Chapter 20
Twenty
TWO WEEKS LATER
The late-afternoon sun spilled gold across the Boone lawn, the light rich and warm as honey.
It turned the glasses of wine into glowing rubies, the laughter of children into something that felt almost sacred.
From her place on the back porch, Riley could see everyone—Grant crouching in the grass to listen to Willa’s animated story about a “butterfly that chased her.” Kelly tackled Randy as he raced with a football tucked under his arm.
Erin kneeled to tie Nathan’s shoelace while he tried to dart off to catch Bryson.
Erin’s hair caught the sunlight. The light brown shade shimmered warmly. It was stunning. It suited her far better than the blonde she’d been sporting. And with the new look came confidence. Riley couldn’t be prouder of her sister.
“Hey, squirt. Watch where you’re going.” Jessica barely looked up from her cell as Willa bumped into her, spilling her soda. So far, today, Jessica had rolled her eyes in preteen boredom at least ten times.
But that boredom was about to turn into either a shriek of laughter or something dangerous as Devon and Mateo snuck up on her with two nearly bursting water balloons in their hands.
Riley covered her mouth, holding her breath in anticipation.
First, Mateo went in for the kill.
Splat.
Jessica stood frozen, mouth gaping open, eyes wide with shock as Devon crept up behind her.
Another splat.
For a second, everyone stilled, gazing at her, waiting for teenage angst to explode. Finally, she turned. “O.M.G., Mateo. You’re toast. And Uncle Devon, payback is you know what.” She took off running, and somehow the world had simply righted itself.
Riley sighed, wrapping one arm around her middle as she waved to Mateo. She hadn’t expected him to show up to her father’s funeral, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. That man had turned out to be the best thing she’d collected from her travels. If someone could collect people.
And Bryson had the biggest man crush on him—it was pathetic.
He glanced her direction as he leaned forward, resting the football on the ground, getting ready to take a snap.
Chuckling, she covered her mouth as Mateo and Jessica slinked across the yard with more water balloons at the ready.
Hasley snapped pictures from the sidelines, trying to get the best candid shots. Brea and Ashley stood off to the side, sipping wine and chatting while Willa occasionally darted between them, calling to her father to watch, and to Hasley to make sure she got the shot.
The air smelled faintly of grilled food from the caterers, the bite of red wine, and the sweetness of whatever dessert the kitchen had tucked away for later.
It was loud, messy, and alive. And for the first time since she’d stepped foot back in Stone Bridge, Riley thought—this was home.
She let her gaze drift beyond the yard, over the gentle swell of the vineyard as it rolled toward the horizon.
The vines shimmered in the light breeze, the leaves flickering between sun and shadow.
She could almost see her father there, moving down the rows with his careful, unhurried gait, running his fingertips along the leaves as though memorizing their shape.
She could almost hear the tune he whistled when he thought no one was listening.
Memories of Walter and her dad crashed into her mind. They’d discuss their fantasy football picks with enthusiastic voices, while she and Bryson followed them around in the early mornings because there was nothing better than a stroll in the vines with her favorite people.
The ache rose swift and hot, but it wasn’t the sharp pain of loss anymore—it was something rounder, deeper. The feeling of being rooted, of belonging. Of knowing there were no longer ghosts lingering between the grapes.
The sliding door behind her whispered open. Walter stepped out, his frame casting a long shadow in the gold light. In his hands, he carried a framed photograph, the kind of old wood-and-glass frame that had weight in both heft and meaning.
“That scene out there looks like trouble.” He waved his free hand. “And aching knees.”
She chuckled. “Bryson has so much dirt on his white shirt, it will never come out.”
“And it looks like his brother is covered with grass stains. Not much has changed over the years with those two. Same squabbles. Same brotherly love.”
“Same razor-sharp tongues and dirty jokes.”
Walter shook his head. “They get their sense of humor from their mother.” He raised a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell Brea I said that.”
“Never.” She smiled. “I’m glad for this moment,” Riley said quietly. “Your eulogy…” Her voice caught for a second. “It was perfect. My dad would’ve loved it.”
Walter’s eyes softened, his voice deep and sure.
“It was an honor. Your dad was a good man. And one of my oldest and dearest friends. Much like you and Bryson used to get under our feet sometimes, we did that to our fathers.” He let out a long breath, rubbing his temple.
“You should know that Harlan has agreed to be Parker’s attorney. ”
“Why does he need one?”
“Legally, he can’t be forced to testify against his wife,” Walter said. “And from the two conversations I’ve had with Parker, all he knew was that they were in financial ruin and that his wife was working on a strategy with her son to fix it.”
“That sounds shady.”
“I think my good friend Harlan is keeping things from me.” Walter lowered his chin. “But he can’t break client-attorney privilege, so this one is gonna have to play out in the courts since your mother is still screaming her innocence.”
“I’m worried about bail,” Riley said.
“It’ll be a hefty sum. Unless Chad decides to cover the bond, I’m not sure she’ll be out anytime soon.
” Walter squeezed her shoulder with his free hand.
“Let the court system work while you enjoy a little reprieve from it all.” He extended the frame toward her.
“This has been hanging in my office for years. I thought you might want it.”
She took it, careful not to smudge the glass, and the sight inside stole her breath.
Two men—her grandfather and Bryson’s—stood side by side in a stretch of vineyard, the earth around them still raw and newly turned.
A single vine separated them, fragile and defiant, near a wine barrel with a bottle balanced on top like a crown jewel.
Each man had an arm slung around the other’s shoulders, their free hands raising glasses in mid-toast.
Her throat tightened. “This is… amazing. They look so young. When was it taken?”
“I was a small child. And that bottle,” Walter said, leaning in, “was from the very first vintage Stone Bridge Winery ever produced.”
Riley stared at the photograph as though she could hear the murmur of those long-ago voices, the creak of the barrel, the wind slipping between young vines.
“The Boones have always been tied to this land,” Walter continued. “And so has your family. Your grandfather helped plant those vines. You’re as much a part of this as we are.”
She swallowed against the ache rising in her chest. It was one thing to know her family’s history. It was another to see it—proof captured in a single, sunlit frame.
The children’s laughter drifted toward them, and she glanced back over the yard. Willa and Jessica had roped Randy into some game involving long loops around the tables, squealing whenever Bryson got close enough to “tag” them.
“I spoke to the family who owns your old house next door,” Walter said casually.
Her head snapped toward him. “What? Why would you do that?”
“I believe I told you, if it went on the market, I’d buy it. But I wanted to find out if they had any plans. Turns out, they’d decided to sell in a few months.” He smiled faintly. “I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
She blinked at him. “Walter—”
“I thought Erin might want to rent it,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Emotion swelled like a gathering storm, and she had to blink against it. “That’s… incredibly generous.”
He shook his head. “It’s not generosity. It’s right. You’re family. Always have been.”
The truth in his voice was almost her undoing. She wanted to thank him in a way that would matter, but before she could, he squeezed her shoulder and disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving her with the photograph clutched in her hands like it was a message from beyond.
The screen door banged open, and Bryson jogged up the steps, a sheen of sweat across his brow, half-dried dirt covering his skin—and clothing. “Hey,” he said, catching her around the waist. “You okay?”
She pressed the frame to her chest as she leaned into him. “Nothing’s wrong. Absolutely nothing.”
His lips brushed her temple, the kiss grounding her. “Good. Because I love you.”
Her smile was wide and certain. “I love you, too.”
He pulled back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So… I’ve got an idea.”
She gave him a mock-groan. “I’m not moving in with you. Now that the funeral is over, I’m going to find a small apartment in town. Once I find a job, that is.”
“I have a solution to the employment situation. Something flexible, since you’ll be helping Erin with the kids when she’s working in the tasting room.”
She tilted her head. “I’m almost scared to ask.”
“You,” he said, grinning now, “are going to be the new social media manager for Stone Bridge Winery.”
She laughed, the sound catching even herself off guard. “I don’t know the first thing about social media. I’ve never used it before.”
“Then you’ll learn. Jessica even offered to help you. You’ve got the personality for it, and God knows we could use one.”
She shook her head, still laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” His grin softened into something more tender. “Now, it might be easier if you’d continue living here with me.”
“Not happening,” she said, though her voice was more fond than firm.
“I’m not going to stop asking.” He leaned in and kissed her, slow and sure. “But we’ve got time.” He pressed his lips against her mouth in a passionate kiss that caught the attention of half the backyard. Whistles. Shouts. A clank of a wine glass.
“Mommy! Look! Are Uncle Bryson and Auntie Ry gonna get married?” Willa asked.
Bryson pulled back and winked. “Now that’s—”
She covered his mouth. “Like you said—time.”
As Bryson’s kiss faded, and the sounds of family drifted back in,Riley looked down at the photograph again.
Her grandfather’s hand rested on Bryson’s grandfather’s shoulder, two men bound by soil, sun, and hope.
Everything rooted here—the vines, the memories, the messy beautiful tangle of family—had grown strong.
Looking out at the people she loved against the backdrop of rolling vineyards, Riley felt the truth of it in her bones.
They'd done more than just make it through. They'd found their way home.
In that moment, she knew that someday, she and Bryson would make their promises permanent. All those years of regret had transformed into something precious. Love had ripened in the shadows of sorrow, and this vintage—their vintage—was worth the wait.