Chapter 2 #2
I backed off, but my mind kept going back to this year’s ball. It was held in mid-October, after most of those in the valley had finished harvesting their grapes.
The tension between us at the auction had been electric, crackling in the air every time we ended up near each other. Whenever I’d looked across the room, she was watching me. Then, when she’d turned away, I tracked her movements, unable to stop.
The following night, she’d shown up at my house unannounced, asking if we could talk.
The door had barely closed before we were tearing at each other’s clothes.
A year of wanting, of dancing around what was building between us, and suddenly there was nothing holding us back.
Her hands shook as she grabbed at my shirt.
My fingers fumbled with the zipper of her dress.
We barely made it to the bedroom. The need was overwhelming—frantic, urgent, and consuming. I’d spent a year trying not to think about this, about her, and now that I had her, I couldn’t get enough.
When it was over, we lay tangled in my sheets, breathless and stunned by what we’d just done. She’d traced patterns on my chest with her fingertips while I memorized the feel of her in my arms.
We’d barely slept, but when the sun rose, everything between us shattered.
I’d gotten up to make coffee, trying to figure out what would happen between us now.
When I returned to the bedroom with a cup for each of us, she asked about the rumors swirling around the Christmas Blessing Wine.
She wasn’t accusatory, instead she appeared curious.
I told her about the foreclosure Hope Winery was facing, how Saffron came up with the idea that recreating the wine from 1955 might bring in enough money to save them, and that in exchange for bidding on him, Saffron wanted Snapper to help her.
Then she’d asked a question I never should’ve answered.
“Why did Saffron bid seventy-five thousand dollars on Snapper at the auction if her family’s broke?”
I’d responded without thinking. Without considering what the truth would do to her. “She doesn’t pay. Snapper does. Every year. So he doesn’t have to go on an actual date with anyone.”
The color had drained from her face as understanding crashed down on her.
“Anyone,” she’d whispered. “You mean me.”
“Isabel—”
“Years of bidding. Years of everyone watching. And it was deliberate.” She’d stood and wrapped a blanket around herself. “The whole town laughing at desperate Isabel Van Orr, and you all made sure I’d keep coming back for more. Made sure I’d embarrass myself over and over.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it, then? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly as it is—public humiliation for everyone’s entertainment.”
While it was about Snapper not wanting to have to take someone on a date—namely her—I wouldn’t have gone so far as to say it was about intentionally humiliating her. Except I had no defense that didn’t sound hollow.
She grabbed her clothes and went into the bathroom.
“You want to know what’s funny?” she said when she came out dressed, and clearly angry. “I actually found information that could help Snapper and Saffron. Details in my grandmother’s papers, concerning what was missing from the recipe.”
I went still. “Isabel—”
“But I’ll never give it to them. Not after this.” She looked at me with tear-filled eyes. “This is what they both deserve after what they’ve done to me.”
And that was when I’d said things I couldn’t take back. Things that had been eating at me for two months.
“This is exactly what everyone says about you. You’re a spoiled brat who only thinks of herself. Someone tries to be real with you, and you threaten to destroy the good in other people’s lives because your feelings got hurt.”
She’d gone pale. Every insecurity I’d learned in that bar a year ago—every fear she’d confessed when her walls were down and she’d trusted me with the truth—I’d weaponized.
I’d thrown them in her face because I was panicking and defensive and too stupid to see what I was doing until it was too late.
She’d grabbed her purse and headed down the hall.
“Isabel, wait—”
But she was already gone. The door slammed behind her hard enough to shake the frame.
I’d let her go. And I’d been paying for it ever since.
When the airport exit appeared ahead, the ache in my chest worsened. Isabel was leaving, and I had no idea how to stop her. Or get her to listen to my apology again. Really listen.
I stopped at the departure curb and put the truck in park, but neither of us moved. The engine ticked in the sudden stillness, and when she reached for the door handle, I got out and retrieved her bag from the backseat.
We stood on the sidewalk, facing each other. Her blonde hair was up in a tight bun, like it usually was, accentuating the exhaustion etched into every line of her features. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. As though something was eating her alive from the inside.
“Thanks for the ride.” She spoke politely. Like we were strangers.
I wanted to say something that would make this hurt less for both of us. The thing that would give us both a reason to try again. “Take care of yourself,” was all I could come up with.
She nodded and reached for the suitcase handle. Our fingers brushed for half a second, and she yanked it away as though I’d burned her.
“Goodbye, Kick.”
She walked toward the terminal entrance, rolling the suitcase behind her, and I watched her go, waiting for her to look back. Hoping she would.
She didn’t.
The automatic doors swallowed her, and she was gone.
The drive home felt twice as long. Every mile doubled on a highway that was an unfurling gray expanse ahead of me.
Her farewell replayed in my head. It had sounded permanent. Final. As though she was closing a door and locking it behind her, throwing away the key so neither of us would be tempted to open it again.
She’d mentioned the Van Orr villa in Italy once or twice, and it sounded beautiful. There were sprawling vineyards, centuries-old stone buildings, and views of the Tuscan hills that went on forever.
When there, she could distance herself from her father’s emotional coldness, from Paso Robles gossip, and now, from me. From the mess I’d made of us.
Maybe that was what she needed. Space to breathe without judgment crushing her. Distance from the person who’d hurt her most.
We were never going to work anyway. Van Orr and Avila—both from wine country families, but we’d chosen such different paths.
She’d stayed in the world she was born into, navigating the social circles and expectations.
I’d chosen rodeo over the family business, spending most of my time on the circuit and traveling from town to town.
I thought of calling Snapper. He wasn’t just my brother; he was my best friend. My hand even reached for my phone, but I changed my mind and left it in my pocket.
How would I explain how I was feeling? That driving Isabel to the airport had left me feeling hollowed out?
That I’d spent two months trying to fix what I’d broken, only to watch her walk away without looking back?
That the woman everyone thought was a spoiled princess chasing my brother was actually the only person who’d ever really seen me?
Snapper would never understand. He’d never seen what I saw in her. No one had except me.
By the time I got home, I’d convinced myself this was the right ending. The only one that made sense.
Italy would be good for her. Time away from the town that had laughed at her for years.
I hoped she found whatever peace she was looking for over there.
Even if it meant I never saw her again.