Page 17 of The Vineyard Crush

“Because…because I can’t seem to grow up,” I confessed in a small voice, unable to meet his gaze any longer. I felt myself wilting beneath the weight of admitting my greatest insecurity out loud for the first time.

To my surprise, Ridge didn’t immediately dismiss me with disdain or deliver a scathing rebuke. His expression remained open, contemplative as he regarded me carefully.

“You are grown up, Emma,” he countered softly.

I peered up at him then, ready to reflexively argue, to rattle off the litany of personal failings and inadequacies that constantly plagued my sense of self-worth. But before I could get a single protestation out, the floodgates seemed to burst open of their own accord.

“No, I’m really not!” The words emerged strained, laced with years of pent-up frustration and doubt. “I can’t seem to keep anything organized or follow through on basic responsibilities. I procrastinate on all the financial reports and inventory checks until the last minute. My mind is always wandering, getting distracted by every new passing fancy rather than focusing on what actually needs to get done.”

I drew a shuddering breath, feeling lighter even as confessional truth kept spilling out in an unstoppable deluge.

“You know, my mom just laid into me again today about being a flaky, irresponsible mess who can’t handle any of the practical duties around the vineyard?” I laughed bitterly at the recollection, swiping at the treacherous moisture gathering in my lashes. “She’s right - I’m just perpetually stuck in this state of permanent adolescence while Ethan and everyone else has their lives completely together.”

For one wild, paralyzing instant, I was certain I’d overstepped some irrevocable line with the torrent of self-pity and vulnerability unleashed at Ridge’s feet. I braced for the implosion of whatever tenuous connection had blossomed between us over the span of our conversation, fully expecting him to recoil from the naked rawnesses now laid bare.

But to his seeming infinite credit, Ridge didn’t retreat behind the stoic, impenetrable walls I’d come to anticipate from him in our limited interactions over the years. In fact, he did something that shook me to my very core.

He reached out and, with feather-light tenderness, brushed away the solitary teardrop that had escaped to trace a shining path down my flushed cheek.

The gossamer caress of his calloused knuckles against my oversensitized skin sparked like a livewire straight to my nervous system. I stilled utterly, rendered immobile by the shock of such unhurriedly intimate physical contact from this man who always seemed to carry himself rigidly apart.

When he finally spoke again, Ridge’s words were measured yet carried a rasping timbre that sent delicious little tremors ricocheting through me from head to toe.

“So what if you struggle with things like organization and finance reports sometimes, Emma? That doesn’t make you any less of an adult.” His tone softened, taking on an almost meditative quality as his thumb continued its soothing ministrations.

“My daughter spent one day with you and she is in love.” His lips curved faintly at the mention of his daughter’s name.

“Hell, sometimes I think she likes you better than her own damn father,” he added with just the faintest hint of sheepish self-deprecation underpinning the words.

Dropping his hand slowly, Ridge shifted his body until we were angled fully face-to-face, allowing the eventide shades and smudges of moonlight to illuminate his strong jawline and arrestingly intense eyes. As he regarded me with that level of quiet focus, I felt utterly transfixed and disarmed.

“And from what Ethan tells me, you helped get that wine distribution deal with the city restaurants off the ground with your creative vision and tenacious spirit. Not exactly the resume of someone stuck in perpetual adolescence.”

My mouth felt arid with shock at his passionate defense of me, this gentle insistence that I wasn’t as stunted or unaccomplished as I constantly saw myself.

Unconsciously, I found myself leaning in just fractionally closer, drawn like a moth to the warmth radiating from Ridge’s understated attentions. When my voice emerged once more, it was a gravelly rasp.

“But my mom..”

Ridge didn’t allow me to finish the thought, cutting me off with a low, soothing rumble. “What your mom said was harsh, and it is not true. I understand that better than anyone.”

A flash of something inscrutable, tinged with melancholy, flickered across his craggy features before dissipating. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he continued in that same low, hypnotic cadence.

“But here’s the thing, Emma. Being an adult, being truly grown up - that doesn’t mean having to fit a narrow, rigid definition of perfection. It’s not ticking off a checklist of accomplishments or skills or responsibilities.”

He leaned in infinitesimally closer, near enough that I could make out the dusting of silvery stubble feathering his jaw despite the low light. The unexpected proximity sent waves of electrified awareness washing through my nerve endings.

“Being an adult, in my book, is about understanding that everyone has different strengths and weaknesses,” Ridge murmured, his eyes focused with smoldering intensity on my transfixed stare.

“It’s having the wisdom to appreciate yourself…flaws, anxieties, messy unfinished parts and all.” The corner of his sensuous mouth curved upwards in the hint of a rueful smile.

“You think men like me don’t have our own deep reservoirs of hang-ups and failings? That we stride through the world totally put together all the damn time?” He shook his head minutely, sending threads of moonlight gilding across the sharp planes of his face.

“We all have our jagged pieces, Emma. Our stumbling blocks and daily battles others can’t see. What matters is how you stitch yourself back together despite the cracks - how you cultivate the kind of empathy that helps cushion the sharp edges rather than grinding them down to nothing.”

The undisguised emotion gruffening his voice as he neared the end made my throat grow tight. Without consciously meaning to, I found myself floating even nearer until our bodies were a breath away from making contact.

I barely noticed when another traitorous tear escaped, streaking a glistening path down my cheek until Ridge’s knuckles were there again. Ghosting over my feverish skin in another tender sweep, leaving tingles dancing in the wake of his touch.

---