Chapter 3 #3
The cool air wrapped around him, sharp with the scent of grape skins, wet soil, and the faint trace of sulfur from the last barrel clean.
The vines stood like silent sentinels in the dark, their heavy leaves rustling softly as he walked the path.
His boots crunched over loose gravel as he spotted her, standing with her hands in her jacket pockets, looking out over the rows.
He paused for a moment and just stared at her under the glow of the moon.
With her long dark hair pulled up on top of her head in a wild bun, stray strands cascading down her back, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Her jeans hugged her curves, showing off the soft lines of her body.
Seeing her here was like taking a trip back in time. He was lost to his youth. He couldn't rectify his mistakes because there was always one decision that would never change. One choice he'd never do differently, even if every other thing that led up to that moment, he'd do over.
It was an impossible situation.
"You always did like this spot," he said, his voice low, not wanting to startle her.
She turned slowly. The moon cast a silver sheen over her face, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the set of her shoulders. Tired. Guarded. Beautiful in a way that punched him straight in the chest.
"I didn't think you'd see me," she said softly.
"I see almost everything out here," he replied, then added, "New cameras."
"Can you see the whole vineyard?"
"No." He shook his head. "Just certain access points. Like the fences near town. Or up by the hills."
"Did you see my dad on the cameras that morning?"
"He would have come in through the access road from the house. But I didn't look," he admitted.
A pause.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, glancing back at the vines. "I thought maybe… I don't know. I just wanted to be near him. Near where he took his last breath, as if that would somehow connect me to him.”
Something in Bryson’s heart cracked at the vulnerability in her admission.
He understood that hollow feeling, the way loss made you grasp for any thread that might still tie you to the person who was gone.
It was the same reason he still used his grandfather’s pruning shears, still followed the same path through the vineyard that two generations of Boones had walked before him. "That makes perfect sense."
"I don't have too many regrets, but I always wanted to spend more time with my dad. These last five years, we did get together more, but now, it doesn’t feel like enough.” Her hands trembled as she brushed a few strands of hair from her face.
The words were barely a whisper, but they hit hard.
He felt the weight behind them—the grief embedded into every syllable.
"He was so proud of you," Bryson said gently. "He told me once he didn't blame you for leaving. That sometimes love means letting someone go, even when it guts you. And your relationship with him was always solid. Distance never changed that."
She turned sharply. "Did he really say that?"
“He did.” But Byson also knew some of those words were meant for him as much as they were to ease the pain in Sean's heart that he didn’t get the chance to see his daughter on a daily basis like he saw his other children.
Silence settled again, broken only by the sound of a breeze rattling the vines. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and stared at the rows of grapes. "Where did you find him?"
"Riley, you—"
"Please. I need to know."
He wished she hadn’t asked. The image of Sean slumped against that post was something Bryson would carry forever, and he hated the thought of passing that burden to her.
But he could hear the desperation in her voice, the way she needed to piece together her father’s final moments, and he couldn’t deny her that.
"Right over there.” He pointed. “Against that post."
Slowly, she inched closer to where Bryson had first spotted Sean.
The moonlight followed her as if she was guiding it on a journey.
She paused just shy of where Bryson had laid him down on the ground, her arms dropping to her sides, her shoulders slumping.
"Did you know right away that… he was gone. "
"I suspected when I began CPR," he whispered, keeping his distance, unsure of whether he should wrap his arms around her or let her grieve alone.
A sense of dread and helplessness washed over him, snaking through his body like the vines growing from the dirt.
"I didn't stop trying until the paramedics arrived. "
She covered her mouth, lowered her head, and sobbed.
He inched closer, but she shot her hand up, stopping him abruptly. His heart dropped to his toes. "The last thing he said to me was that he loved me."
"Those are good words to have."
She shifted, turning her head. Her tear-filled eyes glowed under the sky. Nothing but sadness and regret etched in their blue depths.
All he wanted to do was shoulder that for her. Be the rock she needed. But he didn't know how to do that for her. More importantly, he had no idea if she’d even want that from him.
"He knew about the baby, you know," she said, abruptly shifting topics to their shared past hanging over them like a storm. "About the miscarriage. He heard me crying the day it happened. I begged him not to tell anyone."
The words hit him like a physical blow, stalling what little breath he had left.
He’d never planned to tell her about Sean’s visit—about the things Sean had said in pain and anger.
But she deserved to know that her father hadn’t just kept her secret—he’d also made sure Bryson understood the weight of what had been lost. "He kept that promise, except for letting me know that he knew. "
She looked up at him. "What?"
"He wasn't too happy with me." His voice dropped. "He showed up here when I'd come home that weekend because you'd called and told me what happened. He was a little tipsy and a little pissed off. Said that it was my fault because I loved the winery more than I loved you."
Her lips parted in shock. "He said that?"
"He did." He swallowed hard. "And the worst part was, I couldn't argue. Not then. Not with the way things ended… with what you'd said that weekend."
"I didn't mean it," she whispered. "About not wanting the baby. About being glad I'd lost it."
"I can't say those words didn't cut right through my heart.
Or that you leaving didn't drive those words deep into my soul," he said, wanting to take her into his arms, but he held back.
"However, considering everything, I know you didn't mean them.
And I certainly didn't mean what I said in return. It was cruel, and I'm sorry."
"I know." She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, rubbed, and then dropped her arms to her sides. "Does anyone else know? Did you tell your family?"
Byson thought about lying, but he couldn't—not to her. "Just my dad and only recently."
"Wow," she said softly. "This isn’t a secret I want let out of the bag. And not because I'm ashamed or would care what others think anymore. It's not about them. It's private, and I can't stand gossip. This town can be relentless with it."
He could hear the exhaustion in her voice, the same bone-deep weariness he’d been carrying all these years.
They’d both been prisoners of this secret, just in different cells.
"It sure can. And my dad's not going to say anything.
It's just that I'd held it in for so long, and I needed to do something with it. "
"I can understand that."
Something shifted in him. He’d braced himself for anger, for accusations, for all the blame he’d heaped on himself over the years. Instead, she gave him what appeared to be absolution, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to accept it.
The silence between them shifted—thicker now. He took another step forward, close enough to see her eyes.
"I'm sorry you went through that alone. That I was away at school when it happened and wasn't here to hold your hand. I've always hated myself for that."
The pain etched in her eyes gave way to a different kind of hurt.
She swiped at her cheeks and took a tentative step forward.
"You can't control Mother Nature, and there was nothing you could've done.
I don't blame you for that.” Her shoulders squared, and her resolve hardened in her features. “I do blame you for Monica."
Bryson flinched. "She wasn't—"
"You kissed her," Riley said, voice rising slightly.
"You kissed her right after I told you about the pregnancy.
I was scared and confused and not sure I was ready to be a mom.
I was terrified and you kissed her. And it was all made worse by my friends showing it to me.
Not to mention you started dating her right after I left.
" She stuffed her hands in her hoodie pocket.
"And then you married her. How do you think that made me feel? "
"It wasn’t what it looked like." His tone hardened, jaw clenched. "First off, she came on to me. I didn't stop it fast enough, and I have to live with that. But I wasn't with her until after you left. Until after you refused to take my calls.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.” He let out a long breath. “I’m just saying you weren’t here for me to even argue with or explain my side." He threaded his fingers through his hair. "I didn’t betray you."
Riley held his gaze. Something between fire and understanding stared back. "That's not how I see it—especially when you simply let me walk away. But it doesn't matter. Not anymore."
"It matters to me," he said, voice raw. "And you think I didn't want to chase after you? I stood on your porch with your dad blocking the door, telling me to give you space. And I did. I gave you space for twelve goddamn years."
She pressed her fingers to her mouth, like she was holding something in—or holding something back.
"I couldn't stay," she said finally, her voice breaking.
"And not for all the reasons you’re thinking.
I would've hated you. And myself. And this place.
And in a weird way, because I love Stone Bridge, I couldn't let that happen.
Not to mention, you couldn't leave. Wouldn't leave.
So, really, this conversation is a bit absurd because we both did exactly what we were meant to do. "
A long silence stretched between them. The air was heavy with things unsaid—years of regret, love, anger, heartbreak.
But in the most fundamental way, she was right, and he couldn't argue that point if he tried.
Bryson exhaled and looked toward the vines.
This was his home. His heart. He'd always belonged here—but he never expected she wouldn't be a part of it.
"Sometimes I walk out here and think I hear you laughing.
That stupid, wild laugh you had when you were sixteen and trying to teach me how to dance in the crush pad. "
"I remember," she whispered. "You stepped on my foot three times."
"More like six," he corrected. "You just stopped counting."
She smiled, and the sight of it undid something in his chest. For a moment, she wasn't the woman who'd left.
She was Riley—the girl he'd loved, the woman he'd never stopped loving.
It was an odd sensation… that love… old and familiar, yet new and unsettling because it was still there.
It was real. And it was fucking raw as hell, and he had no idea how to deal with it.
He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "I've always wanted to see you again. I've always thought about you."
Her eyes shimmered. "I never thought I'd be back. Never thought I'd have the strength to return, much less have that conversation with you."
"You're the strongest person I know," he said. "Even if you've never believed you were."
The wind stirred around them, warm and soft. The vineyard was quiet. Still. Expectant.
He desperately wanted to feel her again. To know what it was like to hold her. To kiss her. He leaned in slowly, watching her eyes, giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn't.
Their lips met—soft, tentative at first, then deeper, more certain. It wasn't desperate. It wasn't fiery. It was the kind of kiss that came after twelve years of silence. After pain, and heartbreak, and the kind of longing that never quite died.
When they pulled apart, her forehead rested gently against his.
"What was that?" she whispered.
"I have no idea," he said. "Maybe it's twelve years of not saying what we've needed to and our way of letting go of the pain."
Riley sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to get through this. Burying my father. Seeing my family. Being back here. It's all too much."
"You don't have to do it alone, Ry. I'm right here. I'm sorry I hurt you. I truly am. I've always regretted how things ended with us. But we can't change the past. Let me be the person you lean on now. I'm not going anywhere."
She lifted her gaze and laughed softly. "No, I'm the one who goes places, and I’ll be leaving after the funeral."
"I know," he said softly. "Did you walk from the Inn?"
"I did, and I realized I didn't really think this through. I'm gonna need a car to get around."
"Lucky for you, I've got a second vehicle. You can use that." He placed his hand on the small of her back. "We can get it now, or you can get it in the morning."
"Tomorrow is fine. Thank you."
"I'll walk you back to the Inn."
"You don't—"
"I insist," he said.
They walked back toward Stone Bridge Inn, side by side in the dark, their hands brushed—then twined.
And for the first time since she'd come home, the ache in his chest eased.
Just a little.