"I understand."
"Do you? Because the way you were looking at me just now..."
"How was I looking at you?"
Emery's cheeks flushed pink. "Like you were remembering things we agreed not to remember."
The way she looked at him when she said it—honest, unflinching—nearly broke him. Because she was right—he had been remembering. The taste of her mouth, the sound of her laugh when he'd made her forget her troubles, the way she'd fit against him like she'd been made for his arms.
"Maybe I was," he admitted. "But you're right. The job has to come first."
"Thank you."
Devon nodded, though understanding and liking it were two very different things. "I should let you get settled. Tomorrow's going to be busy—orientation, meeting with other key players, getting you set up with everything you'll need."
"I'm looking forward to it."
He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. "Emery?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth, I think you're going to be amazing at this. And whatever happened with Pemberton... it doesn't define you."
She was quiet for a moment. "Thank you. For believing in me."
"Everyone deserves a second chance."
"Do they? Because sometimes I wonder if I'm just running from one disaster to the next."
The vulnerability in her voice made him want to cross the room and pull her into his arms, professional boundaries bedamned. Instead, he stayed where he was and offered her the only thing he could.
"You're not running," he said quietly. "You're starting over. There's a difference."
Emery's smile was small but real. "I hope you're right."
"I'm always right. Ask anyone in my family—they'll tell you how insufferably correct I am about everything."
That earned him a laugh, and the sound eased some of the tension that had been building between them.
"Goodnight, Devon."
"Goodnight, Emery. Welcome home."
He stepped out into the cool evening air and pulled the door closed behind him then stood for a moment listening to the sounds of her moving around inside. Professional boundaries. He could set professional boundaries.
He just wasn't sure he wanted to.
Two
The morning air carried the crisp bite of early autumn and the rich, earthy scent of ripening grapes. Emery pulled her cardigan tighter as she walked the stone path from the guesthouse to the main residence, her heels clicking softly against the flagstones.
The Boone family home—no, mansion—rose before her like something from a wine country magazine—a beautifully remodeled farmhouse that had been transformed into modern elegance. The original bones of the structure remained, but sleek lines and expansive windows had now been seamlessly integrated with traditional terra-cotta roof tiles that glowed amber in the morning sun. Ivy cascaded down white-washed walls in carefully cultivated patches, and floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the golden light like sheets of burnished copper, offering glimpses into rooms that felt both grand and welcoming.
The architectural marriage shouldn't have worked—farmhouse practicality meets modern sophistication—but somehow it created something unique. The wide front porch with its original stone foundation now supported elegant arches, and modern steel-framed doors replaced what had probablyonce been simple wood, creating an entrance that invited you in while making it clear this was no ordinary family home.
She'd barely slept, her mind cycling between excitement about her first official day and anxiety about proving herself worthy of the faith the Boones were placing in her. The guesthouse had been too quiet, too comfortable, too much like the life she'd always imagined having but had never quite achieved. And then there was the matter of Devon—the way he'd looked at her last night, the tension that had thrummed between them despite her carefully constructed boundaries.
Professional, she reminded herself. She was here to rebuild her career. Not complicate it with feelings she couldn't afford to have.
