Chapter 6
Six
The Stone Bridge Winery tasting room buzzed with the lazy hum of a mid-afternoon lull—soft conversation, the clink of glass against wood, and the faint echo of soft country music curling through the speakers.
Sunlight poured through the tall front windows, warming the reclaimed redwood floors and casting tawny lines across the marble-topped bar.
“This one’s a personal favorite,” Bryson said, resting his palms on the bar. “Sean, one of the wine stewards, used to tell people it tasted like twilight on the back porch—blackberries, leather, and the smell of firewood.”
The couple chuckled. The woman swirled the glass under her nose, impressed. “He sounds like a storyteller.”
Bryson’s smile tightened just a fraction. “He was.” The past tense still caught him off guard. “Enjoy, and please, let me know if I can get you anything else.”
He moved down the bar to check on another guest, but his mind wandered to Sean—how he used to hold court at the far end of the bar, spinning tales about the vineyard’s earliest harvests, wild spring storms, the fire that nearly destroyed it all, and the love he had for the land.
People came back just to hear him talk. That kind of charisma couldn’t be faked, and Bryson had learned a lot about life and the art of storytelling from the old man.
Bryson looked toward the empty corner, where Sean should’ve been, and something hollow opened in his chest. He’d been like a second father. And in the end, a dear friend. Mornings would be very different without him.
The front door creaked.
He turned—and there she was.
Riley stood in the doorway wearing the same jeans she’d had on last night and a light green shirt with her dark hair pulled back. Her beautiful blue eyes were swollen but defiant. She paused just inside the threshold, scanning the room as if she wasn’t sure if she belonged there.
He was around the bar in seconds.
“Hey.” He didn’t give her time to speak. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in a fierce embrace, trying to absorb whatever bad emotions had been created by her family.
For a brief moment, she rested against him, then pushed back, just enough to break the contact. “Don’t,” she whispered. “If I cry again, I won’t stop.”
Bryson didn’t press, just placed a steady hand on her lower back and guided her toward the far end of the bar, where it was quieter.
“I miss him so much.” She climbed up onto the stool. “I see him everywhere. I can’t escape the memories. They’re flooding my brain, and while I want to remember, I don’t want to feel because when I let the emotions in, they're all about the things I did wrong.”
“Riley, don’t do that yourself. Your dad spoke so fondly of you.
He would lean across this bar with his cell in hand and show all our customers the pictures you sent him.
He was so very proud of you. Regardless of the rest of your family, he understood your need to see the world.
To experience different places. It’s who you are, and he never wanted to stifle that in you. ”
“Says the man who begged me to stay.”
He moved back to the other side of the bar, keeping his gaze anywhere but locked on hers.
It wasn’t that he was avoiding her. But her words stung in ways he hadn’t been prepared for.
He had begged—desperately, pathetically—asking her to choose him over her dreams. Back then, he hadn’t a clue how small he’d made her world, but that’s exactly what he’d done.
It didn’t matter that in the end, he’d done the right thing, because the reality was—she’d left him no choice.
“I just wanted you to come back… back to me.”
“Let’s not get into that. It’s like talking in circles about something we can’t change anyway,” she said softly. “And I just had the weirdest experience at my mom’s house. I don’t even know how to process it.”
“What happened?”
“So many things. But the good news is the doctor decided to do the autopsy.”
“Without you having to ask?”
She nodded. “He didn’t say much as to why, and while Grant and Erin are against it, they support me, and that’s… something.”
“Then what has you so upset?”
“My mother,” she said softly. “I knew she’d be cold toward me, but I was totally unprepared for her to go off on me like she did. I also didn’t expect for Grant and Erin to defend me. That was even stranger.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with your mom’s bullshit this morning, but I’m glad your siblings are surprising you and supporting you.”
“I did have a nice chat with Grant before I left.” She pointed to a bottle behind the bar. “Can I have a glass of that Pinot?”
“Of course you can.” He turned, pouring her favorite wine into a glass and setting it in front of her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. Not in this moment. Honestly, I just wanted to be here and see you.” She briefly looked away before meeting his gaze and chuckled. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He tapped his temple. “Too late.” Having her here, in his space, felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Like no time had passed at all. It scared him how easily they'd fallen back into this rhythm. And how much he wanted to believe this could be more than just grief bringing her to his door. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “I’m honestly glad you felt safe coming here, even if it’s not to talk, but just be. ”
“I needed to be where I don’t feel like everything I say or do is being judged.” She lifted her wine to her rosy lips and took a tiny sip. “Despite our differences, at least you're not being a total asshole.”
Bryson reached out and took her hand. “Not the best compliment anyone has ever handed out, but I’ll take it.
” He watched her composure finally shatter.
She stared into her wine glass, tears forming and spilling over before she could stop them.
Her whole body seemed to deflate, like she'd been holding herself together through sheer will and had finally run out of strength. “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now, but you’re going to get through this. ”
“I’m falling apart.” She wiped away a tear. “I can’t breathe. There are ghosts in this town everywhere I turn. I knew coming back would be hard. Death. Grief. I didn’t expect it to be easy. But I didn’t expect to feel… to feel… so much and be so empty at the same time.”
He opened his mouth to respond as the door opened again.
And in walked trouble.
Freaking Monica. Her timing was always so perfectly fucking bad. He knew she’d be in today. He’d been mentally preparing for that. However, it still shocked his system, especially with Riley sitting in front of him, looking like someone had ripped her heart out.
Monica smiled and waved. She wore heels too high for wine country and sunglasses too big for anyone except maybe a movie star—and she certainly wasn’t that.
Her pale blue sundress clung in all the places she wanted it to, and her hair was styled in those waves he knew took hours to create because when they were married, that style always made them late.
But Monica had insisted it gave her that runway look.
Talk about a woman who cared about optics—and knew how to create drama.
Bryson’s jaw clenched. He’d asked himself a million times what he’d ever seen in her, and he’d never been able to answer the question.
She was shallow, only caring about appearances and money.
Their relationship had been born out of lies, manipulation, and loneliness.
It had been difficult from the beginning.
The marriage barely lasted two years, but it was still about five years of his life that he couldn’t get back.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“What?” Riley glanced over her shoulder.
“Of course, she’d show up,” Riley mumbled under her breath.
“She always did have impeccable timing.” She raised her glass and gulped down half her wine.
“Except for when she was one of my best friends, then she was always too busy. Funny how that worked out.”
“I’m sorry,” Bryson mumbled. “I’ll do my best to get rid of her as quickly as possible.”
“Bryson.” Monica cooed, making a beeline for the bar like she owned the place.
“I’m here for my wine and tasting boards.
I also wanted to ask you about the garden party tomorrow.
I hope you’re coming. You never did respond to the invitation or my personal note.
” She gave him a smile that had once made his knees weak because she was a knockout, which made him about as shallow as her.
“Sorry. I can’t.” He stepped away from Riley with reluctance and forced a half-smile because that was all Monica deserved.
He waved to Olivia, one of the waitstaff.
“Can you go get the order for Ms. Gilford?” No way was he leaving these two women alone.
Thank the good Lord Monica had changed her name when they divorced.
She hadn’t wanted to, but because she’d signed a prenup, if she wanted a dime of that settlement, she’d had to.
“On it, Boss.” Olivia shuffled off to the backroom.
Monica’s eyes flicked to Riley and narrowed. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had… company.”
“It’s a tasting room, Monica. I always have company,” he said, cocking his head. “And that’s not how I would describe Riley.”
“Right,” Monica said with distain dripping off every letter of the word. “When did you get back into town? And are you staying long? Is there a reason for your visit, because it’s been like forever, and didn’t you say you’d never return to this devil of a town?”
Riley raised an eyebrow, glancing between Bryson and Monica.
“Jesus, Monica. How could you not know? Or is your heart really that black?”
Monica gasped, placing her hand over her cleavage. “No need to be so rude. I simply asked a question. A valid one, I might add.”
Bryson threaded his fingers through his hair. “Her father just passed away the other day.”
“Sean died?” Monica blinked, doing her best to look shocked—but she didn’t pull it off. “I’ve been so busy with the party, I’ve hardly been out of the house or even looked at my phone much. I’ve barely had time to breathe.”
Bryson believed that like he believed the sky was pink.
Monica turned to Riley and dared to inch closer. That wasn’t good. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Please let me know when the service will be. I’ll be sure to make a donation to whatever charity your family chooses and to send flowers to your mother.”
“Thanks.” Lifting her glass, Riley took a sip, silently dismissing Monica.
Monica shifted her weight and folded her arms, doing her best to draw more attention to her breasts.
Bryson didn’t take the bait.
“I can’t believe you’re not coming to the party,” Monica said. “It’s going to be bigger than last year. Anyone who’s anybody in this town is coming. And of course, I’m only serving wines from your vineyard. Your 2019 Pinot is still my favorite.”
“You should try expanding your palate. We live in wine country. There are other good ones out there,” Bryson said flatly just as Oliva returned with her order. “Here you go. Have a nice day.”
Monica batted her fake eyelashes. “You know, we should really catch up. Maybe we could have dinner one night this week.”
He cocked a brow. “What happened to what’s his name?”
Monica tapped her long, polished nails on the counter. “Oh, that ended a while ago. Anyway, I was really hoping you could be my escort to my party—which I asked you about in my note.” She leaned over the bar and curled her fingers around his biceps.
Her touch sent a wave of disgust through him.
Monica had never understood boundaries, had never accepted that he wasn't interested.
And having this happen in front of Riley—the woman he'd actually loved, the one he'd lost partly because of Monica's interference—made his stomach turn.
He could only imagine what Riley was thinking. He pulled back from Monica's grip.
“You don’t have to be so cold. I was just being friendly,” Monica said in a sing-song voice, which she thought was seductive and inviting.
It was annoying.
“You always are when you’re between boyfriends,” he said. “But you’re not getting another round with me. Not now. Not ever. I don’t know how else to make that clear to you.”
Monica laughed lightly, but the sound rang hollow. “You always say that, and yet, you always come back.”
“That’s not—”
“I’ll see you soon,” Monica said, cutting him off. She turned and headed toward the door, then hesitated, glancing back toward Riley. “Well. Best of luck.” Her voice dripped with sugar-covered venom. “It can’t be easy for you, being second choice, knowing he’ll always come back to me.”
Riley stiffened but said nothing.
Bryson closed his eyes for a long moment. Exhaling sharply, he dragged a hand through his hair as he lifted his gaze. “She’s full of shit.”
Riley was already gathering her bag. “You know, I shouldn’t be mad, and maybe I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the day I’ve had. But really? Now, she’s your go-to when you get bored and want a little action? You can do so much better.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t been with Monica since before our divorce.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Riley stood. “And you didn’t kiss her before I lost… never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Riley—”
“You said she was in the past.”
“She is.”
“Then why does she still talk to you like you’re hers? Why does she think she can come in here and throw jabs at me like I was just some passing fling?”
“Because she’s insecure as hell, and you were a ghost in our marriage,” Bryson snapped. “She’s desperate. And jealous. And I only speak to her when I’m forced.”
“But she still thinks she has a shot. That says more than you want to admit.”
Bryson braced his hands against the bar. “You think I’d let you walk back into my life if I were still hung up on Monica? You think I’d—”
“A kiss to heal old wounds doesn’t mean I’m in your life,” Riley said, her voice cracking. “Everything about this town feels like it’s closing in around me. And then she walks in like a shadow from the worst part of our past—”
“I’m not the same guy I was back then.”
“And I’m not the same girl,” she whispered. “But I don’t make the same mistakes either.”
The silence that followed was jagged.
“I need to go.” Riley downed the last drop of wine.
“Ry—please don’t walk away like this.”
“I have to,” she said. “I’m two seconds from saying things I can’t unsay. And we both did that enough twelve years ago.”
The door shut behind her with a soft creak.
Bryson stood in the tasting room, surrounded by half-finished wine flights and the hum of muted conversation, feeling more alone than he had in years.
But no way in hell was he going to let that feeling settle. Nope. He wasn’t going to let her leave without saying a few things. Not this time.