Page 39 of Blurred Lines

Flora dips her head, and as we begin our meal, the conversation eases into lighter territory. We gossip, reminisce, and dream up ridiculous scenarios for what might happen next.

My phone buzzes the moment Flora and I step outside, the warmth of the afternoon sun broken by the sudden chill of recognition. Silas. I let the call roll to voicemail, my thumb hovering over the decline button.

"Well? Aren't you gonna answer?" Flora nudges immediately.

"Maybe later," I mumble, tucking the phone back into my purse. "I'm exhausted, honestly. All the drama from earlier …"

"You can't run forever, Em," Flora says gently, placing a hand on my arm. "He might be a grumpy jackass sometimes, but he could be calling to explain. At best, you have a chance to tell him what you told me—that he's a blithering idiot."

My resolve wavers. She's right, but … "It's complicated, Flo," is the only answer I seem to have these days.

Flora sighs, squeezing my hand. "I've gotta run—they're expecting me back at the station. Speaking of complicated—when are you planning to go back?"

I shift uncomfortably. "I don't know yet. Honestly, between the vineyard stuff and … everything else, staying at the mansion seems easier."

Her brow furrows. "I'm all for you spending more time in Emberton, love. But if you need a place away from all the memories, you can always live with me."

Bless her, she's got her own rental in this little town, even though she can stay at the mansion with me. She refuses to live in Dad's shadow. I get it, even if I'm differently inclined.

It hits me, then. I'm not here to run away from his memories. I'm here to learn more about him, to figure out if there's any room to forgive the absences, the silences, the love that I lost out on.

"It's not just the memories," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's them. Caeleb, Finn, and Silas. I like being with them, more than I should, probably. But it's also …"

"A hot mess?" Flora supplies, finishing my thought with characteristic bluntness.

I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. "Exactly. A delicious, thrilling, terrifying mess."

She reaches out, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear. "Just promise me you'll be careful, okay? Hearts are tricky things, Em, especially yours."

A warm hug and a few minutes later, I'm in a cab, riding back to the mansion. The ache in my heart mirrors the throb behind my temples. All I crave is the sanctuary of my room, the soft bed, the blessed escape of sleep. But as I approach, a figure on the porch steps into view, snapping me back to the tangled reality of Emberton.

Silas.

He rises from the worn wooden steps, his shoulders tense, as if bracing himself. The fading sunlight catches in his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, I glimpse something beneath that hardened exterior—a flicker of vulnerability, or maybe regret.

"Emily," he begins, his voice rough, "We need to talk."

Oh, we definitely do. But my exhaustion outweighs any desire for confrontation—tonight at least. "Can't it wait until tomorrow, Silas?" I ask, trying to keep the weariness from my voice. "I'm really not up for another …"

"Emily, please." He takes a step closer, an almost pleading edge to his tone. "I know I messed up. Big time. But I was wrong—about you, about everything. Just listen to me for five minutes. That's all I ask."

Something about his earnestness chips away at my defenses. Maybe it's the desperation in his eyes, or maybe I'm just too tired to stay mad. With a sigh, I nod, gesturing towards the worn porch swing.

We settle on the swing, the gentle creak of its chains a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside me. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken questions and accusations.

Finally, it's Silas who breaks it, his voice softer, laced with an uncharacteristic hesitation. "I shouldn't have said those things, Emily. It was … unfair. You deserve better."

I study his profile, the sharp angles of his jaw, the stubble darkening his skin. "Better than being called a coward?" I manage a wry smile.

He winces. "Way better. Look, I know I come across as a hard-ass sometimes. I know Harvey wasn't always the easiest guy, especially when you were a kid."

A surge of protectiveness flares up. Despite every flaw, Harvey was my father. "That doesn't excuse you for being an asshole?—"

"I know, I know." Silas cuts me off, running a hand through his already mussed hair. "But Emily, this place … the vineyard … it's everything to me. To Finn and Caeleb too. We poured our hearts into making it work, and seeing you walk away …"

My guilt twists into something sharper. "You think I waltz in, inherit half the damn place, and have no right to walk away?"

"It's not about rights," he says, the frustration bubbling back to the surface. "It's about doing what's right. You have a chance to make this place incredible, a legacy your dad would be proud of. Instead, you're running back to the city, to your fancy life, leaving us to pick up the pieces."

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