Page 45 of The Vineyard Crush

She smiles shyly, ducking her head in a gesture that’s become achingly familiar. A loose curl falls across her cheek, and every fiber of my being yearns to brush it back, to let my weathered fingertips trace the line of her jaw, to tilt her chin up until those caramel eyes meet mine.

I wish I was ten years younger.

The thought strikes with the suddenness of a summer storm, its intensity catching me off guard. In my mind’s eye, I see a different version of myself—fewer lines around the eyes, less silver in the stubble, the weight of the past decade lifted from my shoulders. In this alternate reality, would I be the man Emma comes home to? The one whose kisses she craves after a long day in the vineyard?

I can see her here, in my space—this ranch that’s been more fortress than home since Mellissa left. But with Emma, the rooms would breathe again, filled with her lively presence. I picture her stomping around in those work boots, equally at ease in worn jeans or a sundress that flutters like butterfly wings. She’d steal my shirts, I bet, claiming they’re more comfortable for late-night wine tastings on the porch.

In this fantasy, there are no echoes of a failed marriage, no whispers of “not good enough.” The rooms where I once felt like a stranger now resonate with Emma’s laugh as she chases the kids—Jack teaching her to lasso, Lily doing her hair, little Rosie always underfoot. My children, who’ve known too much loss, would bask in her nurturing warmth.

I wish I didn’t come with so much baggage.

But wishes are like last year’s grapes—once harvested, they can’t be put back on the vine. The reality is, I’m not that younger man. I’m a widower with three kids, running a ranch that’s as beautiful as it is demanding. My past isn’t neatly packed away in some attic; it’s strewn across every corner of this land, every facet of my life.

Emma… she’s like one of her young vines, just starting to produce fruit—vibrant, full of potential, unburdened by harsh seasons. She deserves someone equally unblemished, someone who can grow alongside her without the twisted complexities of an older plant.

I wish I could make her mine.

The longing hits me with physical force, a sharp pain shooting behind my sternum. It’s a hurt both foreign and familiar—like tasting a beloved wine and finding it corked. I rub my palm against my chest in a futile attempt to ease the ache, but it persists. No, more than that—it makes a home there, nestling between my ribs like it belongs.

We move to my porch, Emma taking a seat beside Ethan. I lower myself onto the weathered wood, feeling every creak, every groove—a tactile history of years past. Scoby, ever attuned to my moods, rests his muzzle in my lap. His weight is grounding, a reminder of simpler affections.

Together, we three gaze up at the evening sky. The sun is setting over my vineyard—no, our vineyard now—painting the heavens in a palette that would make Emma’s finest Syrah seem pale by comparison. Streaks of amber, violet, and a red so deep it’s almost black—nature’s own wine flight, offered in silent majesty.

We sit in silence, but it’s not the oppressive quiet that followed Melissa’s departure. This silence is… textured. A cool breeze carries the scent of flowers, wine and something uniquely Emma—Sweet and tangy. This has to be enough: shared silences, collaborative projects, and the occasional spark when our worlds collide. I can’t offer her the unblemished future she deserves. But here, in this space between day and night, between what is and what could be, there’s a harmony that defies explanation.

Nineteen

Ridge

“Dad, dad! We want to watch Tangled for movie night!” Lily’s high-pitched plea rang out from the backseat, quickly followed by Avery’s echoing parrot call of “Tangled, Daddy! Pleassseeee!” As we return home from driving Cody to his friends place for a sleepover.

I couldn’t help the chuckle that rumbled up from my chest as my two favorite girls launched into their choreographed campaign for picking the evening’s movie. It was a routine as familiar to me as saddling up my horse - they’d beg and plead relentlessly until I finally gave in to whatever new Disney animated flick had captured their fleeting childhood fancies this week.

Slanting a look in the rearview mirror, I caught Lily’s wide hazel eyes locked on me imploringly while Avery bounced excitedly in her booster seat beside her big sister. The dimpled eight-year-old was putting on her best puppy dog pout, rosy lips pushed out dramatically as she aimed a beseeching look my way.

“Pretty please, Daddy?” she wheedled, little fingers playing with the ends of her golden pigtails. “We’ll be really, really good! And we can even watch it with Emma and Uncle Ethan!”

A jolt went through me at the innocent mention of Emma’s name, the pleased smile I had been wearing stretching wider across my face. The thought of the gorgeous, curvy girl next door with her thick chestnut waves and smattering of adorable freckles curled up on my living room couch to watch a silly kid’s movie was…decidedly appealing. Heat prickled across the back of my neck at the unbidden image that sprang to mind - Emma tucked into my side, her lush curves molding perfectly against me as she pillowed her head on my shoulder while we playfully bickered over plot points and details. God knew the sparks always seemed to fly whenever we were within five feet of each other.

Of course, I couldn’t dwell too long on that particular mental detour without winding up in some seriously inappropriate territory. Inappropriate for kids in the backseat, that is. Shaking my head to clear the haze of yearning, I refocused on the present moment.

“I don’t know, princesses,” I drawled, keeping my tone light and casual. “Uncle Ethan and Emma are both pretty busy people. I’ll have to check if they can make it before we get our hopes up about a family movie night.”

The disappointed groans from the backseat were almost comically pitiful. Lily even threw her head back dramatically against the headrest, golden ponytail swaying with each anguished sound of injustice.

“But Daaaaaaad! We want Emma to come!” she wailed, kicking the back of my seat for emphasis.

Yeah, me too…but not in the same way, a small voice in the back of my mind muttered.

Instantly, the image of Emma’s bright hazel eyes and warm smile flickered through my thoughts. The soft curves of her body, just hinted at beneath one of her flowy sundresses. I could vividly imagine the way those skimpy things would cling to her in all the right places as I worked my way slowly up those legs, pushing the fabric aside to finally –

“Dad!”

Lily’s shrill voice and the solid thunk of her sneaker against the back of my seat yanked me violently back to reality. I felt a flush of shame creep up my neck as I realized where my mind had wandered to. What was I doing fantasizing about Ethan’s baby sister like some kind of goddamn pervert?

“Okay, okay,” I said gruffly, hoping to regain some sense of composure. “We’ll ask your uncle. But don’t get your hopes up too high, you hear? They’re both plenty busy.”

But even as I said the words, my thoughts were nowhere near my best friend and his hectic schedule at the winery. Instead, all I could picture was Emma. Emma’s knowing grin as I try to stamp down the blatant hunger that must be written all across my face whenever we are around each other lately. The simple, aching desire to be close to her that had been burning hotter and hotter the more I tried to deny it.

---