Josie
Nine
It’s Friday night, and everyone at Black Bear is long gone.
Sera has a date, and here I am sitting at my desk, finishing the work that always follows a day in the cellar—barrel notes from the samples I pulled this afternoon, lab sheets flagged with numbers I want to look at again, and a draft blend I still haven’t decided on.
My phone buzzes against the desk. I glance at the screen and smile before I can stop myself. Alex. The last two nights we’ve texted until bedtime about everything and absolutely nothing, and somehow I still haven’t run out of things to say to him.
This time he’s calling, though. I hesitate for a moment before answering, surprised to see his name at this hour.
“Hi,” I say, leaning back in the chair.
His voice comes through low and careful, the tone people use when someone else is sleeping nearby. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No,” I say. “I’m just finishing up here.”
There’s a faint sound in the background on his end—maybe a door closing or the soft shuffle of movement in a hallway—and then his voice again, still quiet.
“I just got Eloise down,” he says. “Bedtime negotiations took longer than usual tonight.”
The image comes easily. Alex moving through the small rituals of a child’s evening, pajamas and books and one more glass of water before the lights go out.
Something about the normalcy of it squeezes in my chest. “That sounds exhausting,” I say lightly. “I’ve heard negotiations can go on for hours.”
“I realized something tonight,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to see you again. As soon as possible.”
“I’d like that too,” I tell him.
“It’s too late for dinner,” he continues. “But I was thinking maybe dessert somewhere. If you’re free. Zara, our nanny, has offered to study upstairs so she can be here for Eloise, if she needs anything.”
“There’s music down at the waterfront,” I suggest. “One local band or another plays some nights near the boardwalk.”
“That sounds perfect.”
A smile pulls at my mouth. “We could meet there. Charlotte’s Chocolates stays open late, and it’s right by the stage.”
“I know where that is,” he says. “Give me twenty minutes.”
“That works.”
When the call ends, my office returns to its previous quiet. My phone rests in my hand for a moment before I set it back on the desk.
I gather my things, and the drive into town takes less than ten minutes. But the shift from the quiet of the vineyard to the waterfront always feels more dramatic than the distance suggests.
I park a block away and walk the rest of the way toward the water. String lights stretch along the boardwalk, and a temporary stage sits near the center of the promenade, a crowd gathered in loose clusters around it.
The band tonight is The Corkscrews. The singer leans into the microphone as I step onto the boardwalk, his voice carrying over the instruments.
I start toward the stage, but I don’t make it more than a few steps before someone calls my name.
It’s an old classmate of Sera’s. We exchange a few words before I excuse myself and continue down the boardwalk.
I take a few more steps toward Charlotte’s before someone else waves from a table near the railing.
Two of the servers from Dot’s are having drinks, still in their black work shirts. “Josie, come sit for a minute.”
“Not tonight,” I call back with a smile. “I’m meeting someone.”
The comment earns a look of exaggerated interest from both of them, but the band launches into another song, and the moment passes. I keep walking.
This isn’t unusual. Paradise runs on the same quiet familiarity most small towns do. People notice when you’re out and about, and they wonder when you’re not.
I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jacket and focus on moving toward Charlotte’s Chocolates. I’m nearly there when I spot Alex. He’s walking down the boardwalk from the opposite direction. I watch him scan the crowd, and then his gaze lands on me.
As he comes closer, I can see the amusement on his face. We meet just as another familiar voice calls out from the direction of the stage. “Josie!”
I glance over and lift a hand in greeting without fully turning.
When I look back at Alex, his smile has grown. “I thought I was meeting you for dessert,” he says, his voice warm. “I didn’t realize I was walking into the mayor’s receiving line.”
I laugh. “It’s a small town. I don’t come here very often, so people pay attention.”
“That explains the welcoming committee.” His eyes move over the boardwalk, taking in the music, the lights, the clusters of people gathered near the stage.
When his gaze returns to me, there’s an observant curiosity behind it, as if he’s quietly recalibrating something he thought he understood.
“I’ve lived here almost eight years, and I’ve never made it down here for the music. ”
“I’m guessing as a single dad you haven’t had a lot of free time.”
He nods. “I’m just starting to come up for air.”
“Then this should be fun.” I gesture toward the shop behind me. “Charlotte’s still has a line, but it moves quickly.”
“Lead the way.”
We walk inside, and the smell of chocolate nearly overtakes me. I want to have one of every kind.
“What do you recommend?” Alex asks, looking over the dozens of different chocolates.
“Depends,” I say. “Are you trying to impress me or just survive the sugar rush?”
“That sounds like a trap.”
“I’ll never tell.”
When our turn comes, we select a small box of mixed truffles and a piece of dark chocolate bark sprinkled with sea salt.
Back outside, Alex opens the box and holds it out. “Your town,” he says. “You pick first.”
I choose one at random and take a small bite, the chocolate melting almost immediately.
He watches me for a second before selecting one himself.
We drift away from the entrance to Charlotte’s and join the slow movement of people along the boardwalk. The box of chocolates rests in Alex’s hand between us, open so we can reach in as we walk.
“I have to admit something,” he says after his truffle has disappeared.
“What?”
“After the vineyard tour last weekend, I looked up the history between your family and the Paradises.”
I groan softly. “That must have been a cheerful read.”
“It has its own Wikipedia page.”
“My cousin worked with one of the Paradise cousins to put it up. That feud has been going on a long time,” I say.
“Too long.”
I look out over the water. “No one is innocent. If half of the stories are true, some people should have gone to jail years ago.”
He looks over at me. “That’s a surprisingly calm position.”
“Someone has to be the bigger person,” I say. “My sisters and I are hoping it’s our generation. My younger sister Ginny is married to Ryker Paradise—”
“I know Ryker well. I didn’t know Ginny was your sister, but now I can see the family resemblance.”
“And my youngest sister didn’t marry a Paradise, but she married Paradise adjacent.”
“What does that mean?” He pops another chocolate in his mouth. “Mmmm… Raspberry truffle.”
I take a piece of bark and lean against the railing for a moment while Alex looks out across the lake. “She married the vintner’s cousin.”
“Isn’t the vintner a Paradise?”
“Yes, but by marriage. Elise Anderson Paradise. She’s married to Kingston, the oldest brother.”
We start walking again, following the curve of the boardwalk as it stretches along the water.
“It feels like half the town is here,” Alex says.
“And that’s only because the other half is working,” I agree.
The smell of frying dough drifts through the air as we move farther from the stage. A small stand sits near the bend in the path, its window open toward the water with a short line formed in front of it. The sign above the counter advertises mini donuts and fries in bright, hand-painted letters.
Alex slows slightly as we approach.
“Tell me that smell isn’t exactly what it sounds like.”
“Mini donuts,” I say. “Dangerous if you’ve already had chocolate.”
“That doesn’t sound like a real warning.”
“It’s not.”
When we reach the window, the girl working the counter looks up expectantly. “Josie!”
“Hi, Tina.”
She wipes her hands on a towel. “I thought that was you walking past earlier,” she says. “Are you escaping the winery for the night?”
“Something like that.”
Her gaze slides to Alex, an unfamiliar face beside me. It’s the kind of quick assessment people in town do without thinking. “What can I get you?”
“Mini donuts,” I say. “And fries.”
She returns a moment later with the food balanced carefully on two paper trays. As she passes them across the counter, she smiles again. “Nice to finally meet the boyfriend.”
Alex doesn’t move. He doesn’t correct her either. Instead he looks at me, his expression curious rather than uncomfortable.
Heat rises along the back of my neck, and I let out a small laugh that feels easier than explaining anything. “This is Alex,” I tell her. “He works at the hospital.”
I take the tray of donuts and step aside so the next person in line can move forward. Alex picks up the fries, and we carry the food toward the railing where the boardwalk widens slightly.
For a few steps, neither of us says anything. I reach for one of the donuts, more for something to do with my hands than out of real hunger. Beside me Alex picks up a fry and studies it thoughtfully before taking a bite.
“You should know,” I say, keeping my tone light, “that small towns have a habit of making assumptions before anyone actually confirms anything.”
Alex glances over. “I noticed.” He leans one forearm against the railing beside me, the lake stretching out beyond his shoulder. “That didn’t bother me.”
I brush a trace of sugar from my fingers and watch the dark water move below the boardwalk.
“I meant to reach out a dozen times,” he continues. “My schedule is already tight. Work doesn’t leave much room for improvisation. And Eloise…” He pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting with quiet affection. “She has opinions about how evenings should unfold.”
“I can imagine.”
He looks out over the lake again. “Adding someone new to that rhythm isn’t simple.”
I rest my hands on the railing. “My life isn’t uncomplicated either.”
His gaze shifts over to me.
“The vineyard alone would be enough,” I explain. “Harvest schedules, staff, the constant push to stay ahead of the next season.”
“And the rest of it?”
“My grandmother, Evie,” I say.
Alex nods.
“And the rest of my family,” I add. “They assume you’ll keep showing up for whatever they decide the next priority is.”
A small smile touches his mouth. “That sounds familiar.”
A couple walks by and says hello to me.
We throw away our trays and keep walking until the boardwalk opens onto a quieter overlook at the edge of the lake. There’s no farther we can go.
Alex slows beside the railing. I stop with him, resting my hands on the cool wood.
“I should probably get home,” he says after a moment. “Before it gets too late.”
“That makes sense.” I turn slightly, resting one hip against the railing so I can look at him. “Tonight probably wasn’t the most sensible decision.”
He shrugs before answering. “I wanted to see you.” He leans in, and our lips meet. He’s unhurried as his tongue dips into my mouth. His hand slides along my arm as I turn toward him, the railing pressing lightly against my back.
His touch ignites something inside me. Every brush of his hand makes it harder to think as we lose ourselves in a slow, lingering kiss.
When we finally pull apart, he remains close enough that I’m sure he can feel my heart pounding. Eventually he straightens and glances back toward the path we walked down. “I should actually head home this time.”
I nod.
He laces his fingers with mine, and we start back along the boardwalk toward the brighter stretch of lights near the stage. As we approach the spot where we met, Alex turns toward me. “Practical or not, this was a good idea.”
“The waterfront?”
“Seeing you again.”
That makes me smile. “I’m glad you called.”
He hesitates for a moment, as if considering whether to say something else. Then he reaches for the small chocolate box still tucked under his arm and hands it to me.
“Evidence that we didn’t finish dessert.”
I take it from him. “Next time we should start with something less ambitious.”
“Next time.” He grins.
The words land easily between us. They’re not a question or a plan, but a quiet assumption that tonight wasn’t a one-time event.
“I’ll text you when I get home to make sure all is well,” he says.
“Drive safe.”
He gives me one last look, which carries the same steady attention he’s had for me all evening. Then he turns toward the parking area.
I remain where I am another moment, the sounds of the waterfront all around me as the distance between us grows. And as I walk back to my car, I find uncertainty has given way to something quieter and far more dangerous. Anticipation.