A grim laugh slips out. “You’re losing it.”
Maybe I am.
Because now that I’ve heard her voice and touched her skin, the distance I built between us doesn’t feel like protection anymore.
It feels like starvation.
The truck crests the ridge, the estate coming into view far below—quiet, bright, untouchable. I park on the shoulder again and let the window down. The air smells like wet earth and sunlight.
I know I should turn around. Leave her alone. Let her run her vineyard and pretend the mountain doesn’t keep watch.
But I already know I won’t.
Once you’ve tasted something that feels like sunlight, it’s hard to go back to the darkness.
CHAPTER 13
Raine
By midmorning,the sun is already too bright, the kind of light that makes everything look sharper and a little unreal. I keep replaying the scene in my head as I drive through town. The way I turned a corner at the hardware store and slammed straight into a wall of muscle, coffee, and dark flannel.
Or rather, straight intohim.
Tristan Blackwell.
Even now, just thinking his name sends a jolt through me.
I’d seen him from a distance before—from videos of council meetings years ago, in the old newspaper clippings Uncle Malcolm kept about the valley’s feuds—but up close, he’s something else entirely. Broader than any rumor had prepared me for. Colder, too. The kind of man who looks like he carries storms in his blood.
I should’ve said something… more. Something snappy, showing I’m in control.
Instead, I just stood there like an idiot, stammering out a sorry while my pulse tried to escape through my throat.
And then he looked at me—really looked—and it felt like gravity forgot how to work.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Get a grip,” I mutter to myself. “He’s just a man.”
The lie sounds thin even to me.
When I pull into the grocery store parking lot, I tell myself I’m just here for supplies—nothing dramatic, nothing that requires another emotional breakdown. The parking rows shimmer with heat, and I almost miss the figure leaning against a truck near the entrance.
Calder.
He looks the same as before—hands in his pockets, an easy grin that’s equal parts charm and trouble. But when his gaze lands on me, it shifts—something quieter, more thoughtful.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he says, pushing off the truck. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I force a smile. “Just a rough morning.”
“That so?” His tone is light, but his eyes track over me, sharp beneath the friendliness. “Or did you happen to run into someone close to me?”
I blink. “Close to you?—?”
“My brother,” he clarifies, his grin fading. “Tristan. He was in town.”
My stomach dips. “We… ran into each other. Literally.”
Calder exhales through his nose, like that explains everything. “Figures. He’s been wound tight lately. Don’t take it personally if he seemed… intense.”
