Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
Tarryn
My parents house hums with the steady throb of the generator, a heartbeat under the storm. Wind claws at the windows and presses cold air through every crack. The party was a huge success. It would have been a spectacular fail without Declan.
Declan stands in the doorway, hair dripping, jacket dusted white, eyes shadowed from hours in the cold.
“Looks like the lights lining the road worked. Zone Construction is going to send you a bill.”
I look at him, so grateful for his help. “Thank you.”
“Happy to help.”
“I could hug you,” I say, relief evident in my voice.
“I won’t stop you.” He opens his arms wide, and I awkwardly step in. I miss his touch as he holds me tight. But I can’t get used to this. We spent the night together, and then he didn’t call.
I quickly pull away. “Any word from BC Hydro as to when they’re going to get the power back on?” I fold my arms, so he doesn’t see how I’m still trembling.
He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know.
I heard it over the radio, and I’m working from the same website as you, and all it says is that they’re working on it.
The blackout is pretty broad, and I know it went down near Hope and Paradise Hill is the farthest it goes.
The department is rolling out because people are using gas heaters, which means they’re a risk of CO2 poisoning and fires.
I should head out before the plows freeze. ”
“You’re not driving anywhere.” I nod toward the window, where the vineyard has vanished under a curtain of white. “The storm is back, and it’s snowing again.”
He lets out a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I have a four wheel drive, and I’m trained to drive in this soup.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I open the door wider and step back. “You can stay here. There is plenty of room.”
His gaze flicks from the bed to the couch by the window. “Tarryn…”
“We can both stay on the couches in the living room,” I cut in, pointing at the two plush couches that face one another. “My dad would have a fit if you stayed in my room.”
A smile breaks through his exhaustion, small but genuine. His eyes catch the lamplight, and for a second, I forget to breathe. “Wasn’t assuming anything,” he says.
“You always assume something.” I toss him a towel from the linen cabinet, and he catches it one-handed.
“Bossy tonight,” he murmurs as he wipes at his hair.
“Someone has to be. My rules still stand.” I meet his gaze. “No boots past the mat, no bottles near the piano, and no snoring.”
“That last one’s not up to me.”
“Then I’ll throw a pillow at you.”
He grins, teeth flashing. “You’d miss.”
“You wish.”
His laugh slides through the room, warm and rough, and I hate that it melts something inside me.
The lights flicker, and suddenly, everything is on. The smart speaker cuts on in the kitchen, loud with “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.” I dash over and turn it down. “Sorry.” I forgot I had it on repeat, piping through my cell phone to the speakers.
“Is that what you were listening to when the power went out?”
I could lie, but instead, I nod. “Yes. It’s at the top of my breakup list.”
“I did call. And I even left messages.”
I pick up my phone, and I shut it down. Maybe a reset will fix the problem with my phone or tell me he’s lying to me.
It takes a few minutes, and I go to the hall linen closet and pick up blankets and pillows.
When my phone lights up, there isn’t anything there.
I put it down on the coffee table and fix the lamp that doesn’t need fixing, smooth a blanket even though it’s already perfect, straighten the curtain.
He watches me, his eyes tracking every move.
“You don’t have to keep busy,” he says quietly. “You can’t control a storm.”
“I can control this room.” I tug the edge of the blanket again, needing something to do with my hands. “That’s something.”
He leans back against the couch, still watching me. “You always do.”
The simple truth in his tone catches me off guard. I look away before he sees the heat creeping up my neck. The lights flicker once, and both of us hold still until the hum steadies again.
Declan exhales. “Didn’t picture you moving back in with your parents after the fire.”
“It’s not ideal,” I admit, turning to him. “No privacy. I hear everything.” I nod toward the hallway. “Dad snores like a freight train.”
“Still better than a hotel.”
“I tried that. Too quiet.”
He studies me. “Too lonely.”
My gaze snaps back to his, sharp enough to cover the way my pulse jumps. “Don’t start with me, EMT.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Wasn’t starting anything. Just saying I get it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Maybe I want to.”
The power dips again, the lights dimming before coming back to full strength. I let out a long breath. “If that goes out, I’m blaming you.”
He smirks, his voice lower now. “Fine. I’ll sit outside with a flashlight and warm the lines with my charm.”
“That’ll freeze faster than the wires.”
His laughter rolls through the room and makes the space feel less hollow. “You okay after tonight?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I answer too quickly.
“That’s not what I asked.” His tone softens. “You look like you’ve been holding your breath all night.”
I sit down across from him, my knees brushing the armchair’s edge. “Every time something happens, I start to think we’re cursed.”
“You’re not cursed.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “This is Mother Nature. And the other stuff? Someone’s targeting the vineyard. That’s not on you.”
The words should help, but they don’t. “You think it’s the same person?”
He rubs his thumb across his palm, a tell. “I don’t think anyone has ruled it out.”
“You already have a theory,” I press.
“Maybe.”
“Care to share?”
His jaw tightens, then loosens. “Not until I’m sure.”
I shake my head. “You always hold things close until it’s almost too late.”
He looks up, his voice quiet. “I’m trying not to promise what I can’t deliver.”
Suddenly, my phone starts dinging like crazy. Holy shit!
“Who’s texting you?” he asks with a glare.
“I restarted my phone. I was getting texts. So when my mom and brothers were complaining I wasn’t calling them back, I figured they were just exaggerating, then when you said you called and left messages, I realized there might be more that I’m missing. I just rebooted my phone.”
I look at the messages that have been transcribed, and I see there are eight messages from Declan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see any missed calls or anything.”
“You were busy. Next time, I’m texting I don’t hear back from you.”
“I like to hear your voice.”
The storm howls, rattling the windowpanes. I fold my arms, pretending that’s what makes me shiver.
“Right now,” I say just above a whisper, “Everything is in flux. People don’t know who’s in charge here because most of the responsibility here is on me, but my dad has been known to step in and counter what I say.”
“That must be really hard. Is he talking at all about retiring?”
“Yes, but only if my uncle Max retires. He hasn’t said it, but I don’t think he wants me to have to deal with Max.”
“That would be a lot. But I look around and I can see your impact on the vineyard. This VIP thing and you’re involved with the community. Plus, all the improvements around the land.”
“The VIP thing is new. It was Sadie’s idea, and she’s doing great with it. And Elise has been masterful in some of the adjustments to the wine during fermentation. We won a big award last year, and we just learned we won another. That has brought us a lot of publicity.”
“You’re managing an almost all-female team. That’s the next generation of Paradise Hill. I think it’s great.”
I can’t look at him. “Thanks. And look at you. You left Paradise Hill and got all the certifications to be an EMT. That’s great. You’re the same where it matters.”
“I used to be reckless.”
“You were brave.”
“I was foolish.”
He smiles faintly, his voice low. “Maybe that’s what brave feels like at first.”
The silence that follows is thick with memories. The wind moans around the eaves, and something inside me aches.
“The first time you kissed me was after a night like this,” I murmur. “Power out, snow to the porch rail, the world holding its breath.”
“I remember.” His voice is rough. “You had frost in your hair.”
I laugh softly. “You said it made me look like Christmas.”
His eyes darken. “Still does.”
I swallow hard. “Stop being nice to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t think straight when you are.”
He stands and closes the distance between us. The scent of wet wool and smoke clings to him. He stops a foot away, heat radiating from his body. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t need to.
“I’m not trying to make this harder,” he says. “I just hate watching you carry it alone.”
“I have to. I can’t leave any crack open and give Max an excuse to take all of this away from me.”
“No, you don’t. Your family won’t let that happen.”
“You don’t understand,” I whisper. “This place, these people—they’re mine to protect. If something happens, it’s on me.”
“You’ve improved the vineyard,” he says firmly. “You didn’t sabotage it.”
“I should’ve seen it coming.”
“You can’t predict that someone’s jealousy would do this.”
“I can if I stop getting distracted.”
He lowers his head slightly, his voice a rasp. “By me.”
The air hums between us. My chest rises too fast. I can’t answer because the truth sits too close to the surface.
“You think pushing me away makes you stronger,” he says. “It just makes you lonely.”
The words land like a strike. My throat tightens, and tears blur my vision. He notices. He always does.
He sits beside me and reaches out, his fingers brushing mine just long enough to feel skin. “Let me help. Like I did tonight.”
The soft contact burns. I should pull away. Instead, I whisper, “Okay.”
He squeezes once and lets go, leans back as if giving me space matters more than winning. “Then rest. I’ll keep watch.”
“On what?” I ask, voice still unsteady.
He grins. “Your dad’s snoring.”
A laugh bursts out of me, shaky but real. “You’re impossible.”
“Admit it. You missed me.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“Worth a try,” he says, settling on the couch. The leather creaks beneath his weight. I catch the faint scent of damp cedar from his jacket.
The wind picks up again. We sit in quiet, the generator’s pulse steady beneath it. Pipes knock, the kind of sound that fills an old house when it exhales. I pull the blanket over my legs.
“You’re not really sleeping,” I say after a moment.
“Neither are you,” he answers, voice muffled in the dark.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“What happens next.”
He shifts, looking at me through the low light. “We call the fire marshal. And see where the investigation is going.”
“He’s not returning my calls.”
“Then it’s time I go to his office,” he warns.
I bite my lip, voice dropping. “You don’t get it.”
“Then tell me,” he says gently.
So I do. I talk about how hard it is being a woman in the agricultural business, how men don’t return my calls, but they call my dad or him right back. How holding this together means pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t. He listens without interrupting, hands clasped tight.
“Just fuck them and have the men in your life help you. You delegate all the time. And if someone like the bank doesn’t call you back, then find a female banker and move your money.
Your business is hard enough with weather, fires, water, and soil issues.
Don’t waste your time on misogynistic people. Work around them.”
Something in my chest cracks open. “I can do this with your support.”
“I know. I keep telling you I’m back for good, and I am and I’m here to support you.”
“That means when you’re not working, you’ll be here.”
“And that means you have to let me shoulder some of the weight you’re carrying.”
“I can do that.” I’m not sure how it’s going to work, but I’m willing to give it a try.
He studies me, eyes soft. “You’re agreeing fast.”
“Because I trust you,” I admit. “Even when I don’t want to.”
That lands heavier than I mean it to. He leans back slowly, voice barely above the storm. “And if you change your mind about the couch—”
“Nope. But I’ll stay here on the other couch, so you don’t get lonely.”
“Worth another try,” he says, eyes glinting.
I smile before I can stop myself. “You don’t quit.”
“Not when it matters,” he says, closing his eyes.
“I keep thinking about it,” I say, my voice low, so I don’t wake my parents upstairs.
“It’s not just the fire at the cottage. There’s more going on, Declan.
The sabotage… It’s everywhere. The shipments, the vineyard records, even the irrigation system.
It’s like someone wants to gut us from the inside. ”
He shifts under his blanket, the sound of fabric brushing against the couch. “You think Zach’s behind it?”
“I do.” I exhale slowly. “And I hate that I do. He’s my cousin, but every sign points to him. I can see my uncle’s hand in it too, He’s always been good at pulling Zach’s strings. And if Max tells him to jump…” I shake my head. “Zach doesn’t ask how high. He just does it.”
Declan doesn’t say anything at first. The silence stretches, heavy and dark. Then, softly, “You shouldn’t have to deal with that—your own family turning against you.”
I stare toward the window, the faint orange glow of the streetlight catching on the edge of the curtain. “It’s not just them. The Dempseys are circling too, like they can smell the weakness. It feels like every direction I turn, someone’s ready to twist the knife.”
He lets out a slow breath. “What a mess.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It is.”
I watch him until the storm softens to a whisper. His breathing slows, steady but light, like he’s listening for danger even in sleep. The house creaks and settles around us. For the first time since the fire, it feels alive again.
Maybe I can stop pretending I don’t want him here. Maybe wanting him isn’t weakness. Maybe it’s the only thing keeping me standing.
I whisper into the dark, “I’m done running.”
He doesn’t move, but I swear his lips twitch, like he heard. The generator hums low, a steady promise under the quiet.
I pull the blanket higher and glance at the little tree in the corner.
One ornament catches the light—a cork angel.
I used to think keeping vines alive through frost was about control, about fighting the cold back long enough to survive.
Now, I think it’s about faith that something fragile can endure.
I set his gloves on the chair arm to dry. They look like they belong here. So does he.
The wind sighs through the eaves, gentle now. I let my eyes close, body sinking into warmth and quiet.