CHAPTER FORTY ONE
SOPHIA
Morning sunlight filters through Jack’s bedroom window, warming my face and gradually pulling me from sleep.
For a moment, I am disoriented—the unfamiliar room, the exceptionally comfortable bed, the solid warmth of Jack’s body pressed against mine.
Then memory floods back—our confrontation in the sanctuary, our reconciliation, the night we’d spent rediscovering each other.
I shift carefully, not wanting to wake him, and study his face in repose.
Sleep softens his features, erasing the worry lines that had etched themselves between his brows over the past few days.
This close, I can see the faint scatter of freckles across his nose, the slight stubble darkening his jaw, the tiny scar near his temple that I’d never noticed before.
Jack McKenzie. Jackson Charles McKenzie. The paramedic with the accent. The vineyard heir. The man who had broken my trust and then earned it back through quiet acts of protection and raw honesty.
As if sensing my scrutiny, his eyes flutter open, momentarily confused before focusing on me. A slow smile spreads across his face—not the careful, hesitant smile of recent days, but the full, unguarded expression I’d fallen for.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “Not a dream, then.”
“Not a dream,” I confirm, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.
The kiss deepens quickly, his hand sliding beneath the sheet to trace my hip, my waist, my breast. Heat blooms wherever he touches, my body responding with embarrassing eagerness. His leg slips between mine, and I gasp at the contact, already aching for him again.
Just as things are progressing from sleepy affection to something more urgent, my stomach grows loudly, breaking the moment.
Jack laughs against my neck. “Sounds like someone needs breakfast.”
“Ignore it,” I mutter, pulling him back toward me.
“Can’t have you fainting from hunger,” he teases, nipping at my earlobe. “Besides, I smell coffee. Mum’s probably had the staff preparing breakfast for hours.”
That gives me pause. “The staff. Your family. They’ll know I stayed here.”
“Probably.” His expression turns serious. “Does that bother you?”
I consider the question. Does it bother me? A few days ago, the idea of Jack’s family knowing the intimate details of our relationship would have mortified me. Now…“No,” I realize. “It doesn’t. Though I should probably check on Madison.”
“Mmm, good point.” Jack reaches for his phone. “I’ll text Emma.”
A moment later, his phone chimes with a response. “Emma says Madison is already at breakfast with everyone. Apparently, she’s been up since dawn with Lily, helping with the kiwi feeding.”
“I’ve never seen her voluntarily wake up early,” I marvel. “Your family has some kind of magic touch.”
“More likely it was the promise of seeing rare nocturnal birds,” Jack says, sitting up and stretching. “Speaking of magic touches…” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
I swat his shoulder. “Breakfast first. We’re going to need our strength.”
Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in yesterday’s clothes (slightly wrinkled but presentable), we make our way hand-in-hand from Jack’s cottage toward the main house. The morning is crisp and clear, the mountains rising majestically against a brilliant blue sky.
“Nervous?” Jack asks as we approach the house.
“A little,” I admit. “It’s not every day you face your boyfriend’s wealthy family the morning after reconciling from a major relationship crisis.”
“Boyfriend,” he repeats, smiling. “I like the sound of that. Very teenage.”
“Partner? Significant other?” I offer.
“How about ‘the man who adores you and plans to spend the rest of his life making you happy’?” He squeezes my hand. “Too wordy for everyday use?”
“Just a bit,” I laugh, warmth spreading through my chest at the casual reference to our future together.
We enter through the kitchen door, where the delicious aroma of coffee, bacon, and freshly baked bread envelops us. A woman I recognize as Mrs. Petersen, the housekeeper Jack had mentioned, is directing two younger staff members in breakfast preparations.
“Mr. Jackson!” she exclaims, her face lighting up. “And Ms. Mitchell! Everyone’s in the breakfast room. I’ve just sent through fresh pastries.”
“Thanks, Mrs. P,” Jack says warmly. “Smells amazing as always.”
“Back to your old tricks already, young man,” she scolds good-naturedly. “Sneaking in through my kitchen to avoid the front door.”
Jack grins, unrepentant. “Some habits never die.”
Mrs. Petersen turns to me, her expression softening. “Lovely to see you this morning, Ms. Mitchell. Your daughter is quite the charmer—she’s been helping with the kiwi feeding since dawn.”
“Please, call me Sophia,” I say. “And thank you for making us feel so welcome.”
She beams at me. “Off you go, now. Helen’s been asking after you both.”
As we continue through the house, Jack leans close. “Mrs. Petersen’s approval is not given lightly. You’ve officially been accepted into the McKenzie inner circle.”
“One down, how many to go?” I ask, only half-joking.
“Just one that truly matters,” he says, pausing before the breakfast room door. “Madison. Though from the sounds of it, you’ve got nothing to worry about there.”
He was right. As we enter the sunlit breakfast room, Madison’s laugh is the first thing I hear—bright and uninhibited as she recounts something to the assembled McKenzies.
“…and then Mom just took the needle and shoved it right into the guy’s chest, and everyone was like, whoa!
” Madison is gesturing dramatically. “Jack says it’s called a needle decompression, and it saved the guy’s life! ”
Emma spots us first. “Speaking of the heroes,” she announces, her face splitting into a knowing grin. “Look what the kiwi dragged in.”
All heads turn our way. Madison’s face lights up. “Mom! Jack! Where have you been? Lily took me to feed the kiwis this morning, and they’re so cool! Did you know the females are bigger than the males? And they’re related to ostriches? And—”
“Breathe, Madison,” I laugh, crossing to kiss the top of her head. “Good morning, everyone.”
Helen McKenzie’s eyes are sharp as they move from me to Jack and back again, taking in our clasped hands, our slightly rumpled appearance. “Good morning, indeed,” she says, her tone unreadable. “Coffee?”
“Please,” I say, sliding into an empty chair beside Madison. Jack takes the seat on my other side, his hand finding mine under the table.
Michael McKenzie catches my eye from across the table and gives me a small, approving nod. “Sleep well?” he asks Jack, his tone deceptively innocent.
“Wonderfully,” Jack replies, matching his father’s casual delivery. “The cottage always was the most comfortable place on the property.”
Charlotte snorts into her coffee. “Subtle, you two.”
Throughout this exchange, Madison is watching with the keen attention of someone who knows adult subtext is flying over her head but is determined to catch as much as possible. “So,” she says slowly, turning to me, “are you and Jack okay now?”
Leave it to a teenager to cut straight to the heart of the matter once again. The breakfast table falls silent, all pretense of polite morning conversation is abandoned as everyone awaits my answer.
I look at Jack, who gives me an encouraging smile, then back to Madison. “Yes,” I say simply. “We’re okay.”
“More than okay,” Jack adds, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss to my knuckles.
Madison’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Good. Because Emma already promised to keep coaching me, and that would have been super awkward if you guys were still mad at each other.”
Laughter breaks the tension, and conversation resumes around the table. I help myself to the gorgeous spread—fresh pastries, fruit, eggs prepared three different ways, bacon that puts American versions to shame.
“So,” Helen says, setting down her teacup with deliberate precision, “what are your plans now, Jackson? Will you be extending your stay in New Zealand?”
Jack glances at me. “We haven’t really discussed details yet, Mum.”
“Well, you must have some idea,” she presses. “The harvest begins tomorrow. Your father could use your help, even if it’s just for a few days before you…return.” The slight pause before “return” carries volumes of disapproval.
“Actually,” Jack says, his voice steady despite the tension I can feel in his body, “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Oh?” Helen’s eyebrows rise expectantly.
Jack takes a deep breath. “I’m going back with Sophia and Madison. To America. To my job.”
Helen’s teacup clatters against the saucer. “But surely now that things are…resolved,” she flicks a glance at me, “you’ll reconsider this paramedic phase. It’s gone on long enough, Jackson. It’s time to take your place here, with the family business.”
“It’s not a phase, Mum,” Jack says firmly. “It’s my career. My calling. And I’m good at it.”
“Of course you’re good at it,” Helen dismisses. “You’re a McKenzie. You’d be good at anything you put your mind to. But that doesn’t mean you should waste your education, your heritage, running around in an ambulance when you could be making a real difference here.”
The dismissive way she refers to Jack’s work—work that saves lives daily—makes something snap inside me.
Before I can think better of it, I find myself speaking.
“With all due respect, Mrs. McKenzie, Jack makes a ‘real difference’ every single day. Just yesterday, he helped deliver a baby on a boat and saved its life when it wasn’t breathing. ”
Helen looks startled, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “Well, yes, that’s very admirable, but—”
“And last month,” I continue, warming to my subject, “he recognized the signs of an aortic dissection in a patient that three other responders had missed. That man is alive today because of Jack’s training and instincts.”