Page 76 of The Vineyard Crush

“You listen to me, Emma. That judgy prick Jayesh doesn’t get any say in jackshit around here. You hear me?” His drawl emerged low and emphatic, the familiar twang roughened by barely-sheathed indignation. “He can take his notions of success and shove ‘em so far up his tight, pompous ass that he—”

“Easy there, brother.” The low chuckle in Leo’s approaching baritone soothed over Ethan’s burgeoning tirade like a balm.

My big brother folded his hands into the front pockets of his jeans with a pointed look at Ethan, easing his way into our loose semicircle to perch on the low stone bench before me.

“Seems to me…” He met my gaze with unwavering certainty, those cornflower blues steadying me as they always had through countless crises big and small. “What we’ve got here is our girl forgetting just how damn accomplished and resilient she truly is.”

A fresh surge of emotion tightened my throat as Leo aimed a meaningful look at the expanse of property visible through the latticed windows.

“Do you know this little B&B of ours just posted our best quarter yet?” His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes with paternal warmth—a smile I’d seen a thousand times as a child, when he imparted some lesson or reassurance to soothe my worries. “Five percent profit increase from last year’s kickoff to peak season.”

“And that’s not even mentionin’ the fact that we just landed our first-ever destination wedding package,” Ethan cut in, typical rambunctiousness now recalibrated to mirror our big brother’s encouraging cadence.

My skin flushed hot with a combination of pleased surprise and residual embarrassment. I should have known they’d drag out my professional accomplishments like dueling knights into battle. That was their way—beating me over the head with undeniable proof that I mattered and had value beyond anyone’s narrow definitions or expectations.

And then Ridge’s low rumble sounded at my nape, the velvet baritone resonating straight into my marrow as one of those corded arms tightened fractionally around my midsection.

“You hear all that, little flower?” His drawl rolled over me like whiskey on the rocks—rich, smoky, and simmering with subtle fire. “You’ve got a whole squad of folks over here cheerin’ you on, ‘cause we damn sure know what an amazin’ woman you are.”

I could only gape at him, cheeks slowly flushing with the first tentative flutters of resurgent self-worth. Ethan tsked out a noise of mock impatience, pinning me with an exaggerated stare of reproach.

“Don’t gimme that look, Giggles. As if you don’t know all that success and growth is ‘cause of your drive and hustle. And even if you can’t see it…” He jabbed a calloused thumb back over his shoulder, jaw ticking in a roguish smirk. “Leo damn sure does. The rest of us schmucks, too.”

“Damn straight,” Ridge rumbled in gritty confirmation, nuzzling his stubbled jaw into the crown of my head. “Me and the rugrats too.”

I twisted just enough to cut him an incredulous look, only to find those gruff features awash in tenderness and steadfast devotion—the kind that struck like a sucker punch to the sternum, every single time. No matter how often I basked in the warmth of that emerald-eyed regard.

“All Lily and Avery ever babble about is how much they love you and want to be like you.”

A staggering lump formed in my throat as I gaped between the twin avatars of unconditional faithfulness flanking me on either side. Ethan, with his swagger and rough-hewn irreverence always belying a core of resilient integrity. And Ridge, my quiet cowboy—the one beautiful constant in a life of turbulence and questioning.

“So whatever venom that intolerant son of a bitch was spittin’ back there? Let it roll right the hell off, you hear? You’re too solid and sure in who you are to waste time frettin’ over ignorance like that.”

They are right I am working hard in my own way and achieving my own goals. I am successful and I have love.

Thirty One

Emma

The effervescence of champagne bubbled through my veins, a lingering high from the wine festival. As the last guests retreated to their rooms, I bid goodnight to Mel, my newfound partner-in-crime. “Let’s hang out tomorrow before you leave,” I suggested, still riding the wave of confidence the day had brought.

Padding barefoot to my cabin, I decided to indulge in a late-night soak. The hot tub beckoned, promising to soothe my aching muscles after a day of pouring, schmoozing, and navigating the minefield of social interaction.

I slipped into the steaming water, sighing as it enveloped me. My iPad balanced precariously on the tub’s edge, the glow of my current guilty pleasure - “Cinderella is Faking It” - illuminating the darkness. The heroine’s witty comebacks made me grin, reminding me of the banter I’d shared with Ridge earlier.

A soft ping drew my attention. Speaking of the devil…

His response was instant.

The heat that had nothing to do with the water rushed through me. I squirmed, suddenly aware of every inch of my bare skin.

My breath caught. I could almost feel his calloused hands on me, rough and tender all at once. But two could play at this game.

I shivered, imagining his lips grazing my skin.

God. The water suddenly felt too hot, too confining. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to ease the ache building there.

I dropped my phone, splashing water over the side of the tub. This was getting dangerous. Deliciously, maddeningly dangerous.

---