Chapter 35
Thirty-five
Elise
Alittle while later, while we’re still getting settled at Kingston’s place, both our phones light up with texts.
Looks like we’re being summoned to Paradise Hill for Sunday dinner this evening.
As tempting as it is to crawl right into bed and sleep for days, I know we have to adjust to the time zone.
And anyway, I’m eager to see Tarryn, and Kingston’s family needs him there.
We compromise with a short nap, and when we head out for the trip over to the vineyard that afternoon, Kevin is waiting for us at the helipad. Kingston is too tired to fly, so Kevin is going to take us and wait for our return.
Kingston nods at Kevin as he opens to door to the bird. “Elise is going to be living here and may be reaching out for rides back and forth to Paradise Hill when I’m not available.”
Kevin dips his head. “I’m here and ready whenever you need me.”
“Thank you.” It feels ridiculous to commute to work in a helicopter.
The ride across the lake is short, and we’ve barely hit the helipad at the vineyard when I spot Tarryn.
She’s already halfway down the stairs, headed this way with Declan behind her.
My father waits just beyond the blades as they slow to a stop, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.
His smile is wide, but I catch something measuring, protective in his eyes.
Kingston lingers behind me. He takes my messenger bag before I can even reach for it, his fingers brushing mine. It’s a small touch, but it sends heat through me like a live wire.
“Thank you.”
His jaw tightens, eyes steady on mine.
I swallow, shifting closer so only he can hear. “I need to get caught up at the vineyard, and with Tarryn, so I’ll see you at dinner.”
He nods and hands me my messenger bag. “I’ll be around.”
My father clears his throat, as if he’s giving us space, but not too much. Declan stands beside him, unreadable.
I reach for Kingston’s shirt and tug him down into a kiss, right here, in front of everyone. We’re not a secret. Not anymore. His mouth is warm and sure against mine, and for a second, I lean into him, memorizing the taste, the press, the way his breath catches when I don’t let go right away.
When I pull back, he doesn’t exactly smile, but something softer fills his face. “Family dinner,” he says, voice low. “Don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
Tarryn practically pushes Kingston away and envelops me in a hug. “I’ve missed you so much!” she declares.
I greet my father as well, and we all follow Kingston toward the family house. “I brought goodies for everyone.”
Tarryn’s eyes grow wide. “What did you bring me?”
We walk into the kitchen and sit on barstools. I pull out a beret and Chateau’s most-sought after wine and hand them to my dad. “You can keep this for yourself, or share.”
He shakes his head. “I could sell this and buy you a nice condo in town.”
Trace looks at it and smiles. “How’d you get this?”
“Sasha Valmont gave it to me, and I figured I should share the spoils with those who will appreciate them.”
Trace turns to my father. “I’ll pay for dinner out on our next trip to Vancouver if you’ll share with me.”
“Deal.” Dad says, and they head toward his home office and his favorite decanter.
“Don’t forget me,” Vicky yells after them.
I rifle through my bag and hand Kingston’s mom the beautiful Hermes scarf I found for her. “I thought this was you.”
She smiles. “I love it. It’s absolutely me!” She gives me a big hug. “Thank you.”
Tarryn is bouncing from one leg to the other, and it’s fun to make her wait. She’s like a child on Christmas morning.
I offer the bag to her, and she grins. She pulls out the first item with a squeal. “You brought me bottles?” she gasps, holding one up to the light.
“Careful,” I warn, but I can’t help laughing. “That’s a grand cru. Don’t drop it.”
She tucks it carefully at her feet and digs deeper. Scarves, soaps, little bits I picked up at markets. She holds them up one by one like treasures. I watch her face light up and realize how much I missed this—her energy, her curiosity, her way of making everything feel like an occasion.
“I can’t believe you remembered,” she says, clutching the lavender sachet I grabbed in Provence. “Now, everything will smell like the south of France.”
I lean back against the kitchen counter, the fatigue of travel still clinging to me, but there’s warmth too. “I had to do something. You kept this place running while I was gone.”
Her smile dims just a fraction. “Sort of. The assistant vintner from Chateau, Jér?me Pelletier, tried, but honestly… They don’t do much more than pour and stir there. Glorified hands.” She shrugs.
I nod. I understand too well. “I know. It’s not their fault.
They’re part of a huge, very specialized staff, but this vineyard needs more than that.
That’s why I’m grateful to be here, learning from Dad.
Growing up and working here, I did hand work, but I had so many other opportunities as well.
These last months working in such a large operation helped me see the differences, and I learned a lot.
” I hold up my notebook. “Just wait till you see my ideas.”
With the gift-giving show over, Vicky disappears to get her drink before the bottle is gone, and Declan’s phone rings, leaving just me and Tarryn to catch up.
“So…” she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “When were you going to tell me about Kingston?”
I roll my eyes, heat rising to my cheeks. “What about him?”
“Oh please. Don’t even try. You kissed him right in front of your dad.”
Her grin is wide enough to make me groan. I turn toward the window, but she nudges my arm. “Tell me everything.”
I sigh, but there’s no reason not to share.
“We, uh, connected a bit just before I left, and we started writing letters while I was away. It just…happened. One line became two, and suddenly, it wasn’t just business anymore.
He’d write about what was going on in Black Bear and with Renew Motion, and I’d write about the vineyard, about France, about anything. ”
“And then?” she presses.
“And then our chemistry bloomed,” I admit. “But I’m cautious, Tarryn. Cara hurt him badly. I don’t know what our future holds.”
“Letters turning into love notes. Classic. That’s how my parents did it.” Her teasing softens into something gentler. She squeezes my hand. “You’re not Cara.”
I hold her gaze, wishing I felt more certain that would be enough. Everything feels different now that we’re back home. “How’s the new cottage coming?” I ask, eager to redirect.
Tarryn smiles. “I’ve been working with an architect. Since we’re not looking to move into the main house anytime soon—if ever—we want to have plenty of room in the cottage to grow, but I don’t want to take out any blocks of vines.”
I nod, and she gives me a tour of the plans she and Declan are putting together. It’s going to be wonderful. As she rolls the blueprints back up, I note the time and realize I need to catch up with my dad, and Tarryn has a few things to do before dinner.
As I head out, she thanks me again and carries her bundle of French treasures upstairs, calling over her shoulder about where she will hang the scarf I brought.
I find my father in his chair near the front window with a glass of wine in hand.
“Is that the Chateau Reserve?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I shared a glass with Vicky and Trace. But don’t worry, I’m saving the rest for us. It’s outstanding.”
“They have a very interesting way they do the push. I took lots of notes.”
A smile blooms on his face. “I knew you’d come back with something good.”
“I have lots of ideas.” I smile too, realizing how much I missed him while I was gone. “So what are you drinking?”
“Father and Son’s reserve,” he says, swirling the glass. “Frank dropped it off. Figured I’d see if they still know what they’re doing over there.”
I grin. “And?”
“Not bad. Not Paradise good, but not bad.”
He doesn’t look at me for a moment, just swirls the wine again. When he does turn my way, his eyes are sharp, like he’s trying to see straight through me.
“I like Kingston,” he says finally, voice rough.
The words catch me off guard. “You do?”
He nods. “He’s steady. Smart. I trust him with a lot of things.” He leans forward, eyes narrowing. “But don’t fool yourself, Elise. He’s not safe ground.”
A chill creeps up my spine. “What do you mean?”
“You saw what Cara did to him,” he says. “She ripped his guts out, left him for his best friend, and the fallout nearly tore this family apart. A wound like that doesn’t go away. It makes a man cautious, selfish even. If it comes down to protecting himself or protecting you, he’ll pick himself.”
The words slam into me, feeding my worry. He seems open about so many things, but then there are others… Hope texted him on the trip home, and he seemed strange when he discovered her messages. He didn’t share that with me.
“You’re not family to him,” Dad goes on. “Not the way his brothers are. If this blows up, you don’t just lose him. You lose everything here. Your place. Your work. The future you’ve built in this vineyard. And you’ll do it with your heart shattered to pieces.”
I want to deny it, but my father’s words make some sense.
Though there’s also lots of evidence to the contrary.
In France, Kingston’s smile softened the air, his hand steadying mine as I lifted a glass, his voice warm as he read my letters aloud.
That man—the one who felt like home—feels miles away from the broken figure my father describes.
I have to trust that time heals, that people can change.
That Kingston will be honest when he’s ready.
“I can take care of myself,” I whisper, though the sound wavers.
He doesn’t argue, doesn’t soften. Just leans back, reclaiming his glass, and mutters, “You’d better.”
Conversation over.