“This isn’t about the book’s content,” Judith starts.
“Then what is it about?” Mateo’s voice cuts through, low and steady. He hasn’t moved from his chair, but there’s something in his posture—coiled, protective—that makes Judith take astep back. “Because you keep saying it’s about respect and community values, but you showed up at our table uninvited to humiliate Sadie publicly. That doesn’t sound like respect to me.”
Judith’s jaw tightens. “I’m trying to protect this town.”
“From what?” Mateo stands, placing a protective hand on my lower back, anchoring me. “From a book? From a love story? Sadie wrote about a carpenter and a bookshop owner falling in love. She wrote about desert wildflowers, star-crossed legends, and a small town that feels like home. She didn’t turn Sierra Rose Ridge into pornography. She honored the town.”
“You haven’t even read it,” Judith snaps.
“You don’t know that.” His voice is quiet but absolute.Oh god, has he read it?“But whether I have or haven’t doesn’t actually matter. I know Sadie. I know how much she loves this place. She moved here five years ago, looking for a home, and found it. She wrote about that. About belonging. About love. If that offends you, that says more about you than it does about her book.”
For a long moment, Judith just stares at him. Then her gaze sweeps over me, then back to Mateo.
“How quaint,” she says finally. “The town blacksmith defending the smut writer. I’m sure that will make for excellent gossip.”
She turns and walks away, head high. Some of the gawkers watch as she leaves. Others continue to stare at our table.
I’m shaking so hard I have to sit down.
“That bitch,” Macy hisses.
“Forget her,” Isabel says firmly. “She’s just bitter and sad and looking for someone to make feel worse than she does on a daily basis.”
But my hands won’t stop trembling.
Mateo crouches in front of me, his hands covering mine. “You okay,tesoro?”
I nod. Then shake my head. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Then we leave.”
“But—“
“We leave,” he repeats. “You don’t owe anyone your presence. Especially not after that.”
“Let’s go back to the bookshop,” Macy suggests. “We can have our own wine night. Without judgmental assholes.”
Isabel grins. “I like that idea. I’ll grab this bottle. Dean can bring the two he bought.”
Before I can protest, they’re gathering our things, and Mateo’s helping me to my feet.
We leave the winery. The cool night air feels like relief after the suffocating atmosphere of Judith’s confrontation.
“I can’t believe her,” Macy says as we walk to our cars. “Acting like she owns the town. Like she gets to decide who belongs and who doesn’t.”
“She’s been like that for years,” Isabel says. “Power trip. She thinks being head of the historical society makes her queen of Sierra Rose Ridge.”
“Well, fuck her,” Macy declares.
I smile. Mateo walks beside me. Every few steps, our arms brush, and he takes my hand in his.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For what you said back there.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that.”
“I know.” And for the first time, I actually believe it. “I know you’re going to show up.”
“Someone attacks you, I’m going to say something. That’s non-negotiable.” There’s an edge to his voice. Something raw. “Ride with me.”
