Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
Tarryn
Declan left his apartment long before dawn for his shift. I laid in bed as long as I could, but I couldn’t go back to sleep, so now, I’m here way too early. But with everything going on, I’m behind so I have plenty to keep me busy.
I unlock the side door to the tasting room and step into quiet that smells like lemon from the mop bucket and faint cinnamon from yesterday’s cookies.
Tables stack two high. The tree in the corner blinks on its timer, tiny lights fighting a gray afternoon.
I knock snow from my boots and hang my scarf on the hook by the office door.
Keep moving. Stopping is when doubts catch up.
Sadie’s already here, a cardboard box balanced on her hip. She eases it onto the bar and pulls out crystal stems one by one. “You’re early. You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I’m always here at this hour,” I lie. “I slept. I just have a lot to do.”
“Uh-huh.” She slides a glass into the rack and studies me. “I almost texted, but then I thought, no, this needs a talk.”
“What kind of talk.”
“The kind that keeps you from hiding behind polishing.” She folds the cloth and hands it over. “You ready?”
“I’m always ready for polishing.”
“That’s not what I asked.” She tips her head. “Walk me through your morning. And Declan.”
My chest tightens before I answer. “We went to the tree lighting last night.”
“Yes? Mom mentioned you didn’t come home last night.”
Internally, I roll my eyes. “I can’t wait until I am living with just Elise again.”
“How did it go?”
I take a deep breath. I’m conflicted. I said things to him that make me very vulnerable. I’m not ready to talk about it. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“That’s a good sign,” she says softly. “Then we’re not at zero.”
“We’re not moving at all.”
She nods toward the blinking tree. “He gave you his jacket at the lighting. You’re still wearing it.”
I glance down at the navy shell on my shoulders. “It’s warm.”
“You kept it because it feels like him.” Her smile is gentle, not smug. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s a problem.”
“How?”
“It makes me feel fourteen.” The words tumble out. “Wanting something so much I feel small. I don’t want to be that girl again.”
“Who made you small?”
“I did.” I stack the empty box. “I gave everything to him once. I can’t let him come in and just pick up where we left off. That just makes me desperate.”
“Then don’t.” She gestures around us. “This is your world. You run it, push back when distributors want shelf space that doesn’t fit, stand firm with your brothers every week. Do the same with the man you love.”
“We’re back together, but I don’t love him.” The words crack in the air, too sharp.
“Okay.” She lifts both palms. “Walk it back. What’s true?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of losing yourself.”
“Yes.” I drop the cloth. “I know who I am here. I’m good with lists. With my heart, I’m clumsy.”
“Then make your heart a list.” She grins. “What do you want before midnight?”
“I want to stop the limbo.”
“And?”
“A real talk with him. No circles.” I swallow. “I want to tell him I’m still in love with him.”
Sadie blinks once, twice. “There it is.”
“Don’t make a big deal.”
“This is a big deal.” She leans in. “And I’m not letting you pretend it’s not.”
“What if I tell him and nothing changes? What if he wants something I can’t give?”
“Then you know. Uncertainty hurts more than a no.” She tips her head. “What if it changes everything?”
Hope is bright and dangerous. I don’t touch it.
She lets the quiet sit, then resets. “Logistics. Where’s he right now?”
“Shift at the station until six. After that, he checks the site. Then cards at Dan’s or back to his place.”
“So you’ve got three options—station, here, or his door.” She ticks them off. “Which puts you in the strongest place.”
“His door’s too intimate. The station’s too public.” I picture the blackened frame on the hill and shove it away. “The cottage site isn’t ideal, but it’s ground we both know.”
“You just don’t want a spectacle.”
“Exactly.”
“Then meet at the cottage.” She presses the cloth back into my hands. “What do you need before you go?”
“Flashlight. Warm gloves.” I open the drawer for spare batteries. “And courage.”
“Already in you.” She taps the drawer. “Bring the batteries anyway.”
“You always travel with a pep talk.”
“And snacks.” She tosses me a granola bar. “Eat. You get stern when you’re hungry.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s very true.” Her eyes soften. “You’re not as scary as you think.”
“I think our vendors would say otherwise.”
“You’re brave and a little stubborn and you love big.” She shrugs. “Those are features.”
“You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing?”
“You turn me into someone better than I feel.”
“That’s not a trick.” She bumps my arm. “It’s reflection.”
We fall into rhythm. Boxes empty. Racks fill. The light slides toward dusk. Calm edges in, and then the fear returns.
“What if he blames me,” I whisper. “For why he left.”
“He already told you why he left.” Her voice is steady. “You fought for yourself. I know it’s hard to understand this, but the last name Paradise is a big deal around here and can be intimidating to a guy who grew up up north in a trailer.”
“He never cared about that.”
“Don’t be so sure.” She wipes the bar. “Tell me about your best night with him. Remind yourself who you’re brave for.”
I let the room fade. We were twenty, a blanket on the far dock at Black Bear Lake.
Stars thick enough to scoop. He said he wanted to fix things for people who couldn’t.
I said I wanted to build something that would last beyond my family storms. We kissed until our lips were numb, laughed when a fish jumped and scared us. The world held.
“He made everything feel possible,” I murmur.
“Does he still?”
“Yes.” The truth catches. “That’s the hard part. Trust makes me feel exposed.”
“Trust isn’t the problem.” She nudges my elbow. “You like control. He makes you want to share the wheel.”
“I’m not good at sharing.”
“You’re better than you think. You already hand off tasks here. You trust me, Beckett, the volunteers. You can trust Declan with your heart too. Those don’t cancel each other.”
“I don’t know how to do both.”
“Then learn. You learned this crazy business. You learned to let all of your sisters-in-law help. You even learned that a single bed can fit two adults if they really want it.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “That was a physics lesson.”
“And a good one.” She lifts her brows. “Tonight is about being honest.”
“Honesty might hurt him.”
“Honesty might free you both.” She meets my gaze. “What do you want him to hear first?”
“I already told him I’m done running. That I want us back. Not pretend. Not casual.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Yes… I think so… I don’t know. We need to figure it out. I don’t want my brothers circling before we have a plan.”
“Good. That’s a boundary.” She points at the drawer. “Write it. You do better with a script when your heart’s loud.”
I pull a pad and write three lines. I want you. I want honesty. I want time for us, without a crowd. My hand shakes. I breathe until the letters settle.
“Let me see.” She nods approval. “Strong and clear.”
“Too clear.”
“You’re allowed to be clear.” She passes it back. “Add one more. Ask what he wants.”
I add it. What do you want from me?
“Now, remind me of the next twenty-four hours,” she says.
“I meet him at the site at six-thirty. If we’re good, we meet here before opening to confirm support from the station for Saturday’s lighting walk.
At nine, I call the irrigation tech. At noon, I sit with Ryker and Beckett for the marshal’s report.
At two, I meet Elise for the holiday market layout.
At four, I prep tastings for weekend groups.
I’ll text Declan a dinner time that sticks. ”
“Excellent.” She mimics writing on her palm. “What do you need me to cover if you don’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep.”
“You won’t.” She arches a brow. “I know you too well.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t need permission to love him,” Sadie adds quietly. “Not from your brothers, not from me. I’ll cheer, but I’ll hold you to your boundaries.” She winks. “And no pretending the single bed’s off-limits.”
“You’re impossible.”
“That’s my charm.”
I head to my office and work through my day as planned. As I walk to the tasting room to help Sadie, I send a text off to Declan.
Me: Dinner at your place tomorrow night after your shift at 7?
I push the door to the tasting room open just as he replies with a red heart to my message. I feel suddenly calm.
Sadie pops up from behind the bar, flashlight raised like a sword. “Alive?”
“Very.” I hang my coat.
“And the other thing?” she asks, eyes bright.
“He’ll be home at seven.”
She lets out a low whistle. “I’d hug you, but I’m sticky from sanitizer.”
“I’ll risk it.” She hugs me tight, and when we pull apart, I finally feel lighter.
“You’re not working tonight,” she warns. “You’re eating, bathing, and sleeping.”
“You don’t get to boss me.”
“Watch me.”
We finish locking up. The night air smells like pine and snow, sharp and sweet. Sadie pauses by her car and catches my wrist. “If he hurts you,” she says, “I’ll fake an injury, so Beckett has to carry me upstairs, then lecture Declan for an hour about bedside manners.”
I laugh so hard it fogs the air. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I had time while you were gone.” She winks. “But I don’t think I’ll need it.”
“Me neither.”
We part with a wave. I walk back to my bedroom at my parents’ home. The vineyard stretches dark and quiet around me. For once, the silence doesn’t feel heavy. It feels like space—room to breathe, to believe.