Chapter Five
Five
Ginny
Idrop the same stemless wine glass twice before I realize I’ve been stacking them in the wrong place. Sip Happens, the label reads. No kidding.
It’s been a week since I walked away from Ryker at Mikey’s.
Seven days of replaying our conversation on a loop, of trying not to think about the way his voice slid over my skin like warm honey, or how his hand felt when it grazed my lower back, all heat and promise.
I’ve spent every one of those days reminding myself that walking away was the smart thing.
The right thing. Why would I pick a fight with my entire family when I’ve just come back to town and begged for their mercy?
I mean, I’m not here because this job is my dream. I’m here because it’s something. It pays the bills, gives me a place to live, and keeps my grandmother from breathing down my neck. And I suppose it’s good to help out at the vineyard, even though my family’s drama has never been what I wanted.
But if my grandmother finds out I so much as flirted with a Paradise, all hell will break loose.
Gran would have a meltdown, and not the dramatic, throw-a-fit kind.
The kind that ends in exile and icy silences and my key card being deactivated before I even hit the parking lot.
I’m already dreading telling her I’m in Sadie’s wedding.
I text my brother, Alaric. He’s about the sanest one in this bunch.
Me: Hey. When you have some time, can we meet up?
Ric: How about tonight?
Me: Sure. Name the time and place.
Ric: Chinese at my house. I’ll order in.
Me: You’re speaking my language! Kung pao for me, please.
I slip my phone back into my apron and my thoughts wander.
Ryker isn’t just a bad idea. He’s a beautiful risk I can’t afford.
And yet…the pull is still there. He feels dangerous in the exact way I crave, and I don’t think that’s just about my family.
I’ve given love more than a few chances, and all I have to show for it are mistakes that still sting.
Letting go with Ryker might actually be freedom—being seen, being wanted—not for what I represent, but for who I truly am.
If I let myself experience that, though, I’m not sure I’ll know how to walk away. And that’s the problem. I can’t afford to want that. Not from him. Not from anyone. My ex, Jeremy, taught me that.
I move to stack the glasses in the right spot and force myself to focus.
Inventory is off again—big surprise. Mom was in last night, and she rearranged everything.
We have a difference of opinion on the best setup for the store, but since now I’m in charge, I put things where they seem to sell best. Then she changes them back.
It’s just another way I wish I felt more in control here.
Mostly I still feel like a pawn in someone else’s game.
The bell above the door chimes, and I turn my smile toward a couple of tourists asking about olive oil tastings.
Good. Better this way. Safe. This is a path I know how to tread.
When I’ve sent them on their way, the door swings open again, and this time it’s not tourists. It’s my sister Josie, her long strawberry-blonde ponytail swishing behind her as she breezes in.
“You’re a million miles away,” she says, glancing at me as she pulls a gumdrop from the sample bowl near the counter. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I shrug. “Inventory’s off again. Mom was here, so chances are she put things away somewhere I can’t find.”
Josie arches a brow. “Uh-huh. That the kind of inventory that wears scrubs and a cocky smile?”
I look up sharply. “What?” But I already know. It’s one of the joys of living in a small town. Nothing is ever a secret.
She smirks but lets it go. Thank God.
I change the subject. “How’s the well?”
Josie sighs and hops up on the edge of the display case, as if she doesn’t know I hate that.
“Still dry. Dormant vines don’t crumble in your hands,” she says.
“These aren’t sleeping. They’re gone. We’re talking about hand-watering in the spring.
Depends on how long this wet winter holds out. Maybe we’ll be lucky.”
“Forecast says more rain,” I say, folding tissue paper around a candle. “So maybe you’ll catch a break.”
“Maybe.” She gives me a long look. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.” I don’t even look up. “Go bug Sera. She loves feelings.”
Josie snorts, and just as she hops down, the bell above the door rings again. My heart sinks the moment I see her—our mother.
Monica Dempsey glides into the gift shop like she’s waltzing into a gala, wearing a vintage scarf and oversized sunglasses.
She looks around like she’s never been here before, then brightens when she sees us.
She blinks like she’s coming out of the dark as she puts her glasses on her head.
Her gaze darts around the space, a beat too long on every shelf.
“I thought I was working today!” she says, sounding breathless and vaguely confused.
“You’re not,” I say, carefully calm. “We talked about this last week. You said you were thinking of stepping back.”
“Oh, right.” She waves that off, as if it’s all a delightful misunderstanding. “I am thinking of retiring. But I haven’t decided. I’ll go mad if I don’t have something to do.” She looks around the gift shop again. “Why did you move things around? It took me hours to get it back.”
“I have it this way because it creates better flow.”
“When did you decide to pick up a jewelry line? Gilded Grape? Who is this?”
“It’s mine. Gran said I could sell it here if I gave the store forty percent.”
She shakes her head. “If it’s okay with your gran, that’s fine, but the store was better the way it was.”
Josie gives me a sympathetic wince and ducks out the side door like the damn place is on fire. Traitor.
My mother makes a little humming sound. “You rearranged the jam display.”
“Yes.”
“I liked it better the way it was.”
She walks over and starts shifting jars back into their original formation, completely undoing the project I spent an hour on this morning. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and try not to snap.
It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it.
“Customers flow through the store better this way,” I say, hoping logic might carry the day.
She doesn’t answer. Just keeps rearranging like I’m not even here. After a moment, she starts in with her usual commentary. “You know, you should have the more colorful labels at eye level. That’s what catches people’s attention. No one buys the buried ones.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“I just want to help,” she adds, her voice thin and fragile now.
“I know.” I force a smile, the one I’ve perfected over years of swallowing my frustration. “Thanks, Mom.”
Inside, I’m screaming. There’s a version of me that flips the jam table and tells her to get the hell out. But that version never made it out of adolescence. This version just nods and waits for the moment to pass.
I’m about to lose it—my jaw clenched, fingernails biting into my palms—when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Sadie: You up for Vancouver or Toronto for dress shopping? Thoughts?
My fingers hover over the screen. I should say no. I would prefer never to return to Vancouver, and Toronto is a bigger investment. But I don’t.
Because some part of me wants to say yes. Just once.
Me: I’m fine with wherever you want. With enough notice, I can plan around it. It’s your wedding, so it’s your call.
The response is instant.
Sadie: You’re the best. Beckett and I also want to have you and Ryker over for dinner sometime to go over a few wedding things. You in? It’s going to take a while to figure out the schedules.
I stare at the message for a beat. Dinner. With Beckett and Ryker. My stomach flips, but not in a bad way. I should say no. I should invent an excuse. But I’ve agreed to do this. It’s not her fault I have no self-restraint where Ryker is concerned.
Me: Sure. Sounds good.
A second later, another message lights up my screen.
Ryker: This wedding stuff will be fun.
My heart jumps like it always does when it’s him. My stupid, reckless heart.
I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of my head. But a smile tugs the corner of my mouth anyway. Stupid, charming, too-hot-for-his-own-good idiot.
I tuck my phone away and turn back to the shop, only to find my mother still frowning at a pyramid of jam jars like it personally offended her.
“Sadie asked me to be her maid of honor,” I tell her.
“That’s nice. Who’s she marrying?” She moves over to rearrange the scarves it took me hours to fold.
Breathe in. Breathe out. “Beckett Paradise.”
Mom stops and looks at me. “And you’ll be in the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Your grandmother isn’t going to like that.”
I sigh. “She’s my closest friend, and I want to do this.”
“Just tell your grandmother before she finds out.”
I nod. That’s why I want to see Ric tonight. I’ll get his take on how to tell her without asking for permission. Because if I ask, she’ll tell me no.
Mom is now pulling boxes out and putting away the stemless glasses I just arranged. “These never sell in the winter.”
I let out a slow breath and remind myself it’s not forever. Nothing is.
When I step through Ric’s front door that evening, I’m pleased to find it already smells like ginger, soy, and garlic.
His house feels like a pocket of calm in a world that’s spinning too fast—warm lighting, overwatered plants, and a lived-in couch covered in dog hair even though he doesn’t have a dog anymore.
Miles Davis hums low from the speaker in the kitchen.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he calls. “I ordered enough to roll us both out the door.”
I kick off my boots and head in, already feeling lighter. “You always order too much.”
“It’s a talent,” he says, grinning as he dishes out my usual— extra spicy kung pao chicken, beef and broccoli, and low mein with pork. He sets it on the counter with a pair of chopsticks. “You okay?”
I slide onto the barstool and inhale deeply over my plate. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.”
He doesn’t push. Just hands me a spring roll and waits.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask, deflecting.
He frowns, confused. “What do you want to know?”
“This isn’t a therapy session for me. I wanted to see how my big brother is doing. You moved back just before I did and haven’t even faked interest in someone local.”
His face goes still, guarded. “She didn’t want this,” he says after a long pause. “Didn’t want small-town life. You can’t take the city out of some women.”
“Why didn’t you stay in Vancouver?”
“I stayed in Vancouver as long as I could, but once I finished school, I couldn’t ignore what was happening here.
There was no one else. Gran cut Dad out, so I knew someone had to come home and support Seraphina.
But Liz didn’t want this life, and I couldn’t ask her to give up everything for something I can’t walk away from. ”
“So she didn’t come with you,” I say quietly.
He shakes his head. “No. And I didn’t ask her to.”
My heart hurts for him. I’ve been so caught up in my own problems, I hadn’t noticed how much he’s still carrying. “I’m sorry, Ric.”
He shrugs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “Some things don’t work out. Doesn’t mean they didn’t matter.”
I reach across the counter, resting my hand over his. “You deserve more than waiting around on something that already ended.”
He nods but doesn’t answer.
We eat in silence for a while. I’ve always felt like I could breathe around Ric, maybe because he never asks me to be anything other than exactly who I am.
Halfway through my plate, I set my chopsticks down and stare at the chicken, like it might offer me some kind of divine answer. “I have to tell Gran something, something she might not like.”
He chews slowly, watching me with that therapist face that used to drive me crazy when we were younger. “Okay…”
“It’s…complicated.”
He waits.
“I’m going to be in a wedding,” I say finally. “Sadie’s wedding. She’s marrying Beckett Paradise.”
There it is. The surprise in his eyes, quickly masked. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, dragging a hand through my hair. “Oh.”
Ric sits back in his chair. “So when you said this was a thing Gran might not like…”
“She might kick me out like she did Dad and never speak to me again. And I don’t even think she’d miss me.”
“Ginny.” His voice is gentle but firm. “Dad and Gran had a complicated relationship. Just remember, you’re doing this because Sadie’s your friend.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But that’s not going to matter to Gran.
All she’ll see is the groom’s last name.
” My fingers tighten around the edge of the counter.
I try to imagine telling Gran—her mouth pressed into a thin line, disappointment hanging in the air.
“She already thinks I’m too soft,” I tell him.
“Too willing to forget. She looks at me and sees everything she hated in Dad—his kindness, his blind spots. Like loving people makes you reckless.” I shake my head.
“If I tell her I’m standing up at a Paradise wedding, I don’t know what she’ll do. ”
Ric rests his elbows on the counter. “Then tell her why it matters. That it’s not about the name, it’s about Sadie, about friendship and showing up when it counts.”
I swallow hard. “And if she kicks me out?”
“Then she does,” he says. “But that’s on her. You’ve been jumping through her hoops since you were ten. You left once, and maybe she’s realized you’re more than able to do that again.”
I look up at him, eyes burning. “I just don’t see how she can get past this. She’s spent her whole life being angry at them. And it’s not like I don’t get it. She lost a close friend, and Granddad lost his sister because of the Paradise family.”
“You know it’s not that simple,” Ric counters. “Granddad’s father was the one who killed her.”
“But that doesn’t matter to Gran.” I shake my head. “In her mind, the entire Paradise family is guilty by blood. That’s the part that doesn’t seem right.”
He nods. “Yep. All that shaped her for good and bad.” He reaches across the counter. “No matter what she does, I’ll still be here. No matter what.”
I squeeze his hand. “Thanks, Ric.”
“Always.”