Page 11 of All This Time

The women stare each other down, years of tension crackling between them.

If Tori weren’t perched on Elliot’s lap like a trophy, I’m pretty sure she’d have already thrown a wine glass at my best friend’s head. And judging what Dilynne does for a living is the best possible way Tori could get under her skin.

Elliot straightens his tie as he directs his gaze back to Ellis, replying to my niece before Dilynne speaks her mind. “Just because Dilynne thinks those jobs are boring doesn’t mean they aren’t good choices.”

“I don’t want a boring job,” Ellis says. “I want something fun! Like a princess!”

“Being a princess woulddefinitelybe fun,” I reply, bopping her on the nose.

Elliot, ever the realist, can’t help himself. “Being a princess isn’t a job.”

“Ha!” Dilynne chimes in. “Tell the Princess of Wales that and see what she says.”

“All right, you two,” my brother interjects, knowing that Dilynne and Elliot are just getting started in their natural repertoire, and if someone doesn’t stop them, they’ll go on all night. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

“Sorry, but I’m not going to let this stick-in-the-mud rain on your daughter’s dreams,” Dilynne says as she juts her thumb in Elliot’s direction.

Elliot huffs out a laugh, still holding Tori on his lap as her eyes bounce back and forth between the two of them. “Stick in the mud, huh? Maybe you should look in the mirror and see if you can locate the stick that’s shoved up your—”

“Is this the right place? I’m looking for some people I used to know!” A voice cuts through the tasting room like a record scratch,and I don’t even have to look to know who just arrived. Nonetheless, my eyes travel from his feet to his eyes in a slow perusal that wakes up every nerve ending on my body, particularly the ones between my legs.

Fletcher Adams smiles from ear to ear wearing a Carolina Thunder T-shirt as he walks deeper into the room—his stride long, his spine straight, and his cocky grin that should be classified as a weapon on full display. Greeting my brother, Henley, and Elliot first, he makes his way around the room while I finish the wine left in my glass and avoid staring at him any further, gathering the confidence I need to face him.

And as my heart hammers so wildly that I think I might pass out, I accept that he’s here, that nothing could have prepared me for how my body still reacts to him after all this time, and that the next three weeks might just be the longest of my life.

Chapter 3

Fletcher

Memories and Strippers

“Is this the right place? I’m looking for some people I used to know!” With my arms outstretched, I pull the attention of the entire room toward me as I project my voice over the noise.

I can’t deny that walking into the tasting room at Hart Winery feels like coming home, as cliché as it sounds. But it’s not just the fact that Blossom Peak is the only place I’ve ever really considered home, no matter how many shitty memories this place holds. It’s the people in this room, the people that kept me going through all those moments when I truly wanted to give up—oneperson especially.

“Adams, you look like shit,” Elliot says as he walks up to me and pulls me in for a hug and a slap on the back.

“Right back at you, Thorne. Good thing you’re getting married before your looks disappear completely.”

“Looks like it’ll be too late for you, then,” Elliot fires back as he takes a drink from his glass.

“Yeah, no marriage for me, thanks.”

“The small-town celebrity returns,” Henley declares as he steps up to me, reaching out to shake my hand.

“I had to return to my roots, you know, just so my head doesn’t get too big.”

Henley huffs out a laugh. “Good to know you’re still humble in there.” He points to my chest.

“He doesn’t need to be humble with the yards he’s been putting up the past two seasons,” Elliot adds. “Seriously, dude, you are fucking killing it.”

I slap him on the shoulder, sighing heavily. “Thanks, man. I feel fucking good, better than I have in my entire career. But until I get that championship ring, it’s not enough.”

When you make it to the NFL, there’s always one goal in mind: make it to the Super Bowl and win. And I have several reasons why I won’t quit until I do.

Elliot pulls a vaguely familiar blonde closer to him, locking his fingers with hers. “You remember Tori from high school, right?”

“Yeah,” I answer not too convincingly, holding my hand out to shake hers. “Nice to see you.”