Chapter 3
Three
Ginny
Ipush open the door to the Black Bear Winery gift shop and enter the world of cedarwood candles and barrel-aged port. For a second, I let myself breathe it in. The comfort of familiarity. The calm before the inevitable storm.
The bell above the door jingles behind me as it closes. We’ve only just opened for the day, but I can already feel tension in the air. Sharp. Heavy. Ready to snap.
I begin by surveying the glass display near the register.
My jewelry—bright gemstones wrapped in silver or gold—glimmers under the lights, and there are several openings in the arrangement.
A smile tugs at my lips. The peridot and aquamarine wrapped in gold have clearly been popular.
It’s a strange, fluttery feeling, knowing people are actually buying something I made.
I make a mental note to order more stones and make more before the offerings get too picked over.
I look up as my oldest sister, Sera, enters through the back door from her office down the hall.
Her face is pinched tight in that way she gets when she’s trying not to scream.
She doesn’t even look up as she walks in.
Sera’s next in line to take over the family vineyard, right behind our grandmother, who still runs the place with an iron fist, as she has since our grandfather died, before I was born.
My dad, Henry, was supposed to take over at some point, but something happened years ago—something no one talks about.
All I know is he was cut off completely, and Gran never looked back.
Once the family cuts someone off, it’s like they vanish.
You don’t call. You don’t visit. You don’t even say their name.
If you do, you risk being cast out right alongside them.
Alaric made sure to keep in touch with Dad, but my sisters and I have been more cautious.
I haven’t really spoken to Dad in years.
“Morning,” I offer carefully, stepping past a new display of locally made jam in jars shaped like wine barrels.
“You’re late,” she says, though she doesn’t seem particularly bothered. She’s still not looking at me. “And I’m going to murder someone. Just haven’t picked who yet.”
I arch a brow. “I vote Max Paradise.”
She finally glances up, her mouth twitching. “Not a bad choice.”
I slide around the counter and drop my bag. “So, what’s the latest?”
Sera leans her hands on the register like she needs to physically brace herself. “The well servicing blocks one-hundred one through one-hundred forty has a problem.”
“Wait, the pinot vines?”
She nods. “This time it’s worse. We brought in Alvarez’s team to check it, and they think the aquifer’s been overdrawn. Gran’s convinced the Paradise family did it on purpose.”
I fold my arms. “It’s winter. Their vines are dormant. They’ve already blown out the irrigation lines. There’s no way they’re draining anything right now.”
“Try telling her that,” she mutters. “Alvarez said Tarryn’s newly planted parcel must have tapped into a different section of the well, and it’s redirecting flow.”
“That’s…not how water tables work.” I want to laugh it off, to tell her Gran’s just looking for another war to fight.
But a part of me hesitates. What if it is connected?
What if Ryker knows something and isn’t telling me?
I mean, how could he tell me since I haven’t looked him in the eyes for the last six months?
But was he playing me when we got together that night last summer?
That all seems ridiculous, but logic has never stood a chance in this family. Especially when the name Paradise is involved.
The feud’s been alive longer than any of us—eight generations of bad blood.
Started when both families came to the valley.
The Paradises set up the general store, and my family were fur traders and eventually ended up with grapes.
The Dempseys and the Paradises have been at each other’s throats ever since, fighting over land, water, awards, and whatever pride is left to claim.
And they’ve dragged the entire Black Bear Valley in with them.
Now, the well’s dry, so of course that’s who gets the blame.
I glance out the window at the tasting patio beyond the vines, now mostly bare in the winter chill. “Have we looked into drilling deeper?”
Sera gives me a flat look. “Gran wants to take the fight to the Paradise city council. She said, and I quote, ‘they stole from us, and they’re going to pay’.”
“Oh good.” I sigh. “War. That’s always productive.
” I grab an apron and loop it over my head.
While it’s quiet, I may as well fold tea towels and stock honey sticks.
We still get about a dozen people in the store every day this time of year.
It helps that we have an internationally acclaimed pinot noir and syrah.
Sera hands me a clipboard. “Do you think you could handle things while I call the water district?”
“Where’s Josie?” I ask. She’s my other older sister and also our vintner.
“We have a vat that isn’t cooperating, and she’s working on that.”
Josie won gold at the International Wine Festival last year, and she’ll be defending the title next month, but she remains hands-on around here. No job is too dirty for her.
“I have you covered,” I assure Sera, looking at the to-do list I made before I left last night. “And if I see Max or Zach Paradise lurking in the bushes with a garden hose, I’ll take one for the team and tackle them.”
She smirks. “Just don’t date any of them, okay?”
I stiffen slightly but keep my tone light. “Please. Not a chance.”
They’ve all heard the rumors. In a town this small, of course someone saw me leave that bar with Ryker Paradise.
I’m not about to admit it was toe-curling, amazing, and the best sex I’ve ever had.
Ryker’s face flashes through my mind—cocky smile, dark eyes, the way he made me forget everything, even just for a night.
I shake it off. That was six months ago. A mistake.
And I’m not making it again.
Sera returns to her office, and I busy myself lining up the bottles of olive oil. When I reach the last one, I stare blankly at the label, my fingers tight around the glass.
I wasn’t supposed to end up back here.
When I left Paradise, I swore I’d never return.
I went to university to get a marketing degree, and I graduated with just enough ambition to pretend I had a real plan.
I found a job with a boutique marketing firm in Vancouver—scrappy, creative, and always one client away from closing its doors.
But I didn’t care. I was building something.
I had my own apartment, a fiancé, a future.
Jeremy McQueen. The name still makes my stomach turn.
He was charming, successful, just the right amount of rugged to impress my family and my social media followers. We’d been together almost two years. I thought I was done searching. He proposed to me at a fancy restaurant, and we were busy planning our future.
Until his birthday.
I left work early to surprise him. I had his favorite cake, his favorite bourbon, and balloons, even though he always said they were too much. I walked into our apartment, full of love and celebration, and found Jill Delaney naked in our bed.
My best friend. On her knees. Giving him a very different kind of birthday present.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even speak. I just left.
Five hours later, I was parked outside the Black Bear Winery tasting room with nothing but the suitcase in my trunk and humiliation clawing at my throat.
I had no backup plan. No apartment. No dignity. And the company I worked for couldn’t guarantee my continued employment. So I just came home.
So yeah, I’m back in Paradise. Not because I want to be. Because I had nowhere else to go.
And if one more person tells me it’s a blessing in disguise, I might throw a bottle of raspberry balsamic at their head. I didn’t come back here for redemption. I came to forget.
But so far Ryker Paradise is the only person who’s let me do that.
I move on to the next task and my phone buzzes just as I finish rearranging the display of handmade soaps.
Sadie: Drinks after work? You in?
It’s a weeknight. Odd. Unless Sadie’s matchmaking again… But I don’t hesitate. I’m always up for an evening out.
Me: Hell yes. Where?
Sadie: Mikey’s. 6:30?
Of course. Mikey’s.
My stomach tightens. That’s the place where I let Ryker Paradise talk me into a bet on darts…
and then a visit to the back party room.
The pool table. God, the pool table. And as if that wasn’t enough, I let him take me home, where we christened his kitchen counter, his couch, the shower. We never even made it to a bed.
I press my lips together and shake off the memory. I give Sadie a thumbs up and slip my phone back into my apron pocket.
The door creaks open behind me, and I don’t have to turn around to know who it is.
“Put the phone away, Genevieve,” my grandmother snaps. “You’re at work.”
“I already did,” I say softly. No need for her to hear me.
She’s wearing one of her usual wool skirts and a cardigan that looks like it’s survived three generations of Dempseys and a lightning storm. Her lips are pressed into a line so tight it’s practically a wrinkle. She’s gripping her purse strap like she wants to strangle someone with it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, dreading the answer.
She mutters something under her breath. All I catch is Paradise.
Of course.
She marches toward the office, a storm cloud in orthopedic shoes. I let her go. There’s no reasoning with her when she gets like this.
I used to think I didn’t care, that her cold shoulder didn’t bother me. But the truth is, it feels like being twelve again, trying to prove I belong in a family that only loves you when you play by their rules.