14. Emily

In my haste to get as far away from my late fathers best friends as I possibly can, I almost run out of the house. My feet ache, each step cursing me for choosing a pair of particularly uncomfortable heels. Stupid house, stupid argument, stupid me.

The gravel road crunches with a satisfying rhythm, my only solace as I keep striding forward. I should book a cab, go back to the mansion, get some sleep. But I cant.

Rage consumes me, threatening to blight out my mere existence. Silas, his words, the way he insulted me without knowing what my life has been … its all too much.

Emberton hasnt changed much—manicured lawns, white picket fences, too-perfect houses. Just like I remember. Its a place where I never felt like I belonged, always the outsider with the single mom and our tiny rental house.

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I press my palm against my sternum, as if I could force back the wave of panic. Silass words echo in my head: You spit on it … a treasure worth bleeding for.

Hed cut me to the core, more than he could possibly know. My phone buzzes against my thigh and the caller ID freezes me in mid-stride. Mom.

I hesitate, the screen blurring in front of me. Hey, Mom, I answer, vying for nonchalance.

Emily, darling, when are you coming home? Her voice crackles through the speaker, a mix of concern and a forced brightness that sets my teeth on edge.

I dont know yet, Mom, I sigh, the lie feeling heavy on my tongue. Where is home? The New York apartment? Or this town that still makes my stomach clench?

Dont avoid the question, dear, she snaps, sharpness momentarily replacing the saccharine tone. That place isnt good for you. Your fathers presence will haunt you in Emberton.

Like she needs to remind me. Of course, she doesnt mean the good memories—the afternoons with Dad at the lake, teaching me to fish, or the way hed laugh so hard his eyes would water. She means the other kind—arguments, empty promises, and the disappointment that had seeped into my bones after all those years of waiting for him to choose me.

My voice tightens. Look, I need to figure out what Im doing with the vineyard, with everything. Its complicated.

Dont you dare get involved with that place, Emily. Her tone grows even sharper. That vineyard … your father … it all ruined our lives. Just let it go. Come back here where you belong.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes with another call. Flora.

Mom, I gotta go. Floras calling. Ill talk to you later. I end the call before she can protest. The relief rushes through me like a cool current, washing away some of the tension. Flora is the balm to my mothers poison.

Hey Flo, I answer, my voice softer. Whats up?

Wherever you are and whatever youre doing, Flora chirps, her cheerfulness makes me smile despite myself. Drop it and come meet me for lunch.

I wish it were that easy, I mutter, the heaviness creeping back in.

Look, meet me at The Olive Tree in an hour. Well stuff our faces until all this nonsense starts to feel bearable, okay? Her voice is lined with that steel Ive always relied on.

Youre on, I manage, already envisioning a table full of delicious food and a glass of crisp white wine to ease the nerves.

I book a cab. Floras right; food always helps. Well sit in the sunny courtyard, the scent of rosemary and basil swirling around us as we hash this out. Ill tell her about Caeleb, Finn, and Silas. Maybe once I say it all out loud, some of this tangle will start to make sense. Or maybe Ill eat my weight in olives and forget about everything for a little while.

It takes me an hour to get to the designated spot.

The Olive Trees courtyard buzzes with a gentle symphony of laughter and clinking glasses. I spot Flora immediately, her vibrant red dress a blazing beacon amongst the earth-toned crowd. I weave through the tables, a wave of relief washing over me as I sink into the chair across from her.

You look like you ran a marathon, Flora quips, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Where were you? Did you begin the treasure hunt without me?

I snort. Worse. I gave in to the guys and one of them basically called me a spineless coward.

Floras mouth drops open. Thats … wow. Who would dare?—

A waiter appears, his smile wide and welcoming. Ladies, ready for some deliciousness?

My stomach growls in agreement. Starving, I admit, reaching for the menu.

Flora orders first: Well start with the hummus trio—the classic, roasted beet, and that spicy harissa one. Oh, and a big plate of the dolmades with extra lemon. Then, Ill have the grilled octopus with capers and fingerling potatoes. And Emily, you have to try their lamb moussaka, its heavenly.

I glance at the waiter. Ill have the moussaka as well, please, and a glass of the sauvignon blanc.

He nods, scribbling notes as Flora continues, Well take a side of the herbed pita, and to finish … their baklava. Trust me on this.

Once he leaves, I lean forward, curiosity piqued. How do you know the menu so well?

Flora flashes a sly grin. Remember Tony, my high school sweetheart? His family owns this place. We spent half our dates tucked behind those olive bushes, trying to steal kisses between serving tables.

I let out a surprised bark of laughter. The tension that gripped me earlier starts to unwind. Of course you did.

Flora shrugs, a delicate gesture that belies her usual fire. Now, talk to me.

I sigh and begin speaking, giving her as much as I can without breaking down. Flora listens, punctuating my words with nods and tutts of empathy. Finally, she reaches for my hand, her own warm and strong. Emily, youre so easy to love. If you give it some time, they will see that.

Her words, innocent and profound, slice through my carefully constructed defenses. I blink back a sudden sting of tears. Its not that simple, Flo.

Before she can respond, the waiter returns with a flourish, setting down a colorful array of dips and a basket of warm bread. The aroma of garlic and lemon hits my senses.

I sigh heavily. Can we eat first?

Flora dips her head, and as we begin our meal, the conversation eases into lighter territory. We gossip, reminisce, and dream up ridiculous scenarios for what might happen next.

My phone buzzes the moment Flora and I step outside, the warmth of the afternoon sun broken by the sudden chill of recognition. Silas. I let the call roll to voicemail, my thumb hovering over the decline button.

Well? Arent you gonna answer? Flora nudges immediately.

Maybe later, I mumble, tucking the phone back into my purse. Im exhausted, honestly. All the drama from earlier …

You cant run forever, Em, Flora says gently, placing a hand on my arm. He might be a grumpy jackass sometimes, but he could be calling to explain. At best, you have a chance to tell him what you told me—that hes a blithering idiot.

My resolve wavers. Shes right, but … Its complicated, Flo, is the only answer I seem to have these days.

Flora sighs, squeezing my hand. Ive gotta run—theyre expecting me back at the station. Speaking of complicated—when are you planning to go back?

I shift uncomfortably. I dont know yet. Honestly, between the vineyard stuff and … everything else, staying at the mansion seems easier.

Her brow furrows. Im all for you spending more time in Emberton, love. But if you need a place away from all the memories, you can always live with me.

Bless her, shes got her own rental in this little town, even though she can stay at the mansion with me. She refuses to live in Dads shadow. I get it, even if Im differently inclined.

It hits me, then. Im not here to run away from his memories. Im here to learn more about him, to figure out if theres any room to forgive the absences, the silences, the love that I lost out on.

Its not just the memories, I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. Its them. Caeleb, Finn, and Silas. I like being with them, more than I should, probably. But its also …

A hot mess? Flora supplies, finishing my thought with characteristic bluntness.

I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. Exactly. A delicious, thrilling, terrifying mess.

She reaches out, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear. Just promise me youll be careful, okay? Hearts are tricky things, Em, especially yours.

A warm hug and a few minutes later, Im in a cab, riding back to the mansion. The ache in my heart mirrors the throb behind my temples. All I crave is the sanctuary of my room, the soft bed, the blessed escape of sleep. But as I approach, a figure on the porch steps into view, snapping me back to the tangled reality of Emberton.

Silas.

He rises from the worn wooden steps, his shoulders tense, as if bracing himself. The fading sunlight catches in his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, I glimpse something beneath that hardened exterior—a flicker of vulnerability, or maybe regret.

Emily, he begins, his voice rough, We need to talk.

Oh, we definitely do. But my exhaustion outweighs any desire for confrontation—tonight at least. Cant it wait until tomorrow, Silas? I ask, trying to keep the weariness from my voice. Im really not up for another …

Emily, please. He takes a step closer, an almost pleading edge to his tone. I know I messed up. Big time. But I was wrong—about you, about everything. Just listen to me for five minutes. Thats all I ask.

Something about his earnestness chips away at my defenses. Maybe its the desperation in his eyes, or maybe Im just too tired to stay mad. With a sigh, I nod, gesturing towards the worn porch swing.

We settle on the swing, the gentle creak of its chains a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside me. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken questions and accusations.

Finally, its Silas who breaks it, his voice softer, laced with an uncharacteristic hesitation. I shouldnt have said those things, Emily. It was … unfair. You deserve better.

I study his profile, the sharp angles of his jaw, the stubble darkening his skin. Better than being called a coward? I manage a wry smile.

He winces. Way better. Look, I know I come across as a hard-ass sometimes. I know Harvey wasnt always the easiest guy, especially when you were a kid.

A surge of protectiveness flares up. Despite every flaw, Harvey was my father. That doesnt excuse you for being an asshole?—

I know, I know. Silas cuts me off, running a hand through his already mussed hair. But Emily, this place … the vineyard … its everything to me. To Finn and Caeleb too. We poured our hearts into making it work, and seeing you walk away …

My guilt twists into something sharper. You think I waltz in, inherit half the damn place, and have no right to walk away?

Its not about rights, he says, the frustration bubbling back to the surface. Its about doing whats right. You have a chance to make this place incredible, a legacy your dad would be proud of. Instead, youre running back to the city, to your fancy life, leaving us to pick up the pieces.

His words sting. Is that what he thinks? That this is some frivolous adventure? That I dont understand the weight of whats been handed to me?

Silas, I force out, my voice trembling slightly. You have no idea what my life is like. Maybe it looks glamorous on Instagram, but its … lonely. I thought coming here might be different. But you make it damn clear that Im not wanted, not by you at least.

He opens his mouth to protest, but I raise a hand to stop him. Let me finish. This isnt easy for me either. I miss my dad, more than I let on. And the vineyard … it could be something special. But I need time, and I need you all to stop treating me like the enemy.

The words hang between us, heavy and unresolved. Silas stares out at the sprawling fields, a muscle twitching in his jaw. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. Emily, Im sorry. Ive been an ass, plain and simple. We owe you better.

I search his eyes for insincerity but find only a weariness that mirrors my own.

This is too much, and too tiring. I cant deal with him any longer.

The apology sits unfinished in the air as a wave of something raw and defiant surges through me. Without another word, I push past Silas, a surge of adrenaline making my steps feel unnaturally light. Storms might brew between us, but right now, I just need space.

The mansions heavy oak door yields with a satisfying groan, echoing through the dimly lit foyer. I head straight for the grand staircase, my heels clattering on the marble like angry little taps. But Silas is faster, his longer strides closing the distance. His hand on my wrist stops me mid-step.

Emily, wait?—

I twist, attempting to break free, but his grip tightens. Let go, Silas. My voice is a barely controlled hiss.

Instead, his free hand cups my cheek, the calloused warmth a stark contrast to his rough grip. His eyes, usually so guarded, blaze with a fierce intensity that sends shivers down my spine.

I cant, he murmurs, voice husky. Not anymore.

Before I can protest or form a single coherent thought, his lips meet mine. Its not a gentle kiss, not sweet or tentative. Its a clash of wills, frustration turned to fire, a desperate claim laid upon me. All my carefully constructed walls crumble, and I meet him with a desperation of my own.

Our bodies press together, his hands sliding from my face, down my neck, tracing the line of my collarbone. I moan softly, a sound caught and swallowed by his mouth. The scent of him, rich earth and summer grass, fills my senses, a potent mix against the cool formality of the mansion.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the voice of reason flickers, urging caution, reminding me of the chaos simmering just beneath the surface. But its muffled, drowned out by the pounding of my heart and the sheer, reckless hunger that Silas ignites within me.

His hands explore, tracing shapes on my skin, a wildfire of sensation sparking in their wake. I find myself tugging at his shirt, his belt, needing more. Needing the grounding touch of bare skin against mine, a confirmation that this isnt some feverish dream.

He breaks the kiss with a groan, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot against my cheek. Emily, he whispers, his voice laced with a dangerous plea. I dont know what Im doing anymore, but I need …

I see it in his eyes. Me. He needs me.