Page 6 of Blurred Lines

It's late when I go to bed. The next day is terribly busy, but I make time to pick Brian up from daycare. As soon as he sees me, he runs over and his small hand slips into mine. "Guess what, Dad?" he beams, eyes sparkling. "Ms. Garcia says we're building forts tomorrow!"

My heart swells. Forts. Mismatched socks. Laughter that echoes through the tiny apartment. Maybe "stable" wasn't a luxury cruise in a calm sea, but it could be a sturdy treehouse weathered by storms and filled with love and Legos. And that, I realize, is a pretty damn good view.

"So, what are your plans?" I ask him.

"I'm going to Mom's house tonight," he says cheerfully. "You want to come?"

"Oh goodness, no," I sigh, making a dramatic flourish with my hands.

Five o'clock shadows steal across the city as I hand Brian over to Devina. The day's laughter still clings to me. Needing the warmth of company, I head two streets down to Leo's, a dive bar named after a long-lost dream of owning my own trattoria.

The air inside hangs heavy with the smoky hum of conversation and the oily tang of decades-old fryer grease. A motley crew hunches over worn wooden tables, nursing beers and secrets in equal measure. Behind the bar, Mikey, a walking encyclopedia of questionable tattoos and dubious jokes, polishes a glass with a theatrical sigh.

"Rough day, chef?" he rasps, eyes twinkling above his handlebar mustache. "Or just the usual existential meltdown?"

A chuckle escapes me. Mikey has a knack for seeing straight through my carefully constructed facades. "Something like that, Mikey. Lost a battle, not the war."

Drawing a stool, I sit down and take my phone out to scroll through Emily's Instagram.

She's radiant in every frame, laughter sparkling in her eyes like diamonds on ice. Her smile, though … her smile is the winter sun, all golden promise against the frosted edges of my world. It warms me even through the screen, a bittersweet ache blooming in my chest.

Mikey nods sagely, wiping the glass with a flourish. "Always another war, eh? What'll it be? Drowning your sorrows in a Hoppy Hellfire, or celebrating your resilience with a Smoky Negroni?"

Before I can answer, a flash of crimson silk slides onto the stool beside me.

The woman attached to it is all pouty lips and predatory gleam, her perfume announcing her arrival like a siren's wail. Mikey raises an eyebrow, but I offer her a polite smile.

"Sorry, love," I say gently, "taken."

I'm not, but I'm also not in any mood to court trouble tonight.

The woman huffs, her disappointment barely concealed, and slinks away like a rejected peacock. Mikey snorts, earning him a playful swat on the arm.

"Smooth moves, chef," he grins. "But hey, if you're looking for company, there's always me and my existential angst."

Just then, the phone in my pocket vibrates, shattering the bar's comfortable bubble. It's Silas, his voice gruff and strained. A knot of unease settles in my stomach.

"Hey, man," I answer, bracing myself.

"Caeleb," Silas rasps, "Harvey's gone."

The news hits me like a sucker punch. Harvey Martin, the boisterous, larger-than-life bon vivant, the man who could charm the scales off a mermaid—gone? I let out a sigh, heavy with a strange mix of grief and acceptance.

Harvey wasn't always the best man, but he had a heart bigger than his appetite, and a loyalty toward me that ran deeper than his love for vintage whiskey.

"Yeah, I know," Silas mutters. "Found him this morning, cold in his armchair. Looks like a heart attack."

Silence hangs heavy on the line, punctuated only by the clinking glasses and murmured conversations in the background.

"There's a will reading," Silas continues, pacing on the other end of the line, the agitation bleeding through his usually steady tone.

"But that's just the tip of the iceberg. Our investments in the vineyard, they're hanging by a thread. Verona's got her claws sunk in, and unless we show up, Finn and I are gonna be frozen out faster than a snowball in July."

He should never have married again, let alone that viper of a woman.

A cold pit settles in my stomach. Harvey poured his heart and soul into that vineyard. The thought of it falling into Verona's icy grasp leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"What do you need me to do, Silas?" I ask, my voice firming with resolve.

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