Chapter 23
Twenty-three
Ryker
Sunday dinners at the Paradise house are usually loud, messy, and half a step away from a food fight. But tonight, we haven’t gotten to that portion of the program yet. We’re still lounging in the living room, where Tarryn and Sadie are deep in discussion on the couch.
I’m sipping a cab franc blend I haven’t tried before. It’s nice. And I’m trying to listen to Max argue with Dad about a new irrigation system in Dad’s office. But my focus keeps drifting to the ladies here in the living room.
“…if we stagger the releases—maybe small-batch quarterly drops—they’ll feel exclusive without actually having to limit supply,” Tarryn says, pulling out her phone and turning it toward Sadie. “We can track engagement and loyalty through the app.”
Sadie nods. “We can gamify the points system. Members who attend more events, share content, or reorder faster climb tiers. They’re not just wine drinkers. They’re ambassadors.”
They’re talking about the Barrel Club, our subscription-based wine loyalty program, but it sounds more like a masterclass in marketing psychology.
My sister and future sister-in-law have somehow turned a group of casual wine drinkers into raving, loyal superfans, people who pay extra to feel like insiders.
It’s brilliant. And terrifying.
Because I’m not sure I understand how they pulled it off. And I hate not understanding something. I hear heavy footsteps, and then the front door slams shut. Max isn’t happy.
“They’ve got waitlists for exclusive harvest dinners,” Dad mutters, clearly eavesdropping too now that he’s finished with Max. “One woman cried when she got bumped to the top tier.”
I blink. “Cried?”
He shrugs as he sits next to me. “Apparently her husband gave her the membership for their anniversary.”
I glance back at Sadie and Tarryn, who are now laughing about something involving barrel-shaped candles and branded robes. They’re a powerhouse team, the kind that makes you want to work harder and smarter or get out of the way.
I should have focus like that for pediatrics and the staffing shifts we’ve got coming up at the clinic.
Mom talks about retiring like it’s right around the corner, but the truth is, I’m not ready for that yet.
Not ready for her to hand me the keys and walk away.
I’m still learning how to keep the clinic running without it swallowing me whole.
I still don’t how she manages patients and keeps the business of the practice healthy at the same time.
Tarryn was always the organized one, I muse. The type to label leftovers and color-code school supplies. And how Sadie, who not long ago told me she never wanted to be involved in vineyard life again, now looks like she was born for this.
For a second, I wonder yet again what it would be like if Ginny were here. If she would see that we’re not just some family of bullies. If she could sit with us and laugh about cork shortages and member perks. If she could belong here.
Mom seems to think it’s possible, but to me it still feels like a dangerous thought, particularly because Ginny doesn’t seem nearly as interested in it as I am.
I take another sip of wine and glance at Mom.
She’s watching Tarryn and Sadie too, her lips in a satisfied smile.
Dad finally moves closer and joins their conversation. The room is warm, full of life.
And yet for me, something’s missing. Something I don’t even know if I can have.
After a moment, Mom disappears into the kitchen, and then returns and claps her hands twice. “Dinner’s on. Everyone grab a dish and take it to the dining room table.”
The smell of a honey baked ham and the cheesy goodness of homemade macaroni and cheese fills the air. Tarryn and Sadie gather their phones and notebooks, slipping back into daughter and future daughter-in-law mode as everyone shuffles toward the table.
We’re just settling in when the front door swings open again, and Max storms back in without knocking—because of course he doesn’t—and Zach slinks in behind him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“We just came from block nine,” Max announces. “The rows of pinot are worse than we thought.”
I look over at Tarryn. Her shoulders go rigid, and the smile she had while talking to Sadie vanishes. “I know,” she says. “Elise and I tested the soil yesterday. We’re pulling samples from the bordering rows to compare nutrient levels.”
Max ignores her and turns to Dad. “It’s spreading. Whatever’s going on over there, it’s not natural. You need someone managing the vineyard who’s got a better handle on this.”
And there it is. The dig. The not-so-subtle attempt to push Tarryn out and slide Zach in.
Dad doesn’t respond right away, and the silence stretches just long enough to make my stomach clench.
Tarryn speaks again, cool and clipped. “We’ve got it under control.”
Zach clears his throat, fidgeting beside Max. “I’ve been working with some of the hands-on irrigation calibration. I could help more if—”
“You’re not trained in vineyard management,” Tarryn cuts in before he can finish. “And with all due respect, we don’t need help from someone who nearly poisoned the chardonnay block last spring.”
Zach flinches, but Max barrels ahead, unfazed. “It’s not about one mistake. It’s about direction. This place needs forward thinking—”
“What it needs,” I interrupt, “is less politicking and more teamwork.”
Max shoots me a look, but I don’t back down.
Tarryn doesn’t either. Her jaw tightens, and her hands clench. I know that look. She’s holding it together, for Mom and Dad and the rest of us. But she’s seconds from snapping.
This isn’t about vines or water or soil samples. It’s about control. About Max pushing Zach into a role he’ll never be ready for, no matter how many late shifts he logs. And about Tarryn fighting, again, to prove she belongs here.
Dad finally speaks, his voice calm. “Let’s not do this tonight.”
Max opens his mouth, but Mom preempts him with a sweet-as-arsenic smile. “Dinner’s getting cold. Why don’t you and Zach join us?”
With a huff, Max nods, and everyone resumes moving to the table, stuffing the tension down.
When everyone begins to eat, I glance across the table at Tarryn. She’s focused on her plate, but I can tell her mind is miles away.
Max shifts in close to Dad, voice low but not nearly low enough. “I still think the Dempseys are behind what’s happening to block nine. It’s the only place we share a well with them.”
In an instant, the tension returns.
Kingston sets his fork down with a sharp clink. “You really think they have something to do with the crop dying off?”
Max shrugs like he’s just asking questions. “Their property lines run close. Their vines are doing okay. They’ve got motive.”
Tarryn gives him a look. “Those are their prize-winning grapes, and they’re not doing fine. The canes are turning gray. We irrigate differently. They use sprinklers, and that’s what saved them from the frost two years ago, but they’re having problems too.”
Zach, eager as ever to fan the flames, jumps in. “Please. It’s obvious. They’ve always wanted this valley to themselves. Their operation might look pretty on the outside, but they’re desperate. They’ve lost distribution. Their rosé is tanking. And suddenly we’ve got sabotage on our hands? Come on.”
Beckett narrows his eyes. “Seems rather farfetched that they’d ruin their crops just to shut down one of our blocks that’s not even producing yet if you ask me. Where is your proof they’ve done this?”
“We don’t have it yet,” Zach says, voice growing louder. “But we don’t need proof to admit what we already know. That family is toxic. They’ve always been out to undercut us. They’re bitter, petty, and if they had the chance to watch us fail, they’d take it.”
My hands curl into fists under the table.
Then Zach drops the bomb. “And maybe we’d already be doing something about it if someone in this family wasn’t sleeping with one of them.”
The room goes still. Airless. My spine goes rigid. My breath lodges in my throat. I knew this moment might come, but I didn’t expect it like this. Not from him. Not here.
I don’t move. I don’t even blink.
Zach’s looking right at me. His smile smug. Cruel. Like he’s been saving that one.
Mom turns sharply, her expression hard. Her lips part like she’s going to speak, but she doesn’t.
I glance at Tarryn.
“I just spent the weekend with Ginny in Vancouver last month,” she says, folding her arms. “We were roommates. I think I’d know if she was sneaking off with Ryker. He’s not that reckless.” Her gaze pins me. “Right?” She knows how I feel about Ginny, but she’s giving me deniability.
I hold it. Don’t flinch.
Sadie doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t look away either. Her expression is calm, but I can feel her tension. Ginny is her best friend.
Dad finally breaks the silence. “Is it true?”
“Yes.” My voice is steady. The moment I say it, I know there’s no walking it back. But I also know it’s what I want to do. I’ve crossed a line, not just with my family, but with history. And this is how it has to be. “Ginny and I are seeing each other. Or at least we were. I don’t know right now.”
Max scoffs. “Unbelievable.”
Zach sits taller, victorious. “Told you.”
“She’s not like them,” I say, ignoring him.
“She is them,” Max snaps. “That name carries weight. And not the kind we want attached to ours.”
Zach cuts in. “You’ve been sneaking around with Evelyn Dempsey’s granddaughter while the one well we share with them is killing our vines.”
“Our vines? There’s a problem with Dempsey and Paradise vines,” I remind him.
“She works for the family business,” Zach says. “She’s involved. Whether she wants to be or not.”
“She wants out,” I tell them, though I’m not sure that’s actually my news to share. “She’s trying to break free. She just hasn’t figured out how.”
That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.
Beckett rubs his jaw. “Even if that’s true…how do you know she isn’t being used?”