Chapter 9
Nine
Tarryn
I stack the last box of string lights at the edge of the tasting bar and try not to watch the door.
I told the team I wanted the tasting room’s decorations finished before the wine tasting tonight and Sadie’s having some bad morning sickness.
I tell myself I can do it without help if Declan decides not to show.
Sadie decorated the beautiful tree with plenty of wine-related ornaments. I want to add a few things. Since she’s not feeling well, I’ll finish it off.
Declan is already late.
The ladder still needs a second set of hands. The sign for the charity drive leans against the wall and begs to be hung. I check the time again and start counting hooks.
“Before you throw those at my head, I’m here,” Declan calls as he steps inside, wind in his hair and a grin that lands right in my ribs.
I turn toward him, narrowing my eyes. “You’re late.”
He lifts his palms in mock surrender, snow still clinging to his jacket. “You’re right. Let me earn my keep.”
“You can start by not knocking over the tree,” I say, stretching to reach a low hook with my string of lights. “It took me an hour to get those lights right.”
He glances at the ten-foot display, his mouth twitching as he takes in the tiny wine-bottle ornaments. “I’m not suiting up to save you from your own Christmas disaster.”
“That’s our shared goal.” I nod toward the ladder. “You take the ladder. I’ll pass garlands.”
He studies my face for a moment before stepping forward, boots scuffing the hardwood. “Truce for today,” he says quietly.
“Decorations first. Fights later.” I hold out my hand. “Hand me the twine.”
He comes closer, his fingers brushing mine as he passes it over. “You sure you want me this close to your good side?”
I tilt my head. “I don’t have a bad side. Only deadlines.”
His laugh rolls through the room, low and warm. “Fair.”
We get to work. He steadies the ladder while I climb. I loop the garland around the beam and try to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. The tasting room hums with soft music and the faint clink of glass from the cellar. I keep my focus tight. Hooks. Twine. Knots.
“Left a touch,” he calls up.
“Your left or mine?”
“Mine.”
“I knew you’d say that.” I glance down, balancing on the rung. “How’s that?”
“Perfect,” he says. “Like you measured it with your eyes.”
“I did. The measuring tape is for people without a spine.”
He grins, hand braced on the ladder. “I thought the measuring tape was for people who don’t want to fall.”
“Don’t jinx me,” I mutter, then catch myself. “Fine. Pass the tape.”
He reaches up. Our fingers brush again, a light, electric contact that has me counting studs in the beam like they matter more than air.
I drop a loop too fast, and the ribbon slips. Declan lunges forward, catching it mid-fall before it hits the floor.
“Show-off.”
“You left me no choice.” He ties off the loose end, his grin smug and easy.
I climb down, careful on the last step. My heel catches the string of lights waiting on the floor, and the box wobbles. Declan’s hand shoots out, steadying it before it topples.
“You almost made the front page—Paradise Hill’s holiday tree strangled by lights.”
I roll my eyes, heat crawling up my throat. “That never happened.”
“Almost did.” He flashes that grin again.
I nod toward the wall by the entrance, trying to redirect the air between us. “Sign goes there. Charity drive. The donation bin sits under it. People walk in and see it first thing—we want them to feel generous before they taste.”
He steps closer, eyes following my finger. “Nothing like guilt before cabernet.”
I give him a look. “Humor lowers defenses. It also opens wallets.”
He arches a brow. “You’re quoting yourself.”
“I’m right.”
“You are.” His gaze flicks toward the window. “You sure you want the ladder in front of the glass?”
“I’ll move it once we hang the sign.”
He lingers for a beat. “We’re good?”
“We’re working.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I lift the framed sign and line up the wire with the hook.
“Up five centimeters.”
“You and your centimeters.”
“You and your perfection.”
I catch the hook, step down, and hand him the level. He checks it, then gives a single nod.
“Perfect.”
“Say it again.”
“Perfect,” he repeats slower, his voice a shade deeper. The word lands between us like a match.
I clear my throat. “Garlands next.”
“Boss.” He salutes with the level, and I hate that it makes me smile.
We move along the beam, working side by side. The rhythm settles into something familiar, the kind of teamwork that used to feel easy. He steadies the ladder; I tie the ribbons. The soft scrape of branches fills the pauses between us.
He ties off a bow with quick fingers. “You remember the year we tried those fake candles and set off the alarms?”
“My favorite part was you blaming the pastry chef.”
“She did bring torches.”
“For sugar.”
“Fire is fire.” His grin fades for half a heartbeat, the word catching somewhere deeper.
I shift, pretending not to notice. “How are your sister’s kids doing?”
“Still rowdy.” He chuckles, the sound easing the air again. “They miss you.”
“I miss them too. Pictures later.”
“Only if you send me the menu draft for your VIP event tonight.”
“Deal.”
He lifts another garland, testing the weight. “Left or right?”
“Right.”
He moves the branch, then glances at me. “I was wrong last night.”
I pause. “About what?”
“Leaving.” His voice drops. “I thought you’d realize one day I didn’t fit into your life. But I realized I need to show you how I do.”
“I never thought you didn’t belong.”
“I was wrong,” he says quietly.
“You don’t admit that often.”
“I don’t get the chance. I’m taking it now.”
I swallow hard, trying to steady my hands. “Then stay and finish this.”
“Glad to. On one condition.”
“No conditions.”
“One,” he says, smiling a little. “If we get through the boxes, we share a cup from the new batch of mulled wine I smell. Truce while we drink it.”
“You think a drink solves things.”
“I think time with you helps.”
My mouth opens, then closes again. “Fine. One cup.”
The tension thins, softening around the edges. He tells me a story about a call where a cat refused to come out from under a porch. I tell him about a winery tour that turned into a proposal because the ring got stuck in a cork. He laughs. I laugh. The air between us loosens, warmer now.
We reach the last beam. The ladder stands between us like a referee. He touches the rung and looks at me.
“You climb. I’m spotting.”
“I can spot.”
“I know. Let me do this part.”
I hold his gaze a beat longer than I should. “Fine.”
I climb, feeling his hands steady on the ladder. When I glance down, he’s watching the door instead of me—always reading the room, always on guard.
I finish the knot and step down. “What did you see?”
“Nothing yet. Old habit.”
I brush the end of the ribbon smooth and face him. “I’m not fragile.”
“I never said you were.”
“You act like I’m a glass decanter. One bump and I crack.”
“I know you don’t crack,” he says. “I’ve seen you carry this place on your back.”
“Then treat me like that.”
He exhales, shoulders loosening. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
The apology catches me off guard. It softens something sharp, but not enough to erase the ache that still sits under my ribs. He left once—when everything was messy. Words don’t undo that.
“It’s also my job to keep everyone on track today,” I remind him, stepping back. “No tiptoeing. We need to finish before the club tasting at five.”
“Copy that.” He straightens. “Tell me the plan.”
I point to the bar. “String lights along the front. Wreaths on the wine lockers. The tree gets the bottle ornaments and the vineyard year charms. Boxes back to storage by four. The floor needs a sweep. Elise will do a final walk-through. I’ll send the menu to the kitchen and confirm tray counts.
You’ll help me check outdoor lights at dusk, then test the sound system. ”
He grins. “Clear. I like it when you talk lists.”
“I like it when you follow them.”
He chuckles. “You know, we’re one bow away from this looking like a magazine spread.”
“Don’t curse me with that. Those spreads never show the tangled cords.”
“I see your cords.” His tone turns warm. “Still looks perfect.”
The way he says it tightens something deep in me. I look away fast. “Have you given any thought to what I said last night?”
“No.” It’s a lie. It’s all I’ve thought about.
“I did,” he says, quieter now. “But not in a way you were hoping.”
“Tell me.”
“I dreamed we were this,” he says, nodding toward the room. “Working. Laughing. It felt good. Then I remembered that good isn’t enough.”
“What is enough?”
“Trust,” he says simply. “And proof it lasts when things get hard.”
I take a slow breath. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can try. I’m trying.”
“Don’t make promises to fix me.”
“I’m not.” His gaze holds mine. “I’m promising to be beside you while you make things right in your own way—or stay still if you’d rather not change a thing.”
I look at him for a long beat. Something shifts. Not big. Just a quiet click in the gears. I hand him a spool of ribbon. “Tie the last bow.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. If you make it straight, I’ll stop calling you a show-off.”
“Deal.” He gets it right on the first try.
We both step back. The room glows. The glass tree throws tiny prisms of light across the floor. The garlands sit exactly where I pictured them. For one minute, the knot in my stomach loosens.
“Almost like we know what we’re doing,” he says.
“Don’t get cocky.”
“You like me cocky.”
“I like you being helpful.” My smile slips through before I can stop it.
The air shifts again, slow and warm. He reaches up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I should step away. I don’t. He lowers his hand slowly, watching me, like he’s waiting for me to flinch. I don’t.
“Truce for the drink?” he asks.
My head does a single bob.