Page 3 of Bordeaux Bombshell (Sunshine Cellars #3)

Nate

I can still smell her perfume as I slide into my car.

The scent of her on my fingers is driving me mad, but I refuse to give in to the temptation of smelling them, occupying them with starting the engine instead.

Even though a sliver of my heart still hopes that the orgasms I give her will melt the ice between us one day, I also know she’s stubborn enough to hold this grudge for decades if she wants to. No matter how good I make her feel.

After I left Kel’s place, I expected to find her at home, maybe working.

His fiancée, Maggie, was confident she would be there.

Instead, I sat outside her apartment, in the rain, for over an hour.

I could have moved back to my car, but the weather matched my mood, so I didn’t.

Spent the whole time debating whether confronting her, making her listen to me, was the right thing to do.

Or worrying that she was out on a date and about to bring some dude home.

Was my promise to Kel enough to make me break the rules that have kept us at a standstill for well over a year?

I definitely didn’t mean to trip her and then growl at her while convincing her to accept my help.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

Shifting gears, I reverse out of the parking spot, glancing up in time to see the light flip off in Sydney’s apartment.

Though a faint glow shines from the window I assume is her bedroom.

The holy sanctuary that, according to Kel, she’s declared off-limits to anyone with a penis.

Shaking my head at my stupidity, I crank up the music and prepare for the long drive home.

At least I won’t have to drive in the pitch dark now that it’s April and the sun is finally out longer.

Before I came back, I thought I’d finally gotten Sydney out from under my skin.

I was sure of it back in Bordeaux, convinced I was there to stay.

That France was where I was meant to be, where I was wanted.

I had done my best to move on from her. Almost managed it, too, until a phone call from Kel had me on a plane home.

Then one look at her worried face burned my resolution to stay away to ashes.

I’ve been back for almost two years. Came home like a wounded dog—snapping and snarling at anyone who came close. I would have given anything for Sydney to lay into me, to give me a reason to lash out. To give me a vent for the burning anger that fuels me.

Every time I get close to getting the life I want, someone pulls the rug out from under me.

I waited for Sydney for years, convinced that one day she would finally see me.

Ridge Runner was supposed to be my legacy, and instead, my dad sold it to the Suttons.

France was supposed to be a chance to start over, but Kel dragged me back.

None of it is anyone’s fault, but all of it fuels the lava steaming away in my soul.

I’d come home ready to tear everything apart. Instead, I got saddled with a Kel who is happier than I’ve ever seen, the twin suns of Maggie and Olive singing and dancing around the winery.

But even that isn’t enough to heal the gaping hole ripped in my heart every time I’m reminded that my winery, my home, is no longer mine.

My headlights flash over the familiar fields and livestock on the road out to my home. I can almost bear to call it Sunshine Cellars in my mind, but truly, it will always be Ridge Runner to me. Kel and I will always be the Ridge Runner boys—no matter what some billionaire calls my winery.

It’s late by the time I pull up in front of my house.

The cottage my parents live in is lit up, sitting at the top of the slope.

The empty cabin that used to be Kel, Maggie, and Olive’s has been dark for months now.

Every time I look at it, I miss my best friend, even though it was a relief when he and Maggie bought a house and moved closer to Portland last year.

Besides not being excited about hearing their new baby cry at all hours of the night, seeing Kel have the perfect family I knew he always wanted had cut deep.

I’ve been bleeding out from a thousand tiny cuts ever since I got back.

But now they’re finally getting married, and he asked me to be his best man. After all the work I’ve done to heal the rift I made, there was no way in hell I was going to do anything other than be the best, most supportive best man who has ever existed.

And that means getting Sydney to agree to a truce long enough to get through the wedding festivities. Getting her to forgive me is asking for too much, but a truce? Surely, we’re both adult enough to be civil for a few months.

Like the Bat-Signal, the flash of my headlights draws my dad outside to investigate. “Hey, son.” He waves from his porch. “You had dinner yet? Your mom made tacos.”

I shrug and turn toward their cabin. “If you’re offering me Mom’s tacos over the cold sandwich waiting for me inside, I’ll take it.”

“Jackie,” Dad calls, loud enough to startle me. “Nate’s joining us.”

My mom leans past the kitchen counter to smile at me. “Always happy to feed my boy. Where were you?”

Her smile is finally free of the unspoken hurt that haunted it for the first few months I was back.

We were out clearing a field one day when Kel admitted how sad she’d been while I was gone, and I’ve been doing my best to make up for being the prodigal son ever since.

Guilt for hurting them battles with the anger that still burns in my gut, and I never know which feeling is going to win.

At least every time they offer to feed me, I don’t turn them down anymore. Progress.

“Just out,” I grunt and pull up a chair at the table. The same thing I tell them every time.

Dad knocks the back of my head—not hard enough to hurt, but it’s no gentle tap. He and I are still working out the damage between us. I haven’t forgiven him for selling out my legacy without even asking, and he hasn’t forgiven me for breaking my mom’s heart. “Go help your mother bring food out.”

Instead of sitting, I push the chair in and shuffle to the kitchen. “Hi, Mom.” I lean down to kiss her cheek, and she pushes me toward the sink.

“Wash your hands, then help me carry food out.”

Biting back a remark about being an adult and not a toddler, I comply. The sizzle of meat joins the sound of the running water, and my stomach grumbles.

“How come you guys are eating so late?” I didn’t leave Sydney’s until close to seven, and it’s a good forty-minute drive back to the vineyard.

“Rebecca and Thomas stopped by to talk about the wedding.” Mom hands me a platter overflowing with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and chopped onions.

“You know how your mom and Rebecca are. Once they get started, there’s no stopping them.” Dad is already sitting at the table, napkin tucked into his shirt.

“Oh, stop.” Mom sets her plate down before swatting him. “We’re just excited. Can you blame us? Mother of the groom…” She sighs dreamily before giving me a sideways glance.

I roll my eyes. “What am I, chopped liver?” From the way she’s acting, you’d think Kel was her son instead of me.

Dad elbows me as he reaches for the food. When I look his way, he’s busy concentrating on spooning ground beef into a taco shell, ignoring me.

“I’m just saying, she’s lucky to finally get a chance at it.” Mom pouts a little while scooping sour cream onto her taco. “It’s not like you’re doing anything to change that.”

I push back from the table, the empty taco shell on my plate forgotten. “Not hungry anymore.”

“Nate—”

“I didn’t mean—”

My parents bite off their words when I raise an eyebrow at them, one arm through my coat sleeve already. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad.”

I don’t bother with my hood as I stomp back to my cabin, letting the cold rain run down the back of my neck to cool my temper. Just when I think I’ve made progress, my mom goes and throws my hermitude in my face.

I had friends in France.

Companionship when I needed it.

A life.

A life I gave up because they needed me. Kel needed me. Ridge Runner—no—Sunshine needed me.

The language may have been complicated, but my life in France was simple.

Nothing has been simple since I came back.