Chapter 36
Thirty-six
Elise
We’ve been back almost two weeks now, and the fog of jetlag has finally burned off.
My body is remembering how this time zone feels.
The rhythm of commuting between Black Bear and Paradise Hill has started to feel less impossible, even when the days stretch long.
Sadie had her baby last week—a boy, William Quincy Paradise, nine pounds even.
Most of the family has been distracted by that, so I’ve tried to stay focused.
With everything going on, Trace has been unable to talk to Max. Kingston and Tarryn aren’t convinced he’s actually tried. Max’s betrayal has been really difficult for him to process.
I believe I’ve now taken care of all the things Jér?me didn’t get around to or understand were his responsibility when he was covering for me. In the process, I found a pair of lacy panties in the barrel room a couple days ago. Trying not to think about that.
But I can see now what captured most of Dad’s attention while I was away—more issues with Evelyn and the shared well that Zach poisoned before he left last fall.
She’s not happy with the amount of reimbursement we’re providing Black Bear Winery for their loss.
We paid to repair the soil and the well, and we replaced all the affected vines, plus we gave them what they would have made on the wine each year.
Yet she still wants more. Damages, she says.
So no wonder things were such a mess. I’m grateful it wasn’t worse.
Today has been another long day, but I’m going out with my friends at the end of it, a respite I’ve definitely earned.
When I arrive with Tarryn, Mikey’s smells like beer and fryer oil and a kind of clean pine soap that never quite hides the grease.
The Christmas lights strung across the rafters are glowing away, even though it’s June.
The old TV above the bar flashes with a Blue Jays game, and the shouted plays and missed calls compete with the shuffle of shoes across the scuffed floorboards.
This place is loud and lived in, like the whole town has carved their initials into it.
By the time we see them, Sadie and Ginny are already waving us over, perched on stools in front of the long, glossy bar. My stomach lifts in that small, ridiculous way it always does when I see them waiting for me. They’re Kingston’s family, and somehow, they’re becoming mine.
“Finally,” Ginny calls, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “We were about to start without you.”
Sadie stands to hug me, warm and firm. “You made it.”
“We had to find parking,” Tarryn says with a roll of her eyes. She claims a stool, the one with the crooked leg she knows how to tame by bracing her boot against the floor.
I slide in next to her and my shoulders ease down. It feels like I’ve been holding myself upright all day just to get here.
Mikey drops four coasters in front of us. His beard hides his mouth, but I can tell he’s almost smiling. “What’s it going to be?” he asks, already reaching for a pint glass.
“Not beer,” Ginny says. “We want fun cocktails tonight.”
Mikey stops mid-motion, glass frozen in his hand. “Cocktails.” The word sounds like an insult from his mouth.
“Yes,” Sadie insists, bracing her elbows on the bar. “Something colorful. Something with umbrellas, and no alcohol in mine. I’m nursing.”
Mikey blinks. “This is a beer bar. I don’t have any umbrellas. You want an umbrella, check the stand by the door. People are always leaving them behind.”
“And you,” Tarryn says, poking his forearm, “are a talented bartender who can make whatever we want.”
He groans like she’s asked him to haul barrels across town. “You’re killing me.”
But his hands are already moving, pulling a shaker from the shelf, scooping ice into metal. He digs out a bottle of rum and another of pineapple liqueur, muttering the whole time about betraying his roots.
I hide my smile in my hand. There’s something perfect about watching a man so gruff and stubborn give in to four women without much of a fight.
When he sets the finished drinks in front of us, the glasses sparkle neon blue and pink, garnished with lime wedges and cherries skewered on tiny plastic swords. And yes—little umbrellas. Sadie gets one that’s slightly less colorful but definitely has plenty of garnishes.
“You’re the best,” she gushes.
We burst into laughter.
“Admit it,” Ginny says, stirring hers with the straw. “You had fun making these. They’re beautiful.”
“Don’t push it,” Mikey grumbles, but his eyes crinkle, betraying his pride.
We raise our glasses.
“To Greyson and Trinity,” Sadie declares. “A whole week in Kauai, just the two of them. Kid free.”
“To Trace and Vicky,” Tarryn adds, “finally getting their hands on Theo for longer than a few hours. I swear they’re more excited than Greyson was.”
Our glasses meet, a cheerful ring against the wood and the noise of the bar.
I take my first sip. Sweet and tropical.
The cold glass presses wet against my palm, condensation pooling around my fingers.
The drink is ridiculously sweet, candy in liquid form, and Mikey’s mock-suffering expression makes it taste even better.
It’s a vacation in a glass, sunshine like we’ll never see here, and we laugh like we’ve already escaped.
I swirl my straw through the crushed ice. Each sip leaves a line of sugar across my tongue and a warm slip of rum down my throat.
We move to a table where we can watch most of the bar.
Sadie sits down next to me and leans in, her eyes sharp. “Okay,” she says, stretching the word like a rubber band. “Spill.”
I blink at her. “Spill what?”
“How,” Ginny jumps in, “you managed to get Kingston out of his funk. Because, Elise”—she lowers her voice, conspiratorial—“he’s a different man.”
Tarryn tips her glass toward me. “It’s true. He’s been impossible since Cara left. Silently brooding. No fun whatsoever. Now, he’s…lighter. He even joked with Dad yesterday. Do you know how long it’s been since that happened?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “You’re exaggerating.”
Sadie laughs like she caught me in a lie. “No. We’re not. He looks at you like you’re the only reason he remembers how to breathe.”
Ginny sighs dreamily. “He’s obviously in love.”
My stomach flips. “Slow down. It’s not…” I toy with the umbrella until the paper tears between my fingers.
I want to deny what they’ve said, trying to protect myself, just in case, except I can’t stop cataloging the proof.
The way his gaze softens when it lands on me.
The way his voice dips lower when he says my name.
The steadiness of his hand at my back. If that isn’t love, then what is?
But then there’s the parts of himself I’m still not sure he lets me fully see—his painful past with Cara, whatever remains unresolved with Hope.
I press my lips to the straw and take a too-long sip, forcing the thought away. “We haven’t talked about it,” I say.
“Not love,” Tarryn scoffs, amused. She crunches a cherry between her teeth. “Sure. Tell yourself that.”
I swallow hard, then blurt the thing I’ve been carrying like a stone in my pocket. “But Hope keeps texting him.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shoot up. Sadie tilts her head. Tarryn’s mouth twists.
“He never replies when I’m around,” I rush on. “But she keeps sending them, so I think maybe…he writes back later.”
Tarryn shakes her head. “Hope’s his lawyer. It’s probably work.”
“Not when the message says I miss you,” I snap before I can stop myself. My throat tightens. “That’s not legal language.”
Sadie leans her elbow against the bar. “Have you talked to him about it?”
I stare into my glass, watching the ice cubes spin. “It’s none of my business. If he wants to tell me about it, he will.”
“It’s your business,” Sadie counters immediately.
“Definitely your business,” Ginny adds.
“More your business than hers,” Tarryn confirms.
I laugh nervously, but the sound falls flat. “I don’t want to snoop.”
“You don’t have to snoop,” Sadie says gently. “You just have to ask.”
“I don’t want to sound insecure.”
“Wanting honesty isn’t insecure,” Tarryn insists. She spears the cherry stem with her straw like a tiny battle flag. “It’s smart.”
I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn’t ease.
They’re right, but my pride doesn’t want to admit it.
I tuck the thought away, though even as I try to push it down, an image flashes in my head—Kingston at his desk, phone in hand, his thumbs moving across the screen after I’ve gone to bed.
The phantom makes my chest ache. I have to talk to him. Not tonight. But soon.
The bar door swings open with a rush of warm air.
Everyone at our table instinctively glances over.
And Zach Paradise steps inside. I blink hard because it can’t be him.
Cal said he was back, but when no one ever saw him, we decided he was wrong.
But it is him now, back after nearly a year of radio silence.
He’s just walked into Mikey’s like he never left.
He looks almost the same—broad shoulders, dark hair mussed like he’s been on the road, eyes too restless to belong to someone settled. And there’s an edge to him, like he hasn’t slept right in weeks. His jaw is tight and his tan flawless.
He heads straight to the bar. He and Mikey talk for a few minutes, and he orders a beer, leaning against the counter. When Mikey delivers it, the amber liquid catches the glow from the string lights. He lifts it halfway to his mouth before he sees us.
For one second, I wonder if he’ll pretend not to notice. Then he tips his glass in a silent toast, casual, as if there’s no history piled between him and the people sitting along this section of the bar.
“Should we wave back?” Ginny murmurs.
Tarryn straightens on her stool and calls, “Zach! Over here.”
I can feel a ripple of surprise move through Sadie and Ginny, but they cover it quickly with polite smiles. My fingers tighten around my glass.
Zach crosses the floor with easy steps, his beer in hand.
He stops at the edge of our little row and offers a small grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Sorry I missed the holidays,” he says. His gaze drops to Tarryn’s hand, and he nods at the ring glittering there.
“Heard you got engaged. Congratulations.”
Tarryn’s voice is cool but steady. “Thanks.”
There’s a pause, the kind that makes my skin itch. As an outsider, maybe I feel it more keenly—the invisible map of loyalties and betrayals drawn around this family, with me straddling the edges.
Zach takes a sip of his beer, looking at each of us in turn.
Then the door swings open again, and Kingston and Ryker step inside. The whole place shifts with their presence, people glancing up from pints, heads tipping in recognition.
Kingston’s eyes find me instantly. Just one look and I feel steadier, even as the air around our stools thickens.
The brothers grab beers from Mikey, and then weave toward us. But the moment they spot Zach, the energy changes. Ryker’s eyebrows shoot up, sharp with challenge, and Kingston’s whole body stiffens as he moves into place beside me.
“Zach,” Kingston says evenly, settling onto the stool next to Sadie. He takes a slow drink and lowers the glass. “Where’ve you been?”
Zach shrugs like it’s nothing. “Needed to get away.”
“Yeah, the last time I saw you, you were trying to dump a bunch of vinegar into the water table between Paradise and Dempsey land,” Ryker adds.
Zach shrugs it off.
Tarryn leans forward. “You poisoned the well, Zach. You can’t just disappear after something like that and expect it to blow over. You need to be accountable.”
Zach shifts, jaw working, but his expression is maddeningly casual. “I didn’t know.”
My stomach knots. Didn’t know what? That hardly even passes as an excuse.
Ryker’s eyes turn sharp as flint. “If it wasn’t a big deal, why do it at night?” His tone is pure challenge, daring Zach to lie again.
“And why did you leave town?” Kingston asks.
The silence crackles. Zach’s knuckles whiten on his pint. Kingston hasn’t said a word, but his stillness is louder than shouting. His shoulders are iron, his gaze locked on Zach.
The tension stretches, a rope pulled too tight. Zach swallows, shifts, looks at the brothers in turn. “Because Max told me something. He let it slip.”
Kingston’s hand brushes my knee under the bar, even as his face goes pale.
Zach swallows hard. “I’d just learned Max isn’t my father.”
The words hang there. Max isn’t his father?
For a moment, no one breathes.
Then Tarryn is the first to recover. “If not Max,” she demands, “then who?”
Zach takes a long swallow of his beer, as if buying time.
His hand trembles just enough to make the glass knock against the bar as he sets it down.
For one stretched second, all I can hear is my own heartbeat, loud and panicked.
Then Zach’s eyes slide past Tarryn, past Kingston, past Ryker, and land on Ginny.
“It’s Henry Dempsey,” he says.
My breath jerks short.
Ginny blinks, once, twice. “What?” Her voice cracks. “He’s my father.”
Ryker rises, his stool screeching against the floorboards.
Ginny’s voice cuts sharp, firing questions faster than Zach can answer.
Sadie’s face is flushed red with fury, hands fisted against the table.
After a minute, Ginny just shakes her head like she can physically refuse the words, like denial could rewind them.
Kingston remains utterly still beside me. Not speaking. Not moving. Just absorbing, his jaw locked, eyes dark as storm clouds.
The sound around me is chaos—overlapping accusations, disbelief, and anger.
And I sit in the middle of it, my glass clutched in both hands, my pulse hammering.
I feel like both insider and outsider at once.
Kingston’s thigh presses warm against mine under the table, and I’m here, part of this circle.
But bloodlines are unraveling in front of me, and I’m not bound by them.
I watch the truth tear through them like a storm ripping vines from their stakes, and all I can do is hold my ground in the wind.
Zach stares down at his beer, shoulders braced. “Max told me, and I left. I couldn’t be around him.”
My gaze catches Kingston’s. His eyes are raw, reeling, the shock of Zach’s revelation written in every line of his face. I reach for him without thinking, my hand finding his. He holds on, tight, like the world just shifted beneath his feet.
The room feels heavy with grief, relief, anger, all of it tangled together.
I want to believe this will help them move forward, but I can’t imagine it will be that simple.
Secrets don’t just disappear because someone comes home.
They resurface, demanding to be reckoned with, and there’s still the matter of the sabotage.
As Kingston stares off somewhere past the table, I realize this is only the beginning.