Jess notices. Of course she does. She has the eyes of a hawk. She catches my gaze and raises a brow, her expression sayingwe’re definitely talking about this later.
I take another sip of wine.
Emmy Corbin, the winery owner, makes a short speech about the month’s selection—a blend from local grapes, notes of cherry, and something earthy I can’t quite place. Servers circulate with small plates of cheese and bread. The twinkly lights around the pergola dim, showing the stars are fully shining overhead, bright against the dark desert sky.
The wine is good. Better than good. It’s exactly what I needed. The kind of warmth that starts in your chest and loosens everything—shoulders, jaw, the knot that’s been living behind my ribs for days.
Jess is telling a story about a guy she went on a date with over the summer, who brought his mother. Not as a joke. Notas a power move. He genuinely thought it was normal. Isabel is laughing so hard she’s wiping her eyes. Dean is shaking his head with the quiet disbelief of a man who has never once brought his mother on a date.
The conversation splinters the way group conversations do—half the table still laughing about the mother, the other half drifting into something new.
Macy is debating Isabel about whether enemies-to-lovers or friends-to-lovers is the superior romance trope. Macy says enemies. Isabel says friends. They both look at me for the tiebreaker.
“Friends,” I say without thinking. Then I feel Mateo’s fingers brush my shoulder, and my face burns. “I mean, I guess it really depends on the book.”
“Sure it does,” Isabel says, grinning.
Mateo leans close. “Friends to lovers, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying. Interesting choice.”
“I will pour this wine on you.”
“Worth it.” His breath is warm against my ear, and I forget, just for a second, why I was afraid to come tonight.
This is what it’s supposed to feel like. Friends around a table. Wine and laughter and stars overhead. The kind of evening I love to write about in my books, because I wanted it so badly and didn’t think I was allowed to have it.
I have it now. Sitting right here, with Mateo’s arm around my chair, Jess making everyone laugh, and the desert sky doing that thing it does, where the stars come out so bright they make you feel like the whole universe is paying attention.
For a moment, I almost forget why I was nervous about coming.
Then I hear it.
“Sadie Pierce.” The voice cuts through the ambient noise like a knife.
I turn.
Judith Ashford stands beside our table, water glass in hand, wearing a crisp white blazer despite the casual atmosphere. Her smile is precise and manufactured.
“Judith.” I stand because it feels safer to be at eye level than to stay seated, where she can look down on me. “How are you?”
Her eyes sweep over our table.
“I’m surprised to see you here, given the controversy surrounding your... work.” She says ‘work’ like it’s the dirtiest word in her lexicon. “I would have thought you’d want to keep a lower profile after such a turbulent and disgraceful week.”
The table goes quiet.
“Sadie has every right to be here,” Isabel says, her voice sharp.
“Of course she does.” Judith’s practiced smile doesn’t waver. “I’m simply saying that some people might find her presence here, at such an intimate event, inappropriate given the content of her book.”
“What content?” Macy’s eyes are blazing. “A love story? Romance?”
“Romance.” Judith’s laugh is condescending. People from other tables are starting to watch. “Is that what we’re calling it now? I’ve heard it described as rather explicit.”
“Have you read it?” I ask quietly.
