Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Declan
The wind roars across the ridge hard enough to shake the truck.
Snow drives sideways through my headlights, blurring the vineyard into a white haze.
I haven’t seen Tarryn since I had to cancel dinner.
We had a three-alarm fire and it was all hands.
I’ve called and left voicemails every night to tell her I’ve been thinking about her.
But it’s the holidays, and I know between the tasting room sales, and holiday parties at the Grill, she’s been busy.
And tonight is the big party the vineyard is hosting for their VIPs.
Over the radio, I heard the power was out all over the west side. The place should be glowing tonight—music, candles, laughter spilling from the main house—but every window is black. I knew that was my excuse to get out there. The night feels hollow without the hum of light.
I grab my flashlight and jump down. The cold bites straight through my jacket, sharp enough to sting my teeth when I breathe. My boots crunch over ice-crusted snow as I wrestle the generator from the truck bed, muscles burning.
“Tarryn?” I call out, my voice ripped away by the wind.
A thin beam flickers ahead. She appears through the swirl, hood up, cheeks red from the cold, snow tangled in her hair. For a heartbeat, relief crosses her face before she sets her jaw tight again.
“You picked a hell of a night for a visit,” she shouts.
“Not a social call,” I answer, setting the generator down. “Heard you lost power.”
“It’s the whole west side. We’re dead in the water.” She gestures toward the dark hillside. “And thirty people are coming for dinner in three hours.”
“Then let’s start with keeping the Grill’s kitchen alive.”
Her breath fogs between us. “You brought a generator?”
“Backup from the firehouse. It’ll keep the freezers cold and some lights on if we ration.”
Something shifts in her face—gratitude buried under pride. “Then let’s move.”
We cross the yard together, heads bent against the storm. Snow stings my face and fills our tracks almost as fast as we make them. Inside the maintenance shed, the air smells of oil and dust. With a trolley, we load the generator and head into the kitchen of the grill.
Silence hums between us, filled only by the storm outside.
“You could’ve stayed home,” she says at last.
“I tried.” I shrug. “Didn’t like the thought of you freezing out here.”
Her laugh comes out rough. “You have the worst timing.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but I beat your guests and hopefully your meal won’t be ruined by the delay.”
She huffs a breath that might be a laugh. “Thankfully we cook by natural gas, but it’s not like you can light candles well in a kitchen.”
“Then I’m glad I can help.”
Her lips twitch before she looks away, but I catch the edge of a smile.
We haul the generator into place. I run the cords, prime the tank, and pull the starter. The engine sputters once, twice, then catches with a low growl that fills the shed. A moment later, golden light spills across the snow from the tasting room windows, flickering back to life.
She lets out a breath she’s been holding.
“Tonight we’re keeping the lights on.”
She studies the glow spilling through the windows. “You always fix things when they break.”
“Not everything.”
The hum of the generator steadies the night. Snow drifts like ash across the threshold, catching on her coat sleeve. She turns toward the porch but stumbles when her boot hits a patch of ice. I catch her by the arm before she falls, the heat of her skin bleeding through the fabric.
“Easy.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice trembles, and she stands straight and pulls down her jacket.
“Running on fumes?”
“If I stop, I’ll fall apart.”
“You don’t have to hold everything alone.”
“Thank you for showing up,” she says finally.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
She tries for a grin. “Even if I’d planned to ignore you.”
“I figured that’s what you were doing. I’ll survive the rejection.”
Her laugh breaks the tension, small but real. Then her phone buzzes, pulling her back to duty. The moment slips like sand through fingers.
“Thank you for bringing this over. It’s a small fundraiser with our biggest VIPs, coming in all over to have an eight course meal with our chef, my parents, and Mitch Anderson, our vintner.
It makes a lot of money for the Black Bear Valley, and I’d hate to have to refund the money when it goes to such a good cause. The generator really saves our bacon.”
“Glad I could help.” I look at her and want to reach for her and hold her tight and let her know how I’ll always be here to support her.
“You don’t have to babysit us.”
Why is she rushing me off?
“I’m not babysitting. I’m making sure you’re covered.” Then the thought occurs to me, and the green monster of jealousy rears its ugly head. “Do you have a date tonight? Is that why you want me gone?”
Her glare falters. “Why would you think that? And why would it matter? You canceled our dinner because you had to work and I haven’t heard from you since.”
“What are you talking about?” My blood pressure skyrockets. “I left you voicemails every day this week, but I didn’t push because I knew you were busy planning for this party. And when I heard about the power outage, I grabbed a generation and came right over. I still care.”
She looks up at the dark starry night. “My cell phone hasn’t been working right since the night of the tree lighting. You’re not the only one to tell me I wasn’t responding to phone calls and messages.” She doesn’t look at me. “You can’t keep saving me.”
“Maybe I’m not trying to save you. Maybe I’m just not walking away this time.”
For a second, she forgets to breathe. The wind shakes the door, but she doesn’t move. “You always have the right words.”
I grin. “That’s new.”
“Don’t start.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
The door slams again, dust spilling from the rafters.
“You sure know how to throw a party.”
Her laugh bursts out, surprised and warm. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet here I’m.”
Her smile lingers as we step outside again.
Light spills over the snow now, warm and alive. Faint music drifts from a portable speaker inside. Staff hurry between tables, relighting candles, fixing place settings.
I brush snow from my shoulders. “I’ll stay by the front gate,” I tell her. “Make sure your guests can find it.”
“We can set something up.”
“I know. I’ll work on that next. Humor me.”
She studies me, breath clouding in the cold. “I’ll have someone bring you coffee.”
“Mulled wine would be better.”
She shakes her head, smiling. “Wry humor during a crisis. Classic Declan.”
“Better than crying,” I say. “Left my violin at the station.”
Her laughter warms the air. “Be careful out there.”
“Always.”
She heads back toward the house, snow catching in her hair like sparks. I watch her go until she disappears into the glow of light.
The wind sweeps over the vines, howling through the rows. I remember Ben Jones from secondary school. His father owns a construction company, and I know they have street lights with generators. I give him a call, and he answers on the first ring.
I explain what I’m looking for.
“We have a dozen portable light towers. Do you need them all?”
“I think so. These are people who will be depending on them to get to Paradise Hill and probably don’t know the roads that well in the pitch black.”
“Okay. I’ll get my team going. It will take a bit since we can only tow one trailer at a time.”
“Tell me where to meet you, and I’ll help get them moved over. I may be able to drag in a few others.”
In no time, I’ve rounded up seven people, including three of her brothers, to help.
Tonight, we kept the lights on. Tomorrow, I convince her I’m in this to win it.