Chapter 4
Four
The morning sun spilled low over the hills, stretching light across the rows of vines like a familiar hand reaching out to Riley.
She stepped from the Stone Bridge Inn and wished she’d taken Bryson’s vehicle last night.
But she’d needed the fresh air, the walk, and a few more moments alone with him.
She had to admit it felt good to finally have the conversation she’d repeatedly had in her head for years.
It had certainly gone better in person than in her imagination.
As she inched along the sidewalk, her heart hammered in her chest. Not over Bryson, or their past, but over something just as traumatizing. She yanked her cell from her back pocket. She pulled up Mateo’s contact information and took a chance he’d be available.
Two rings. That was all it took.
“Hello, love,” Mateo said. “How are you holding up?”
“Better, but I haven’t seen my family yet. That will happen shortly.”
“Calling for a little pep talk?”
“Something like that,” she said as she picked up the pace.
“I’m on my way to Bryson’s and I have to walk right past my old home.
Like they’re next to each other. The one where I caught my mother cheating with my stepdad before my parents divorced.
I don’t want to see it. I know that seems weird.
And I’m gonna have to face it before I leave.
But it always brings up a million questions and regrets.
Like, why didn’t I scream from the rooftops about my mom’s dirty little secret? ”
“Because it was your father’s, too,” Mateo said.
Before she’d left Patagonia, she’d broken down, cried like a fool on Mateo’s shoulder, and given him a crash course on her life—every freaking detail. Mateo had become the closest thing she had to a best friend.
“My dad told me once that he didn’t want his children to have to deal with the rumors flying around school.
When I moved in with him, he figured I’d eventually forgive my mom, and he encouraged me to do so, but he never pushed.
He was angry that she expected me to keep the lie, because he didn’t.
He set up therapy sessions. He was always there for me to talk to, where my mom just went on like my dad walked out on her and took me with him. ”
“Parents do some strange things,” Mateo said. “I know mine sure have. But that was all a lifetime ago. Your family’s dysfunctional. Maybe a little more than most. But none of us are getting out of here alive. Your dad just reminded you of that. Don’t you think it’s time to heal these wounds?”
“I think I liked you better when you were full of sarcasm and dares.”
Mateo laughed.
Breathless, she stopped at the edge of the gravel driveway of the sprawling house sitting on the edge of the winery—the Boone family home.
It was a converted old farmhouse, expanded into a mansion without losing the country feel.
She’d meant to be in and out of Bryson’s before anyone noticed—but the Boones were already on the porch.
Every last one of them.
“Thanks for getting me past the family home and the memories. I’ve got to go.”
“Call me if you need me. If I’m free, I’ll pick up. If not, I’ll call as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Mateo. You’re a gem.”
“See you when you get back.”
She ended the call, stuffed her cell back in her pocket, and continued down the driveway.
Bryson stood on the front porch with a coffee mug in one hand, leaning against the railing, looking like he was as much a part of the vineyard as it was of him.
His mother, Brea, sat in a rocking chair, her silver-streaked hair twisted into a loose knot and her gaze fixed fondly on Bryson as he spoke.
Walter—tall and trim in a worn flannel shirt—sat beside her with a newspaper folded across his knee, smiling that broad, proud grin of his.
Ashley and Hasley were barefoot, one in jeans and the other in a long, flowing skirt, curled up on the steps with a shared bowl of cut fruit, while Devon, the oldest child, stood near Bryson, tablet in one hand, mug in the other, nodding at whatever Bryson had been discussing.
It was the kind of scene she’d spent her whole childhood aching for, then twelve more years pretending she didn’t miss.
Bryson saw her first. He straightened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he lifted a hand. “Good morning.”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Riley scurried closer.
“You’re not interrupting,” Brea called, standing now, arms already open.
Riley hesitated—just a second—then stepped into the hug. It felt both strange and natural at the same time.
“Oh, honey,” Brea whispered, pulling back to cup her face. “I’m so sorry about your father. He was such a kind and gentle man. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call us.”
“Thank you,” Riley said, voice rough.
Walter’s expression was sober but kind. “It’s good to see you again, Riley, though I’m sad it’s under these circumstances.”
“It’s good to see you as well, Mr. Boone.” She let out a slow breath, desperately trying to keep the swell of emotion from unraveling.
“Walter,” he corrected. “You stopped needing permission for first names a long time ago.”
Ashley jumped to her feet and didn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around Riley. “Welcome back,” she whispered. “We’re all so devastated about your dad. He was so sweet, and we adored him. If you ever want to talk, we’re always here.”
“What she said.” Hasley inched closer—her turn for a hug.
It was all so overwhelming, certainly not what Riley was used to anymore, and yet, exactly what she needed.
“Words can’t express how deeply saddened we all are over your dad’s passing.” Devon rested his tablet on the railing, kissed her cheek, and squeezed her shoulder.
Tears stung her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she set foot in this town, but this wasn’t it.
She knew the Boones wouldn’t have been anything other than kind.
But their loving attitude wrapped around her like a protective blanket, all warm and soft, and it was all more than she could bear.
Ashley grinned. “We were just about to head inside for breakfast.”
“You should join us, dear,” Brea said.
“And we won’t take no for an answer,” Walter added.
“I’ve got to get going.” Riley swallowed the thick lump that formed in the center of her throat. As a kid, it felt like she’d spent more time in this house than at home. The Boones had been like a second family.
“Have you eaten?” Bryson asked.
“I can grab a bagel in town or something,” she said.
“Elsa has cooked a huge spread.” Her mother rose with the grace of a princess.
She’d always had a certain flair and style but was so down-to-earth.
“Bryson, Devon, and their father have already made their morning rounds through the vineyard, and breakfast is about to be put on the table. It’ll take less time than stopping at the bakery. ”
“Come on.” Hasley looped her arm through hers. “Coffee’s fresh. So are the waffles.”
Reluctantly—though it didn’t quite feel like reluctance, not really—Riley followed the family inside.
She meandered through the massive foyer, down the hallway that seemed to stretch on for the full length of a football field, and into the big kitchen, trying not to let the ghosts of the past fill her brain, no matter how magical some of those memories could be.
She sat down at the big butcher block island and took the cup Bryson handed her. The warmth seeped into her hands as the smells of maple syrup, butter, and dark roast coffee surrounded her.
It felt like home, and that was something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
Every country, every town, was merely a place she passed through on her way to the next one.
It was as if the moment her feet connected with the earth, the itch to see something new settled against her skin.
A scratchy sensation that danced around her body that she couldn’t quite satisfy.
“Well, my, my.” Elsa turned from the kitchen stove. “I heard you were back in town.” She plopped a plate of bacon on the center of the island and tugged Riley to her chest. “I’m so sorry about your dad. I always loved listening to that man tell stories. He was the best.”
“That he was.” Riley hugged the older woman who the Boones had employed for as long as she could remember. She was more than a cook and a housekeeper. To the Boones, she was family. Or as Brea called her, the heart of the house.
Elsa cupped Riley’s face. “Sean loved to talk about you. He’d come strolling in some mornings with postcards from wherever in the world you’d landed.
I feel like I’ve lived another lifetime through you.
” She pinched Riley’s cheeks like she’d done so many times.
“I best get going on making beds. You all enjoy your breakfast.”
“Elsa,” Walter said softly. “You don’t have to go rushing off. Eat something first.”
“Already did.” Elsa lowered her chin. “Had two cups of coffee too. But I really want to get a head start on things so I can spend some time with those grandbabies of mine before I come back.”
“You don’t have to cook dinner tonight,” Brea said. “I’m perfectly capable, so if you want the evening off, feel—”
“I’m taking tomorrow off, so I’ll be back this afternoon.” Else set a plate of steaming waffles on the counter and disappeared up the back stairs.
“My darling children, you'd better have made your beds and cleaned up your bathrooms this morning.” Brea eased into one of the stools and waved her fork in the air. “That was the deal about living here as adults.”
“Please, Mother.” Ashley laughed. “Elsa hasn’t had to lift a finger for us in years.”
“I’m surprised she’s still working,” Riley said. “I would’ve thought she’d retired by now.”