Page 20 of The Vineyard Crush

A shudder rippled through me, my senses utterly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensations that seemed to assault me from every angle. It was as if every nerve ending had been set ablaze, every fiber of my being attuned to the mere essence of the man who had so effortlessly upended my world.

Forcing myself to take a deep, steadying breath, I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist as I cast a furtive glance around the unfamiliar room. It was sparsely furnished, yet carried an undeniable warmth and lived-in feel that spoke volumes about its occupant.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I drank in the details – the well-worn armchair tucked into the corner, the haphazard stack of books on the nightstand, the faded photograph perched atop the dresser, capturing a moment frozen in time.

It was a glimpse into the life of Ridge, a tantalizing peek behind the curtain that he so carefully maintained. And in that moment, I found myself utterly captivated, desperate to unravel the mysteries that seemed to swirl around him like a shroud.

My gaze swept across the room, coming to rest on a neatly folded piece of paper perched on the nightstand beside the bed. With trembling fingers, I reached out, snagging the note and unfolding it with a reverence that bordered on the sacrilegious.

Ridge’s distinctive scrawl leapt off the page, the words etched into the paper with a boldness that sent a shiver skittering down my spine.

“Gone to drop the kids,” the note read, the words seeming to resonate with a weight that belied their simplicity. “Hope you slept well. There’s coffee in the kitchen and some banana bread.”

The casual domesticity of the message, the easy familiarity with which he extended such a simple kindness, was enough to steal the very breath from my lungs. It was a glimpse into the side of Ridge that so few were privy to – the doting father, the attentive provider, the man who found solace in the simple pleasures of a freshly brewed pot of coffee and a homemade treat.

A soft, breathless laugh bubbled up from within me, the sound tinged with a mixture of disbelief and unbridled delight. How was it possible that this man, this ruggedly handsome, impossibly alluring embodiment of everything I should have been steering clear of, could elicit such a visceral reaction from me with the mere stroke of a pen?

Clutching the note against my chest, I allowed myself to bask in the warmth of the moment, to revel in the delicious novelty of waking up surrounded by the essence of Ridge. It was a dangerous indulgence, one that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed barriers I had so painstakingly erected around my heart.

But in that moment, I simply couldn’t bring myself to care.

With a reluctant sigh, I tossed aside the sheets, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and allowing my bare feet to sink into the plush carpeting. A delicious shiver rippled through me as the soft fibers caressed my skin, the sensation serving as a tangible reminder of the intimate proximity I had found myself in.

Slowly, almost reverently, I rose to my feet, my senses attuned to the slightest shift in the air around me. Every inch of this space seemed permeated with Ridge’s essence, from the faint traces of his cologne that lingered in the air to the warmth that still clung to the sheets I had so recently vacated.

It was utterly intoxicating, utterly consuming, and I found myself reveling in the heady rush of sensations that threatened to overwhelm me.

With measured steps, I made my way towards the door, my fingers trailing along the smooth surface of the dresser as I passed. The weight of the photograph perched atop it drew my gaze, and I found myself pausing, unable to resist the temptation to drink in the frozen moment it captured.

The image was a simple one – Ridge, his features slightly younger and more carefree, gazing down at a tiny bundle cradled in his arms. The love and adoration that shone in his eyes, the pure, unadulterated joy that radiated from his very being, was enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

In that moment, I caught a glimpse of the man beneath the rugged exterior, the man who wore his heart on his sleeve and loved with a fierceness that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying in its intensity.

A lump formed in my throat as I tore my gaze away, suddenly feeling as though I had intruded on a moment far too sacred, far too intimate for my prying eyes. With a shaky exhale, I continued on my way, my steps a little less steady, my heart a little more burdened by the weight of emotions that threatened to consume me.

The rest of the house was eerily silent, a stillness that seemed to permeate every inch of the space. It was as if the world had been suspended in a moment of breathless anticipation, awaiting the arrival of something – or someone – to breathe life back into its walls.

I moved through the hallways like a ghost, my footsteps whispering against the hardwood floors, my fingertips trailing along the surfaces that bore the indelible marks of a life well-lived. Each room I passed seemed to hold a story, a whispered tale of love and loss, joy and sorrow, all woven together into the tapestry that made up the existence of Ridge and his family.

Eventually, my wanderings led me to the kitchen, a space that seemed to radiate warmth and comfort despite its current state of disarray. The countertops were littered with the remnants of a hastily prepared meal, the air still carrying the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and bacon & eggs.

As I cleared the breakfast detritus, my mind kept wandering back to the night before and the unexpected sense of belonging I’d felt surrounded by Ridge.After eating and cleaning up I wrote a thank you note for him and left hoping it might prompt another warm interaction.

Over the next few days, Ridge seemed to materialize at the vineyard under the flimsiest of pretenses - dropping Avery off with me one afternoon, needing Ethan’s take on some ranch matter the next. Sometimes the kids tagged along, and Cody would insist on being shown the intricacies of the fermentation room while Lily peppered me with a million questions about my “very best job.”

Whenever Ridge stuck around after completing his official excuse for visiting, I couldn’t help drinking in his presence like a dewdrop-starved seedling relishing the sun’s rays. We’d settle into one of the patio’s battered couch swings, his arm casually draped along the back as we languidly discussed everything from ranch operations to my latest haphazard endeavors. My fidgeting fingers would pleating the fabric of my shirt, transfixed by the rumbly timbre of his voice and the crinkles around his warm amber eyes whenever he laughed.

On late Friday afternoon sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the vineyard’s back patio as I stepped outside. Ridge was already settled into one of the deep adirondack chairs, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as he cradled a sweating bottle of beer. His tattered white cowboy hat was tipped low over his eyes, but I could see the faint twitch of a smile on his lips as Lily and Cody chased each other in circles through the grass, shrieks of laughter piercing the valley’s tranquil quiet.

Little Avery was cuddled snugly against her dad’s broad chest, her tiny rosebud mouth parted slightly as she slumbered, one chubby fist tucked beneath her chin. The serene picture they created - this gruff, ruggedly handsome cowboy completely undone by his precious infant daughter - made my heart constrict almost painfully in my chest.

Trying to divert my wandering thoughts from how effortlessly they could make a person ache to be part of their cozy family tableau, I cleared my throat softly. “Hey there, stranger. This a private party or can anyone join?”

One of Ridge’s eyes cracked open lazily at the sound of my voice, but the other remained stubbornly shielded by the curve of his hat brim. “Why Miss Emma, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as my esteemed guest.” His drawling greeting was tinged with that low, gravelly timbre that never failed to send tendrils of warmth unfurling low in my belly.

I settled onto the worn wooden glider beside Ridge, our shoulders brushing as the old swing swayed beneath our combined weight. He handed me a perspiring glass of cranberry juice, condensation already pebbling the bright green plastic.

I stretched out my own legs with an exhale. “Don’t mind if I do then, Mister Ranch Boss. It’s been one hell of a week.”

---