Page 31 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner (Angel’s Peak #6)

Around us, the celebration continues, but in our secluded corner beneath the roses, we might as well be alone on the mountain. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the garden, painting everything in gold and amber.

"Why?" I press when he doesn't elaborate.

"Because I wanted to understand what you're going back to." His voice remains controlled, but I catch the undercurrent of emotion beneath the surface. "What's waiting for you there that's worth walking away from what's happening here."

"I have responsibilities." The blunt assessment steals my breath.

"To everyone but yourself," he counters. "That's what I've been trying to figure out—whether your professional identity is so tied to that specific position that you can't imagine alternatives."

"What alternatives?" I ask, a defensive edge creeping into my voice. "Angel's Peak doesn't exactly have a thriving wine industry consulting market."

"No, but Denver does. So does Boulder." He steps closer, invading my carefully maintained space. "San Francisco has satellite offices. Video conferences. Consulting arrangements. There are ways to build bridges between our worlds if you want to."

"You make it sound simple. "

"It's not. It's probably going to be complicated and messy and take a lot of work." His expression softens slightly. "A total pain in the ass, but the question is whether what's developing between us is worth exploring those complications."

"We've known each other for less than a week." My heart hammers against my ribs.

"And yet I feel like I know you better than people I've spent years with.

" He reaches for my hand, his touch tentative in a way I've never seen from him.

"I know how you take your coffee. What makes you laugh.

How your voice changes when you're talking about something that matters to you versus something you think should matter. "

He's right, and it terrifies me. The intimacy we've built in such a short time defies rational explanation.

"What are you suggesting?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not asking you to abandon your career or move to Angel's Peak based on a few days together." His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. "What I'm asking is that you don’t dismiss possibilities before we can explore them."

"Such as?"

"Such as you return to San Francisco, handle your immediate professional concerns, and we find ways to continue whatever this is.

" He gestures between us. "Weekend visits.

Meeting in Denver. Finding professional reasons to maintain contact while we figure out if this.

.." he pauses, searching for words. "If this connection is something worth restructuring our lives around. It’s something I’m not willing to give up on.

Not without a fight. My question is whether you feel the same? "

The proposal is both more reasonable and more frightening than I expected. Not a dramatic ultimatum but an invitation to keep a door open rather than slamming it shut.

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then we'll know we tried," he says. "Instead of walking away because we were both too cautious or too proud to acknowledge what's happening here."

"And what is happening here?" I challenge, needing him to be the one to define it.

He holds my gaze, unflinching. "I think we're two people who've spent years hiding behind our respective walls—you behind your professional achievements, me behind my isolation—and somehow found a connection neither of us was looking for or was prepared to handle."

The assessment is devastatingly accurate.

"It's too fast," I say, but the protest sounds hollow even to my ears.

"That's just an excuse to avoid making a choice." Frustration edges his voice. "Fast or slow doesn't change what's real. I think this is real. Definitely fast, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to watch you walk away from me."

My phone vibrates in my pocket—probably Catherine checking on my flight arrangements. The intrusion of the outside world breaks the moment.

"I can't afford to wait while opportunities slip away," I respond, my professional fears surfacing. "Davis is systematically undermining everything I've built. If I don't get back there, fight for my position?—"

"Then what?" Dominic challenges. "You'll lose the job that doesn't value you enough to recognize your contributions? That allows someone else to claim credit for your work? What exactly are you rushing back to save?"

The question lands like a bomb because it articulates doubts I've been suppressing. What am I fighting for? A diminished position in a company that's already demonstrated it doesn't value me?

"My career is more than this one position," I say, with more conviction than I feel. "The connections I've built and the reputation I’ve established have value beyond this specific job." The moment the words fall from my mouth, they sound more like excuses than reasons.

"And you can't maintain those from anywhere but San Francisco?" His voice softens slightly, an edge of pleading entering his tone. "There are other possibilities worth exploring that might allow you to have both a career and... whatever might develop between us."

"Dominic, I—" The vulnerability in this question nearly breaks my resolve. "The truth is I’m scared."

"How?" His expression shifts, surprise replacing frustration.

"Davis and I were involved in what I thought was a serious relationship, before he started undermining me professionally.

I trusted him, and he used everything he knew about me to systematically dismantle the career I'd built.

What if—" I swallow hard, forcing myself to articulate the fear I've been avoiding.

"What if I risk everything for this connection between us, and end up with nothing?

No career, no relationship, nothing to show for taking the chance? "

"You're protecting yourself." Understanding dawns in his eyes.

"I have to," I whisper. Then, gathering courage, I add, "I know that sounds selfish and makes it seem like I don't believe in us, but Dominic—it's been days.

" I run a hand through my hair, struggling to make him understand.

"No matter how intense this connection feels, no matter how real, that's not enough time to base major life decisions on. I can't... it's too much to ask."

I search his face, desperate for him to understand. "It's not that I don't feel something profound happening between us. It's that I'm terrified of letting those feelings override common sense. Again."

Dominic is silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is gentle in a way I haven't heard before. "I get it. I do." He takes a deep breath. "I'm not asking you to throw away your career based on a few days with me. That would be insane."

His thumb brushes across my knuckles. "I'm just asking you not to slam the door shut without seeing if there might be a way to keep it open while you handle what you need to in San Francisco.

" He glances toward the vineyard visible in the distance, his expression softening.

"I understand not being able to pick up and leave.

I'm tied to Silverleaf, to my vines. They need me here, especially now at this critical stage in establishing the vineyard. "

His gaze returns to mine, clear and direct. "Your reasons for going back to San Francisco are no less valid than my reasons for staying here. I respect that. I just think there might be a middle path, if we're both willing to look for it."

The reasonable response nearly undoes me. I expected arguments, pressure, even anger—not this quiet acceptance of my fears.

Sheriff Donovan suddenly calls Dominic's name.

Dominic closes his eyes briefly, visibly struggling to shift focus. "We're not finished with this conversation," he says quietly.

Sheriff Donovan’s expression is grave. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got an emergency at The Haven. Pipe burst in the main water line, flooding the wine cellar. Hunter said you have equipment that might help save their stock before it's completely damaged."

"I'll get my equipment and meet you there." Dominic's professional concern immediately overrides our personal conflict. "You don't have to come. It's going to be a long night."

"I'm a wine professional," I remind him. "This is literally what I'm trained for." And besides, if this is our last day together, I want to be with him.

We drive back to Silverleaf to grab Dominic’s specialized gear and then head to The Haven in silence, each lost in our thoughts. The emergency provides a temporary escape from confronting the deeper conflicts we've exposed.

Hours later, after helping salvage what we can of The Haven's collection, I return to Silverleaf alone—Dominic remaining behind to assist with emergency storage solutions.

In the quiet of his house, I book a flight to San Francisco for tomorrow afternoon, pack my belongings, and prepare the contract documentation I'll present to Catherine.

Each action feels simultaneously right and wrong, necessary and devastating. I can't silence Mabel's words echoing in my mind: "Then you'll return to your carefully planned life and always wonder what might have been."

I'm running away—not just returning to my career but fleeing the intensity of what’s developed between us, the possibilities it represents, and the risks it entails.

The question that haunts me as dawn breaks over the mountains isn't whether I'm making the right choice in returning to San Francisco. It's whether I'm making this choice for the right reasons—out of professional commitment, or out of fear of the unknown, uncharted territory Dominic represents.

I have no answer, only the certainty that in a few hours, I'll board a plane that will carry me away from this mountain and the man who has, against all logic and expectation, claimed a piece of my heart I'm not sure I'll ever fully recover.