Page 89 of Under Southern Stars
She rolls her eyes, teenage nonchalance returning. “Whatever. I’m just saying he’s not terrible and I wouldn’t, like, die of embarrassment if he stuck around.”
“High praise.”
“The highest.” She grins, then grows serious again. “So when are we going to see his family tomorrow, right?”
I nod. “That’s the plan. Flight to Queenstown in the morning, then to see his family the next day.”
“Do you think they’ll be nice?”
“I’m sure they will be,” I say, though a small flutter of nervousness awakens in my stomach. “From everything Jack’s told us, they sound lovely.”
“I wonder if it’s like a little family operation or something bigger,” Madison muses. “Jack never really says much about it.”
I’d wondered the same thing. Jack had been deliberately vague about most aspects of his family business, mentioning only that his sister Charlotte handles most of the operation now.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” I say, pushing away the nagging questions that had been accumulating. I have to admit, the discrepancies between paramedic Jack and New Zealand Jack are gnawing at me a little. The comfortable hotel, the car service, his sister’s ability to secure “impossible” rugby tickets.
But then I remember his face during the match, the pure joy in his expression, the passionate kiss, the way he’d included Madison in everything. Whatever else is going on, that connection is real.
The shower shuts off, and moments later Jack emerges, hair damp, wearing a fresh t-shirt and jeans. He smiles at us both, and my heart does that ridiculous flip again.
“So,” he says, dropping onto the couch beside me. “First time at a proper rugby match. Verdict?”
“AMAZING,” Madison declares. “Can we go to another one before we leave?”
“I’ll see what we can arrange,” Jack says, his arm slides naturally around my shoulders. “What about you, Sophia? Did we convert you to the religion of rugby?”
“I’m a believer,” I confirm, leaning into him. “Though I reserve the right to ask stupid questions for at least three more matches.”
“Fair enough,” he laughs.
As Madison launches into an enthusiastic recap of her favorite moments from the game, I watch Jack’s face—the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the attentive nod when Madison speaks, the casual comfort of his body next to mine.
Whatever questions tomorrow might bring about vineyards and family businesses, tonight we are just three people enjoying each other’s company. That feels like the most important thing of all.
For now, we are just a family, celebrating a victory.
And maybe that is enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
JACK
I wake to gray Auckland dawn light filtering through hotel curtains, Sophia’s warm form curled against my side. For several precious moments, I simply watch her sleep, her face relaxed and peaceful in a way I rarely get to see. The charge nurse armor completely shed, no worry lines, just…Sophia.
Madison has been texting her friends half the night from her connecting room, thrilled with the Business Premier experience and her newfound status as international traveler. Her enthusiasm for everything—from the Auckland Sky Tower to meeting a real Black Fern at last night’s match—has been contagious. Even Sophia, usually so carefully controlled, had shouted herself hoarse cheering for Thompson’s impossible try.
I brush a strand of dark hair from Sophia’s forehead, remembering how she’d looked in the stadium lights, face flushed with excitement, eyes bright with joy as she’d turned to me. That impulsive kiss we’d shared in the middle of thousands of cheering fans has felt more significant than I can explain—as if some invisible barrier has finally fallen. When Madison had corrected my slip of calling her “Madison McKenzie” and I’d whispered “for now,” Sophia’s expression had shifted in a way that makes my heart skip.
For one perfect moment, I’d let myself imagine a future where everything was simple: Sophia, Madison, me. A family.
Then reality comes crashing back.
We are heading to Queenstown today. To Central Otago tomorrow. To the estate. To the truth.
A knot forms in my stomach that has nothing to do with the flat white I haven’t yet consumed. Queenstown is the last buffer before everything changes. My last day of being just Jack, the paramedic with the accent, the man who brings Sophia coffee and teaches Madison to make pavlova. Tomorrow, I’ll be Jackson Charles McKenzie, heir to McKenzie Estate Wines and all the complications that come with it.
Sophia stirs, her eyes fluttering open. “You’re thinking too loudly,” she murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.
