Page 34 of A Vintage of Regret
The silence that followed was jagged.
“I need to go.” Riley downed the last drop of wine.
“Ry—please don’t walk away like this.”
“I have to,” she said. “I’m two seconds from saying things I can’t unsay. And we both did that enough twelve years ago.”
The door shut behind her with a soft creak.
Bryson stood in the tasting room, surrounded by half-finished wine flights and the hum of muted conversation, feeling more alone than he had in years.
But no way in hell was he going to let that feeling settle. Nope. He wasn’t going to let her leave without saying a few things. Not this time.
Seven
As soon as the door rattled shut behind her, Riley stopped on the sidewalk and pulled in a deep breath. The air was thick with the scent of sun-warmed grapes drifting in from the vineyard—a fragrance she’d once thought of as home. Growing up, that smell had been her calm in the middle of chaos.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled to Mateo’s name.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Bryson’s voice called from behind her.
She froze, her thumb hovering over the screen.
“I get that after you bury your father, you’ll probably hop a plane and vanish into some exotic mountainside again,” he went on, stepping closer. “Fine. But while you’re here? You don’t get to waltz into my tasting room, drop a grenade, and then disappear just because Monica decided to be—” he paused, his jaw tightening, “—herself.”
“I’m not running,” she said, exhaling hard, flexing her fingers. Half of her wanted to shove him aside and storm off. The other half wanted to collapse into him. “I just can’t deal with her. Or you. Not after my mother made it sound like my existence was the reason we can’t breathe the same air. And then Monica…” Riley’s voice cracked, tears stinging her eyes before they spilled over. “She turned my dad’s death into someinconvenience for her damn garden party—and a reason to take a shot at?—”
“Hey.” Bryson stepped in, brushing the tears from her cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry she rattled you. That was cruel—shewas cruel. And, yes, it was intentional. She’s… good at that now. Too good. She’s not the same person you knew back then. She’s shallow, selfish, and the only person she cares about is the one in the mirror.”
“Sounds like my mother.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. Monica had become exactly what Riley had spent twelve years running from—someone who used cruelty as currency and saw other people as obstacles to whatever she wanted.
“Listen, I can see if one of my siblings can cover for me here. Or you can come back in and hang out. We’ve got some great flatbreads. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“No. I’ll be fine. I just need space.”
He hesitated, brow furrowing in that way she remembered from years ago.
“I hate that look,” she said quietly. “It means you’re about to dig up something heavy.”
“Considering what just happened, I don’t believe you and I have completely cleared the air. And since you’ve always mattered to me, I want us to be able to be friends. It’s important to me. I think we need to have the Monica talk.”
“Is that kinda like a TED Talk?”
“You’ve always been adorable when you’re deflecting,” he said, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “But I’m serious. I don’t want us to be at odds every time we cross paths with her, and it will happen. I need you to hear my side, and I want to hear yours. In the past, I don’t think either one of us stopped to listen to what the other was saying. Instead, we flung hurtful words at each other. I’d like to move beyond that.”
“I honestly don’t know if I have the bandwidth for it. I’m running on fumes, and there’s no gas station in sight for what I need.” Only, she wasn’t exactly sure what she needed. She swallowed. Hard. If her father were around, this would be exactly the kind of thing she’d talk to him about. A blanket woven of clarity and determination settled around her shoulders. The gaping hole left by her father’s loss made some things clearer than they’d ever been before, and one of those things was that life was too short to walk around with open wounds. She and Bryson both deserved to heal
“But…” She took a breath then lifted her gaze to his. “Okay. Just not today. I’m gonna head back to the inn, take a nice, long, hot bath, read a book, drink some wine that your mom brought over, order room service, and crash.”
“Sounds like a perfect night.” He lifted her chin with his thumb. “Call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is. I’m here for you.” He leaned in and brushed his warm lips against hers.
Her heart stuttered in her chest. The kiss was so achingly familiar, like coming home and saying goodbye all at once. It stirred feelings she'd spent years burying, and for one dangerous moment, she wanted to pull him closer instead of letting him go.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he said. He stepped back inside, leaving her alone on the sidewalk.
The last time her emotions had swung this wildly, she’d been eighteen and boarding a plane for Alaska. But she wasn’t that reckless girl anymore. She was thirty-five, a woman who’d seen the world, who should know how to steady herself. Bryson was right—if she didn’t face her past, it would eat away at her until there was nothing left.
She looked down at her phone. “Shit.” She pressed it to her ear. “Mateo?”
