Every instinct told him to walk away. She was drunk, devastated, and not thinking clearly. But the word hung betweenthem like a plea, and he found himself stepping into the room instead of backing away. "Emery?—"
“Don’t get all noble now. I know I'm being pathetic, and this is a terrible idea. But it’s not like we haven’t done this dance before.” She kicked off her heels and sank onto the edge of the bed. "I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't want to lie here and think about how I’ve thoroughly destroyed my life."
Devon closed the door behind him and leaned against it. "You haven't destroyed anything. You've had a setback."
"A setback." She laughed, but there were tears in her eyes now. "My mentor betrayed me, my reputation is ruined, and I have nowhere to go. But sure, let's call it a setback."
He moved to sit beside her on the bed, keeping a careful distance between them. “Stone Bridge is your home.”
“I can’t stay here after what happened. I could move in with my sister. She’s in Portland with her husband and kids. Or go back to Arizona with my parents.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “But no way in hell could I stay here.”
The words hit Devon like a physical blow. He'd never not had a home, never questioned where he belonged or whether there was a place for him in the world. His family's land was in his blood.
“There’s so much opportunity in Stone Bridge," he heard himself say.
Emery looked at him like he'd suggested she sprout wings and fly. "And do what? Pour wine at the local tasting room? Teach high school chemistry?"
"You could work for us."
The words surprised them both. Devon hadn't planned to say them, but now that they were out there, they felt right.
"Work for Stone Bridge Winery? Doing what?"
"I don't know yet. But we're expanding, looking for people who understand wine from different angles. Someone with yourbackground in authentication and provenance..." He trailed off, studying her face. "This isn't pity. This is recognizing talent when I see it."
Emery swayed slightly, exhaustion and alcohol seemingly catching up with her. "I can't think about any of this right now. My brain feels like it's swimming through molasses."
"Then don't think. Just sleep." Devon stood and pulled back the covers on the bed. "Come on."
She looked up at him with glassy eyes. "You're really going to stay?"
"Yes, but you're going to sleep, and I'm going to make sure you don't do anything you'll regret in the morning."
"Like what?"
"Like calling Harold and telling him exactly what you think of him. Or booking a flight to somewhere with no extradition treaties." He helped her stand and guided her toward the bathroom. "Go change. I'll be right here."
When she emerged fifteen minutes later in pajamas, her makeup scrubbed off and her hair in a messy bun, she looked younger and more vulnerable than ever. Devon had turned down the lights and was sitting in the armchair by the window, having put as much distance between himself and the bed as the room allowed.
"You don't have to sleep in the chair," she said softly, climbing under the covers.
"Yes, I do."
She was quiet for a moment, then, "Devon?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For not letting me drink myself into oblivion alone."
"Anyone would have done the same thing."
"No," she said, her voice already thick with approaching sleep. "They really wouldn't have."
Devon watched as her breathing evened out, watched the tension finally leave her face as she drifted off. Only then did he allow himself to really look at her—the curve of her cheek against the pillow, the way her dark hair spilled across the white sheets, the peaceful expression that replaced the devastation he'd seen earlier.
He settled back in the chair, knowing he wouldn't sleep much. But that was fine. Someone needed to make sure she was okay, and apparently, that someone was him.
When morning came, things would be different. Clearer. But tonight, he'd keep watch over the most intelligent woman he'd ever known and try not to think about how right it felt to be the one she'd asked to stay.
