Chapter Eleven
The falls disappeared in the rearview mirror, all white noise and mist.
Tristan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy against the console. He looked settled. Unbothered.
I was anything but.
I had said yes, or something close enough to it, and now the weight of that choice pressed in on me, heavy in a way that surprised me.
Did I tell Josh and Allie? Make a 411-group chat?
The question landed and wouldn’t move.
If I didn’t, it would feel like lying. Not in words, but in omission. In choosing silence where honesty usually lived.
But if I did... what then?
Questions I didn’t have the answers to. Hope I wasn’t ready to offer. The possibility of disappointment, not necessarily mine, but theirs too.
I’d built our life carefully. Intentionally. A structure made of routines and reliability and showing up, every time, no matter what.
I didn’t invite uncertainty into that.
I didn’t invite men who made my chest ache or silence feel like something shared instead of endured.
I glanced at the way Tristan’s brow furrowed slightly when he concentrated, the ease of him in motion and felt the pull again.
This wasn’t reckless.
It just wasn’t safe.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t know which mattered more.
* * *
Marine Drive felt improvised, as if someone had scattered homes and cafés along the shoreline and decided it worked.
It was quaint in a way that suggested love stories had already happened there and might happen again.
Bakeries and bungalows leaned into each other like old friends with the slow glitter of the sea dancing before them. White Rock was postcard perfection.
“Is that the ocean?” It stretched along the road as far as the eye can see.
“Sure is. In fact, the United States is a stone’s throw away.” He pointed south, and I half expected to see an American flag waving in the distance.
I glanced down the street, as we were midway up on the hilly drive, and took in the retail ahead of us while spying residences in the side mirror. The whole street was movie magical and had the best ocean view. A person could retire here and be perfectly content.
We took a quick right-hand turn, and Tristan raced into an open stall as if his life depended on it.
“I had to sacrifice the dolly back in Merritt, and I didn’t want to walk miles upon miles to drop off the last three cases.”
“I think you could break a few laws and park with your four ways on. It’s the universal sign for ‘I’ll be just a minute’.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather not pull anything illegal. I like to stay out of jail.”
“Surely, they wouldn’t throw you in jail for that.”
“And we’ll never know, will we?” A knee-melting wink I hadn’t expected hit me hard.
The trunk popped open, displaying the last three crates of the coveted first batch of the season.
As I tried to confirm which of the awning-covered stores we’d be headed to, a busty woman came barreling out of the store across the street, barely giving the road a second glance.
“Tristan Graham!” She crossed the street before we’d fully stopped, landing on our side of the car and pulling Tristan into a hug that lingered half a second longer than professional. “Finally. I was starting to think you’d forgotten us.”
“I texted car trouble,” Tristan said, popping the trunk.
“I know, I know.” She waved a hand, already inspecting him. “But still. I worried.”
He lifted out the first crate. “All sorted. Picked up a sportster in Merritt, much smoother drive after that.”
“Well, good.” She exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Tommy’ll be happy to hear you made it safe and sound. You got time for lunch?”
Tristan shook his head. “No, ma’am. Need to be on the ferry before five if I’m going to make it home in plenty of time to check the fields.”
She clicked her tongue. “Always the responsible one.” Smiling, she turned to me, eyes sharp and kind all at once. Without warning, she leaned in and hugged me. “I’m Caterina. Rina, if you like.”
“I’m Anna,” I said slightly startled. “An old high school friend of Tristan’s. He offered to take me out to the island as I’m meeting a friend there.” Not sure why I was using the original planned story and mixing it up with highlights from the past twenty-four hours.
“Well, Anna-old-high-school-friend of Tristan’s, any friend of Tristan’s is now part of the family. Welcome.” She stepped into the street without hesitation, checking both directions, positioning herself like she owned the crossing while Tristan stacked the crates on the curb.
Without thinking, I picked up the last crate with a little grunt as it was heavier than I expected.
“Careful,” Caterina said. Not alarmed. Just attentive.
I followed a few steps behind Tristan as he strolled with easy confidence. Walking to the bar along the back wall, he set the crates down and offloaded the one I carried. He rolled his sleeves up, forearms taut as he lifted the bottles with practised ease. No hesitation. No checking notes.
“Pinot’s on the left, Syrah behind it,” he said to a guy with a clipboard. “Watch the temperature on the second pallet, it ran warm on the Coq.”
The man nodded like that sentence made perfect sense.
“That’s Tommy,” Tristan said. “He’s uber serious at the moment, but he can crack a seriously awful pun when he’s not under pressure.”
Nodding, I hovered near the crates, unsure what my role was. Until instinct kicked in.
“Labels face out?” I asked, already turning one.
Caterina smiled like a proud momma. “Yes. Grazie. We inventory as we unload.”
I was already counting and grouping based on the different labels.
Tristan glanced back once, caught the rhythm immediately, and adjusted without comment, shifting a crate closer, freeing space where I’d need it. Our gazes clicked together for half a second, a shared smirk passing between us. Before we knew it, we were moving again.
We didn’t talk.
We didn’t need to.
Within minutes, it felt like we’d done this together a hundred times.
“Are we missing one?” Caterina said, tapping a pencil against the workorder. Tommy did a quick recount of the bottles.
Tristan stepped in smoothly. “Technically. Anna and I got stranded, and she nearly drank something unforgivable she’d packed.”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock pain.
Caterina’s expression softened as she looked at me. “Did he save you?”
Avoiding what could’ve been a hidden question, I answered. “Yes, best wine I’ve ever had.”
The words came out so easily, I knew I wasn’t padding Tristan’s ego. It was the cold, hard truth.
“I’ll add an extra couple of bottles on my next trip, and something special at the end of the season.”
She signed the paperwork and looked at me with a pensive expression. “You move like someone who knows the next step before it arrives. Logistics?”
“Healthcare.”
A quiet laugh. “Of course. Same skill. Different stakes.”
Tristan’s mouth twitched.
When the paperwork was done and the crates stacked off to the side, Tommy clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “Good to see you back, man. We missed you.”
“Try not to,” Tristan said dryly. “I get expensive. Especially with the coveted first batches.”
Laughter filled the space and we bid adieu with Tristan’s promise to return mid-season with a selection of his curated favourites but only after a couple of hugs.
As we crossed the street to the car, I nudged him. “Wine celebrity.”
He scoffed. “Hardly.”
“They worship and love you. Plus, they’re huggers.” Not that it bothered me, some patients were too. Especially pediatric patients’ mothers.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “They just like the product.”
“Uh-huh.” I tilted my head. “Sure they do.”
He opened the door for me without thinking. I grabbed Mr. Moose and set him on the roof of the car, making sure the store was in the background, before snapping a picture.
There, with the yellow car reflecting brightly in the afternoon sun, I felt something unsettling settle in my chest.
In all my teenaged fantasies, this wasn’t a version of Tristan I had imagined and yet, here he was.
Grounded. Capable. Respected.
And somehow, impossibly, I hadn’t disrupted his world at all. Somehow, I’d slipped into it.
As we pulled away, he glanced over. “You were good back there.”
I shrugged, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “I’m good at anticipating chaos.”
He smiled, softer than before. “Yeah,” he said. “I noticed.”
And that was the problem.
Because if I fit here, if we worked this well without even trying, then walking away wasn’t just practical anymore.
It was going to hurt.