Chapter 9
Nine
Elise
Four days.
That’s all I have left before I fly to France, and instead of feeling excited, I’m standing in Kingston’s guest bathroom staring at my reflection like a fool.
The mirror has fogged faintly from the shower I just finished, blurring the edges of my face.
I swipe a hand across the glass, revealing flushed cheeks and wide, restless eyes.
I still feel the ghost of Kingston’s hand on my leg from last night, warm through my jeans, steadying me as the helicopter landed.
God, what was I thinking?
My toothbrush hangs uselessly in my hand. My lips tingle, as if they almost remember what it would have been like, how close I came to leaning in, to closing the space between us. If Tarryn hadn’t called at that moment… I don’t let myself finish the thought.
After Kingston told me what he does for the next generation of Paradise—without any accolades or announcement—I saw him differently. My stomach knots. He’s not the same person I grew up with.
Because Kingston Paradise doesn’t look at me the way he did last night. He never has. He’s too controlled, too busy, too…him. But his eyes were different, and I was leaning in to kiss him. That would’ve been a mistake.
A beautiful, dangerous mistake that I’d replay for the rest of my life.
I force a shaky laugh, pressing my palms to the cool counter.
What is going on with me? I’m clearly freaking out.
Having some kind of existential crisis before my trip.
The bathroom smells of cedar and whatever crisp soap Kingston uses.
Everything about this house feels like him—quiet, deliberate, immovable.
I set the toothbrush down and push away from the counter. The only thing I can do is bury myself in work. With that in mind, I find my focus, and I’m ready when Simone taps lightly on the doorframe.
“Hey. My cousin and his tow truck just pulled your truck to their shop,” she tells me. “I can take you in to Black Bear.”
“Oh! Great. I’ll be right there.”
She nods and returns downstairs as I rush to dress and follow her out.
The air today is crisp and damp with the scent of thawing snow as Simone drives me into town. Black Bear is smaller than Paradise, but in the summer, it bursts with energy, the lakes brimming with boats, the sandy beaches packed, and the vineyards rolling right down to the water’s edge.
“I want to go to France one day,” Simone says wistfully.
“I’ve never been,” I tell her. “I’m so excited. And not just because of the wine, but because of the history.”
She nods as she pulls up and parks at her cousin’s shop.
The truck sits in the garage like a stubborn old friend, mud still caked thick along the tires and wheel wells.
One of the mechanics straightens from where he’s been crouched beneath the chassis as we approach, wiping his hands on a rag. “You’re not getting this one back on the road.”
I blink, trying to reconcile that with the perfectly straight hood, the uncracked windshield, and the body that still shines between the streaks of dried muck. “It doesn’t look that bad.”
“Looks deceive,” he says firmly. He crouches again, shining a flashlight beneath. “That mud seeped into every seam and bearing. You’ll never get it all out, and you’d pay double what it’s worth trying. Better to strip it for parts.”
I kneel, the concrete floor leaching cold through my jeans. My gloved fingers brush the mud crusted along the wheel, flakes breaking away damp and sour against my skin. “But it still runs.”
He shakes his head. “Not for long.”
My heart sinks. Another thing broken. Another reminder that nothing here comes without a fight. I stand, brushing my palms on my thighs.
Simone leans against the shop’s front desk, one brow arched like she’s been waiting for me to catch up. “You getting sentimental over a hunk of metal?” she asks. “One phone call, Elise. You’ll have a new truck tomorrow. Paradise Hill will replace it without blinking.”
I glare, my throat tight. “I’m the one who drove it into the mud. It’s just…one more thing I have to fix.”
Her gaze softens. “Then fight smarter, not harder. You didn’t drive it into the mud on purpose. You were solving a problem, and it wasn’t supposed to be that wet. Let Tarryn know. I doubt she’ll be upset at you.”
I exhale, the cold air of the garage carrying away what little warmth I have left. She makes it sound so simple, and maybe it is. But it feels like another burden piled on top of everything else.
By noon, Kingston has flown me back to Paradise Hill, and I’m at work.
Thin sunlight pushes through the clouds, glinting off patches of meltwater that snake between the rows.
The ground squelches under my boots as I trail my fingers along a cane, bark rough against my glove, brittle enough that it snaps under my thumb with a dry pop. Spring feels impossibly far away.
“Testing their strength?” Tarryn’s voice carries across the row. She trudges toward me, cheeks pink from the cold, knit hat tugged low. Her breath fogs in white puffs.
“Just wondering how many we’ll lose,” I say, tugging gently at another cane.
She steps up beside me, studies the vine, then snaps a cane clean with a practiced twist. The sound is sharp, final. “Any that don’t bud like they should—” She tosses the piece into the mud. “—we’ll yank and replace.”
“Let’s hope it’s not two hundred,” I mutter.
“Already called the nursery. If we need grafts, they’re ready.”
We walk together, footsteps punctuated by the squeak of mud and the drip of meltwater from the wires.
“Every time I think we’re steady, something else crashes down,” I admit.
“I feel the same.” She casts me a look. “We’re always one frost, one storm, one broken tractor away from humiliation.”
I huff a laugh. “Inspiring.”
“Think of it as job security.” She bumps my shoulder. “You’ll never get bored here.”
I glance at her, but she’s already crouched over a vine, absorbed in her work.
We’ve gone a few more rows when she says, “Crew wants to throw you a send-off Wednesday night. Barbecue in the barn.”
I stop. “For me?”
“Don’t act surprised.” She grins. “You’re part of the family. They want to celebrate you before you run off to France. They’re already arguing over food. Someone even suggested roasting a pig.”
I blink at her, stunned. “They want to do all that…for me?”
“Of course.” She shrugs. “You’re out here every day, and you stand beside them year round, not afraid of doing whatever needs to be done. They see you as one of them.”
I grew up on Paradise Hill, running through the vines with Tarryn, my best friend since I could walk. We’ve always planned to take over together once our fathers stepped aside. Now, I’m leaving for three months on this exchange, and suddenly, I’m not sure I want to go.
My throat prickles. “That’s…really kind.”
“They don’t want you to go,” she says softly. “None of us does, not really, though I understand a necessary step. But the barbecue is their way of saying that out loud, and hopefully, it convinces you to return.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll come.” She nudges me with a grin. “And maybe say you’ll come back from France too.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out thin. “I’ll be there.”
“I’m counting on it.” She smirks, and then lets it drop when she sees me struggling not to cry. “Any word about the truck?” she asks after a moment.
“Simone’s cousin thinks our best bet is to sell off the parts, as all the seals are full of mud. I’m so sorry.”
But just as Simone predicted, Tarryn nods and waves that away. “Then that’s what we’ll do. It was likely about time to replace that one anyway. You need a reliable vehicle when you’re out on these roads.”
I resist the urge to gush my thanks and simply nod in return. The personal and professional are all mixed together for me right now.
We continue our work as the afternoon passes, and fortunately, the majority of the vines on this side of the lake seem poised to make their usual spring return.
As the sun begins to sink lower, the faint thrum of rotor blades rises, steady and rhythmic in the distance. My heart matches the beat, quick and uneven. After a minute, wind sweeps across the vineyard as the helicopter crests the tree line, whipping my braid loose and stinging my cheeks.
Tarryn lifts her hand against the glare of the sun. “Private chauffeur. Not bad.”
I force a laugh. “It’s practical.”
She shoots me a sly look. “Have you been lonely out at Kingston’s place?”
I shake my head. “Kingston’s been great. And Simone’s making mushroom risotto tonight, my favorite. He said he’d be done with his work in time to eat with us.”
Tarryn’s brows rise. “He usually eats at his desk and crashes. You’re making him sit at the table?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Guess so.”
“See you tomorrow,” she calls, grinning as she steps back from the spray of snowmelt.
The helicopter lowers, blades whipping grit and water into the air, the ground trembling beneath my boots. I wave goodbye as Kingston steps down, tall and sure, his coat snapping in the gust, late sun gilding the sharp lines of his face.
The blades slow, the air settles, but nothing inside me steadies.