Page 42 of A Vintage of Regret
He tilted his head and cracked a smile. “No, not really, and I know she was just a symptom of bigger issues.”
She fixed her gaze somewhere over his shoulder. “It was everything. My family. This town. It felt like the walls were closing in. I needed to breathe. To see something beyond the same roads, the same people who all thought they knew everything about me. I couldn’t do that here. I know I’ve said that a thousand times, but it's true.”
His mind flickered to summer nights, years ago, the two of them stretched out on the hood of his truck, watching the sky turn to velvet while she talked about the places she wanted to go. Paris. Patagonia. Anywhere. Back then, he thought love would be enough to keep her here.
“And I never made that decision easy for you, did I?” he asked.
Her eyes met his, then — steady, unflinching. “You were here. Rooted. It’s not a bad thing. It’s who you are. But I think… even if nothing else had happened, we were always headed in different directions, no matter how much we loved each other.”
He let out a breath, slow and deliberate. “Deep down, I always knew that. I’d try to tell myself that if I traveled with you for a year, you’d be able to get it out of your system, and we’d come back. But then, I’d see how utterly selfish and arrogantthat was of me. Letting you go was the only option. It was the right thing for both of us, even if it hurt like hell.”
She hesitated, her fingers twisting together. “I cried for months. I loved you so much, but I couldn’t come back. Not then.”
He studied her for a moment, seeing both the woman in front of him and the girl who used to run barefoot through the vineyard, her laughter carrying over the rows like music. “So, where are you headed next?”
Her mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I don’t know. I’ve been chasing so many different places, I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore. Maybe it’s not about the next adventure. Maybe it’s about… finding a place that feels like mine.”
A small, dangerous flicker of hope caught in his chest. “And maybe that place is here,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her gaze softened, but she didn’t commit. “I’m actually not totally terrified of that idea. So, maybe.”
The word “maybe” hit him harder than any definitive no could have. It meant she was considering it—actually considering staying. The possibility bloomed in his chest like warmth after being cold for too long. He smiled faintly. “I’ll take ‘maybe.’”
Something shifted in the air—the kind of shift he felt in his bones. The tension wasn’t sharp anymore. It was warm, magnetic, drawing him toward her like gravity.
He rose slowly, crossing the space between them. He pressed his hand against her cheek, her skin was warm beneath his palm. She leaned into him without hesitation, and for a second, she was eighteen again, tasting summer on her lips in the back of his truck, thinking he could keep her forever.
The first kiss was tentative, meant to test the ground—but the moment her lips moved against his, the years between them vanished. She breathed in sharply, curling her hand into thefront of his shirt like she used to when she wanted him closer but wouldn’t say it.
The second kiss was deeper, slower—his thumb stroking the curve of her jaw as his other hand slid around her waist. She rose from the chair, and he pulled her in, her body fitting against his, the way it always had—perfectly, like no time had passed at all.
They broke apart just long enough to breathe, foreheads touching, both of them smiling in that quiet, intoxicating way that said they knew exactly where this was going.
“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, almost laughing.
“Only for you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers again.
It was hungry, insistent, the kind of need that made thought scatter.
She gasped when he angled his head, his mouth tracing the corner of her lips before returning to fully claim them.
His heart thrummed in his chest, reverberating through his very core as she kissed him back, her teeth nipping gently at his lower lip. A wild gust of wind swept the rain against the window, the scent of the storm mingling with the taste of her on his lips. He craved her like a man who’d been denied wine for centuries, yearning for the lush oasis only she could provide.
Her hair was soft and warm in his fingers, the strands sliding silkily across his skin. A vague hint of Pinot wafted from her glass, mellowing into the comfortable mustiness of the inn around them. They were alone, enveloped by the thrum of the rain and their shared past, their shared dreams.
He slid his palms over the curve of her waist, pressing gently into the softness of her. Slipping his hand beneath her shirt, he searched for bare skin.
His breath hitched as his fingers met the silk edge of her bra, the thin barrier between him and the intimacy he yearned for. It was too much and not nearly enough. Her heartbeat thrummedunder his palm, mirroring his own rhythm, frantic and wild. He pulled back slightly, watching her, drinking in her flushed cheeks, her parted lips whispering his name like a prayer.
With a newfound urgency, he drew her close, pulling her shirt over her head, the lamplight casting a gentle glow on her skin. His gaze lingered on her, taking in every curve and line he’d memorized so long ago. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, her stomach bare and smooth beneath his hands. He traced the line of her collarbone, his fingertips barely grazing her skin, and she shivered, her eyes fluttering shut.
He leaned closer, his lips seeking the tender hollow of her throat, relishing the way she gasped. The sweet scent of her skin mingled with the distant musk of the wooden rafters and the heavy smell of rain-soaked earth from outside. As his mouth worked lower, he delighted in the way she clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Trailing kisses across her chest, he slipped a hand around her back, unclasping her bra. She sighed, her breath hitching as the cool inn air touched her skin, bare and vulnerable.
“I think we should move to the bed,” he whispered.
For a moment, he held her gaze, drinking in the shared desire that shimmered in the depths of her eyes.
“Sounds like a solid plan.” A slight blush crept to her cheeks, painting them an enchanting shade of rose. Gathering her into his arms, he carried her towards the bed, her body warm and pliant against his. The mattress creaked in protest as he gently set her down, his eyes raking over her once more. The sight of her laid out before him coaxed a low growl from his throat.
