Page 19 of A Vintage of Regret
"I'm sorry you went through that alone. That I was away at school when it happened and wasn't here to hold your hand. I've always hated myself for that."
The pain etched in her eyes gave way to a different kind of hurt. She swiped at her cheeks and took a tentative step forward. "You can't control Mother Nature, and there was nothing you could've done. I don't blame you for that.” Her shoulders squared, and her resolve hardened in her features. “I do blame you for Monica."
Bryson flinched. "She wasn't?—"
"You kissed her," Riley said, voice rising slightly. "You kissed her right after I told you about the pregnancy. I was scared and confused and not sure I was ready to be a mom. I was terrified and you kissed her. And it was all made worse by my friends showing it to me. Not to mention you started dating her right after I left." She stuffed her hands in her hoodie pocket. "And then you married her. How do you think that made me feel?"
"It wasn’t what it looked like." His tone hardened, jaw clenched. "First off, she came on to me. I didn't stop it fast enough, and I have to live with that. But I wasn't with her until after you left. Until after you refused to take my calls.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.” He let out a long breath. “I’m just saying you weren’t here for me to even argue with or explain my side." He threaded his fingers through his hair. "I didn’t betray you."
Riley held his gaze. Something between fire and understanding stared back. "That's not how I see it—especially when you simply let me walk away. But it doesn't matter. Not anymore."
"It matters to me," he said, voice raw. "And you think I didn't want to chase after you? I stood on your porch with your dadblocking the door, telling me to give you space. And I did. I gave you space for twelve goddamn years."
She pressed her fingers to her mouth, like she was holding something in—or holding something back.
"I couldn't stay," she said finally, her voice breaking. "And not for all the reasons you’re thinking. I would've hated you. And myself. And this place. And in a weird way, because I love Stone Bridge, I couldn't let that happen. Not to mention, you couldn't leave. Wouldn't leave. So, really, this conversation is a bit absurd because we both did exactly what we were meant to do."
A long silence stretched between them. The air was heavy with things unsaid—years of regret, love, anger, heartbreak.
But in the most fundamental way, she was right, and he couldn't argue that point if he tried.
Bryson exhaled and looked toward the vines. This was his home. His heart. He'd always belonged here—but he never expected she wouldn't be a part of it. "Sometimes I walk out here and think I hear you laughing. That stupid, wild laugh you had when you were sixteen and trying to teach me how to dance in the crush pad."
"I remember," she whispered. "You stepped on my foot three times."
"More like six," he corrected. "You just stopped counting."
She smiled, and the sight of it undid something in his chest. For a moment, she wasn't the woman who'd left. She was Riley—the girl he'd loved, the woman he'd never stopped loving. It was an odd sensation… that love… old and familiar, yet new and unsettling because it was still there. It was real. And it was fucking raw as hell, and he had no idea how to deal with it.
He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "I've always wanted to see you again. I've always thought about you."
Her eyes shimmered. "I never thought I'd be back. Never thought I'd have the strength to return, much less have that conversation with you."
"You're the strongest person I know," he said. "Even if you've never believed you were."
The wind stirred around them, warm and soft. The vineyard was quiet. Still. Expectant.
He desperately wanted to feel her again. To know what it was like to hold her. To kiss her. He leaned in slowly, watching her eyes, giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn't.
Their lips met—soft, tentative at first, then deeper, more certain. It wasn't desperate. It wasn't fiery. It was the kind of kiss that came after twelve years of silence. After pain, and heartbreak, and the kind of longing that never quite died.
When they pulled apart, her forehead rested gently against his.
"What was that?" she whispered.
"I have no idea," he said. "Maybe it's twelve years of not saying what we've needed to and our way of letting go of the pain."
Riley sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to get through this. Burying my father. Seeing my family. Being back here. It's all too much."
"You don't have to do it alone, Ry. I'm right here. I'm sorry I hurt you. I truly am. I've always regretted how things ended with us. But we can't change the past. Let me be the person you lean on now. I'm not going anywhere."
She lifted her gaze and laughed softly. "No, I'm the one who goes places, and I’ll be leaving after the funeral."
"I know," he said softly. "Did you walk from the Inn?"
