Page 20 of A Vintage of Regret
"I did, and I realized I didn't really think this through. I'm gonna need a car to get around."
"Lucky for you, I've got a second vehicle. You can use that." He placed his hand on the small of her back. "We can get it now, or you can get it in the morning."
"Tomorrow is fine. Thank you."
"I'll walk you back to the Inn."
"You don't?—"
"I insist," he said.
They walked back toward Stone Bridge Inn, side by side in the dark, their hands brushed—then twined.
And for the first time since she'd come home, the ache in his chest eased.
Just a little.
Four
The morning sun spilled low over the hills, stretching light across the rows of vines like a familiar hand reaching out to Riley.
She stepped from the Stone Bridge Inn and wished she’d taken Bryson’s vehicle last night. But she’d needed the fresh air, the walk, and a few more moments alone with him. She had to admit it felt good to finally have the conversation she’d repeatedly had in her head for years. It had certainly gone better in person than in her imagination.
As she inched along the sidewalk, her heart hammered in her chest. Not over Bryson, or their past, but over something just as traumatizing. She yanked her cell from her back pocket. She pulled up Mateo’s contact information and took a chance he’d be available.
Two rings. That was all it took.
“Hello, love,” Mateo said. “How are you holding up?”
“Better, but I haven’t seen my family yet. That will happen shortly.”
“Calling for a little pep talk?”
“Something like that,” she said as she picked up the pace. “I’m on my way to Bryson’s and I have to walk right past myold home. Like they’re next to each other. The one where I caught my mother cheating with my stepdad before my parents divorced. I don’t want to see it. I know that seems weird. And I’m gonna have to face it before I leave. But it always brings up a million questions and regrets. Like, why didn’t I scream from the rooftops about my mom’s dirty little secret?”
“Because it was your father’s, too,” Mateo said.
Before she’d left Patagonia, she’d broken down, cried like a fool on Mateo’s shoulder, and given him a crash course on her life—every freaking detail. Mateo had become the closest thing she had to a best friend.
“My dad told me once that he didn’t want his children to have to deal with the rumors flying around school. When I moved in with him, he figured I’d eventually forgive my mom, and he encouraged me to do so, but he never pushed. He was angry that she expected me to keep the lie, because he didn’t. He set up therapy sessions. He was always there for me to talk to, where my mom just went on like my dad walked out on her and took me with him.”
“Parents do some strange things,” Mateo said. “I know mine sure have. But that was all a lifetime ago. Your family’s dysfunctional. Maybe a little more than most. But none of us are getting out of here alive. Your dad just reminded you of that. Don’t you think it’s time to heal these wounds?”
“I think I liked you better when you were full of sarcasm and dares.”
Mateo laughed.
Breathless, she stopped at the edge of the gravel driveway of the sprawling house sitting on the edge of the winery—the Boone family home. It was a converted old farmhouse, expanded into a mansion without losing the country feel. She’d meant to be in and out of Bryson’s before anyone noticed—but the Boones were already on the porch.
Every last one of them.
“Thanks for getting me past the family home and the memories. I’ve got to go.”
“Call me if you need me. If I’m free, I’ll pick up. If not, I’ll call as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Mateo. You’re a gem.”
“See you when you get back.”
