may protect the vines since they haven’t budded yet.” I close the laptop and head for the fridge. “You hungry?”
She grins. “You’re going to make me breakfast?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her arms fold, lips twitching. “Growing up, you always made me cook for you. Sure, you’re eleven years older, but you treated me like your personal chef. Don’t pretend you don’t remember.”
I stop with the eggs in hand, frowning. “I never did that.”
“Oh, yes, you did. You’d sit back and issue commands. And the one time I refused? You bullied me until I cried. Then I made you scrambled eggs.”
I blink, stunned. “I have zero memory of that.”
“Convenient.”
“God.” I shake my head. “I was an ass. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs, but her eyes sparkle.
“I’m surprised you didn’t spit in them,” I say.
Her smile turns sly. “Who says I didn’t?”
A laugh rumbles up, unexpected. “All right. Watch this time. I’ll prove I can do better. And I promise not to do anything to the eggs.”
Her brows rise. “This I have to see.”
I cook a few pieces of bacon, whisk the eggs with cream, and fold in green onion and cheese.
And after the bacon is crisp, I pour the eggs into the bacon grease.
The skillet hisses. The smell fills the kitchen, rich and warm.
When I set the plate in front of her, she takes one bite, closes her eyes, and groans.
“Okay, fine. You win. These are the best eggs I’ve ever had.”
Grinning, I dig into my plate. “Redemption at last.”
We eat in companionable silence, snow hurling itself against the window.
Finally, she sets her fork down. “I should see about digging out the truck.”
“Don’t bother.” I sip my coffee. “You’re not driving out of here today regardless. I’ll fly home in my helicopter for family dinner tonight and take you with me.”
Her head tilts.
“You can pack a bag,” I tell her. “And we’ll come back after. That way you’re here tomorrow, ready to get back to the vines and deal with the truck.”
Her lips part, surprise flashing across her face. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “My mother will insist that I show up,” I say dryly. “So this just makes sense.”
She studies me, and then nods. “All right. How long do you plan on staying?”
“I’ll leave whenever dinner’s over. Won’t be late.”
“Okay, let me know, and I’ll be waiting by the helicopter pad.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why aren’t you coming to dinner?”
Her expression shifts, shutters. She lifts her mug, stares into the coffee. “My dad and I—we only come when we’re invited. Max and Zach show up, and we learned a long time ago to stay out of it.”
I don’t like that at all. Elise and her father should be at the table.
They’re as much a part of this valley as any of us.
I lean back, jaw tight. If Elise declines to join us tonight, I’ll hear about it from my mother.
And if Zach has the gall to show his face?
I’ll lose it. My brothers will have to hold me back, because after what he did to the Dempsey vineyard, Tarryn’s cottage, and possibly the sabotage here, I can’t sit across the table from him.
And that’s only the things we know about.
Zach disappeared nearly six months ago. My gut tells me he’s behind more than we realize.
A lot more. And Max has been all over the place lately, but considering we watched Zach try to poison the water well on Dempsey property, I figure Max is keeping his head down because he’s embarrassed. Can’t say I really miss either of them.
“I need to check the vines. What time were you thinking of going?” Elise pours herself another cup of coffee.
“It’s going to take some work to get the helicopter out, so that’s my first order of business. We don’t need to be there until maybe four, and it’s a quick trip.”
She smiles and nods. “Just let me know. Do you know where my clothes are?”
“I’m sure Simone took care of them. She acts as my house manager too.”
“Great. Thank you.”
I watch her leave, still feeling a strange wave of nostalgia and warmth and…something else. She’s not the nuisance she once was. Not that it should matter to me in the least.