Page 77 of A Vintage of Regret
Riley eased onto a barstool. No way was she leavingherboyfriend alone with this viper.
Monica’s hair fell in perfect waves, sunglasses perched just so, her clothing that effortless style of casual that cost more than most people’s rent. “Bryson,” she greeted, voice smooth, eyes sliding over him like he was an accessory to complete her outfit. She shifted her gaze, landing on Riley, and all of a sudden, she looked like she’d swallowed a bag of sour balls. “Riley,” she said, her smile curving with practiced precision. “I didn’t realize you were still in town. I assumed you’d be halfway back to… wherever it is you run off to these days. Because, you know, you’re good at that.”
Riley gritted her teeth. “My father’s funeral hasn’t happened yet. I wouldn’t leave before that.” She cocked her head. “Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.”
A flicker of disdain passed over Monica’s face—quick, but there. “Of course. Well, I’m just here to pick up my wine order. I should’ve known I wouldn’t have any left over from the garden party. Everyone just loves the Stone Bridge Wine and expects that I, Bryson’s wife, would only serve the finest.”
“Ex-wife,” Bryson corrected.
“Without the privilege of carrying the name anymore.” Hasley hopped up on a stool and smiled a big, toothy grin. “Or did you forget that part?”
“Hmm.” Monica tilted her head at Bryson. “Thought I’d come straight to the source.” She rested her hand on the counter, ignoring the jab. “I was hoping to catch you here. We haven’t?—”
“Let me get your order,” he said. As he turned toward the back room, Monica bit down on her lower lip. “I’ve always thought that color looked fabulous on him, and I’m glad he took me up on my advice about wearing jeans in the tasting room. They hang so well on his hips.” She turned to Riley. “It’s nice you’ve found time to visit. Must be hard, catching up on everything you’ve… missed.”
“Some things,” Riley replied evenly, “are exactly as I remember them, like Bryson’s jeans. Which’s he’s always worn… in the tasting room. Might have even been at the urging of my father and the blessing of his.”
Hasley covered her mouth, stifling a giggle.
“I doubt that.” Monica’s lips pressed into a polite smile. “Small towns never change, do they? Same families, same names, same… dramas.”
“Some of us grow out of them,” Riley said lightly. “And some of us hang on to them like we don’t know the meaning of fresh laundry.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Monica asked.
Riley leaned closer. “I’m not the one stirring the pot here. I simply came in to say hello to myboyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Monica tipped her head back and laughed. “You’re still the same delusional girl you’ve always been,” Monica said as Bryson returned with the black Stone Ridge Winery bag, setting it on the counter. “Here you go.”
Monica leaned in, lowering her voice in that faux-private way that wasn’t meant to be private at all. “We should catch up sometime. Just the two of us. For old time’s sake.”
Riley’s grip tightened on her purse strap. The nerve of this woman. But Bryson didn’t hesitate. “Never gonna happen.”
“Oh, I believe it will. It always does,” Monica said, straightening. “Always nice to revisit the classics.”
Hasley smiled bright enough to cut glass. “I hear the classics are overrated.”
Bryson leaned across the counter, taking Riley’s hand. “I prefer classy.” He kissed her palm.
Monica’s eyes narrowed, but she simply took the bag, pivoted, and clicked toward the door. “Enjoy your lunch.” The latch shut behind her, leaving a faint trace of perfume in her wake.
“Well, that felt like I was back in high school, but it was the only way to drive the point home,” Riley said.
Bryson let out a breath. “She’s… consistent.”
“Like a rash,” Hasley muttered.
Riley smirked. “A chronic one.”
“Now that we’ve saved you from disaster,” Hasley said. “We need to get going.” She glanced at her watch. “Our reservation is in five. We’ll see you at home, big brother.”
“Don’t enjoy yourselves too much.” Bryson smiled. “Especially at my expense.”
“Oh, that’s the entire point.” Hasley laughed as they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun, warmth spilling across the quiet street. After a beat, Hasley nudged her. “So… you and my brother. What’s therealdeal?”
Riley blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Hasley said, sidestepping a planter, “he looks at you like he’s just been sucker-punched and doesn’t mind bleeding a little. And you… Well, you don’t look at him like someone who’s leaving anytime soon.” Hasley leaned a little closer as she continued down the sidewalk. “Not to mention you tossed that nugget in Monica’s face? Or was that just talk?”
