“We’re here,” he said unnecessarily, as he parked the car in its usual spot next to the hacienda. “I thought it might help calm your nerves if we walk through the vines. But if you would rather, I drove closer to the restaurant…”
“No,” Sophie said, covering his hand with hers as she half-turned to look at him. “A walk is exactly what I need.”
Nero offered his hand, and she took it without hesitation. He led her between two rows of vines that seemed to close in around them, giving them a few minutes of privacy.
“These vines have been here for generations,” Nero said softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. “My grandfather planted some of these rows. Then my parents added more. Then my brother Philip worked on developing grapes with specific traits, specific flavors for his blends.”
Sophie ran her free hand along the rough bark of a vine. “There’s so much history here.”
“And now you’re adding your chapter to it,” he replied.
They walked unhurriedly, savoring the quiet moment before the evening’s festivities.
For Nero, the sensation was surreal, walking this familiar path he’d walked thousands of times, yet everything felt new with Sophie beside him.
Since he’d left to live at The Lookout, his visits to the vineyard centered around family gatherings or wine tastings, but tonight, the focus would be on Sophie’s culinary creations.
Sophie moved nearer, her dress swishing softly around her legs as she leaned against him. Nero slipped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to his side.
“I’m not sure I could have done this without you,” she whispered.
“Yes, you would,” he replied, dropping a kiss on her head, breathing in the scent of her perfume mingled with the vineyard air.
She tilted her face up to his. “Then I should say, I’m glad I am not doing it without you.”
“Me, too,” he said lightly. “Since I have very much enjoyed being a recipe tester.”
Sophie placed her hand on his chest, her eyes sparkling in the fading light. “They do say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
“You were already in my heart before I even tasted your food,” Nero said, stopping for a moment. He drew her close, cupping her face in his hands. “You are going to be fabulous tonight.”
“I am now that I have this.” She closed her fingers around the ruby pendant at her throat.
He leaned down and kissed her lips, tenderly at first, then with growing passion as she responded. The kiss deepened. Their bodies pressed together among the vines that had witnessed generations of Thornberg love stories. Sophie’s arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer still.
After a long moment, she stepped back, her cheeks flushed. “Come on, I have work to do.”
Hand in hand, they continued toward the restaurant. It was a beautiful evening, and the setting sun gave the converted barn a magical feel.
Tonight is going to be perfect, Nero’s bear said.
It sure is. Nero opened the door. Sophie stepped inside first, her hand still clutched tightly in his as her earlier sense of excitement faded into nervous anticipation.
Cassia appeared almost instantly, rushing toward them with wide eyes.
“Oh my goodness,” she began breathlessly. “You’ll never guess what’s happened.”
Nero bristled. His spine stiffened, and his bear surged to attention, instantly alert. The very idea of something ruining Sophie’s evening made his protective instincts flare.
Sophie’s grip tightened on his hand. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice thin with nerves.
“Oh! Nothing’s wrong,” Cassia said quickly, waving her hands.
Relief flickered across Sophie’s face. “Thank goodness.”
Cassia hesitated, then added, “It’s just… Tito Alvarez is here.”
Nero’s bear growled, fury rising at the name.
“He heard about your guest menu,” Cassia continued, “and came to support you.”
“Support me?” Sophie repeated, her voice sharpening with disbelief.
Cassia nodded. “He’s in the kitchen now, talking to Marco.”
He can get out of the kitchen and out of our lives, Nero’s bear snarled.
Nero’s fists clenched involuntarily before he forced them to relax.
Sophie turned to him, her face pale, the glow she’d worn earlier dimmed by dread. “I’ll go talk to him,” she said, her voice steady despite the tightness around her mouth.
But before she could take another step, the kitchen doors swung open.
Tito Alvarez strode into the dining area as if he owned it, his chef whites pristine and prominently emblazoned with his name across the chest in bold thread and a practiced smile that never touched his eyes.
“There’s my little recipe girl!” Tito announced, his voice pitched to carry throughout the restaurant. Several early-arriving diners turned in their seats, recognition dawning on their faces as they recognized the celebrity chef.
Sophie stiffened beside Nero, every inch of her posture turning guarded. “Tito. What are you doing here?”
Break his fingers so he can never cook again, Nero’s bear suggested darkly.
“Saving this little mountain dinner of yours, of course! When I heard about your...” he paused, eyes sweeping dismissively over the carefully arranged tables, “...quaint event, I knew I had to step in.” His gaze swept over Nero dismissively before returning to Sophie.
“I thought you might benefit from a little professional guidance.”
A low growl rumbled in Nero’s chest. His bear was pacing, agitated, just beneath the surface.
“I don’t need your guidance,” Sophie replied, her voice cool and calm. “This is my menu. My vision.”
Tito chuckled, the sound hollow and theatrical. “Oh, come now. We both know your strengths and limitations. I’ve already made a few suggestions for your menu. Nothing drastic, just giving it a bit of polish.” He turned to Cassia. “You do want this evening to be a success, don’t you?”
Cassia opened her mouth to answer and then hesitated. Sophie turned to look at her, and her confidence faltered. She looked beaten, as if she already knew how this would end.
“I do,” Cassia replied as she finally found her voice.
“There, you see?” Tito grinned smugly. “I’m sorry Sophie has embarrassed you and herself.”
“On the contrary,” Cassia said, her voice low with an edge of menace. “The only one embarrassing themselves is you.”
“Me?” Tito took a step back as if Cassia had dealt him a physical blow. Something Nero’s bear would very much like to do.
“Well, turning up unannounced and trying to use Sophie to further your own flagging career is a little embarrassing,” Nero said, realizing the way to hurt this man the most was through punching his ego, not his face.
“My flagging career?” Tito suddenly realized that the few early diners had their phones out, filming the drama he had brought with him to the Thornberg Vineyard.
“Yes.” Sophie squared her shoulders beneath her elegant dress. As she touched her fingers to From Our Heart to Yours, she stepped forward. “I own every recipe I developed in your kitchen. The rose-infused olive oil technique that won you the James Beard nomination? Mine.”
Tito’s expression darkened, but Sophie continued, her voice gaining strength with each word.
“The deconstructed citrus tart that food critics called ‘revolutionary’? I developed that during my culinary school internship three years before I ever met you.” Her gaze remained steady, unwavering.
“The slow-fermented hot sauce that’s now your best-selling product?
My father’s recipe, which I shared with you as a gift. A gift .”
A current of whispers ran through the assembled diners. More phones appeared, recording the confrontation. Nero recognized the shift in energy. Anyone who may have initially been captivated by Tito’s celebrity presence was now firmly on Sophie’s side.
Our magnificent mate, his bear said with unmistakable pride.
“You’re being emotional,” Tito attempted, his smile now strained at the edges. “This isn’t the place to air personal grievances. I’m simply offering to help elevate your…”
“My recipes don’t need elevating,” Sophie interrupted, her voice resonating with newfound authority. “They were good enough for you to claim as your own for years. They’re certainly good enough to stand on their own merit tonight.”
A smattering of applause broke out among the diners. Someone at a nearby table called out, “We came for Sophie’s food, not yours!”
Tito’s face flushed, the practiced charm crumbling to reveal the anger beneath. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped as he revealed his true self. “Your little social media following might be impressed by home-style cooking, but these people paid for a fine dining experience.”
“Actually,” Cassia interjected, “they specifically paid for Sophie Truro’s interpretation of Bear Creek’s local ingredients. It sold out in hours.”
More applause erupted, louder this time, as more diners arrived at the restaurant to witness the scene.
Sophie stood her ground, her expression composed despite the high color in her cheeks. “These are my recipes tonight, Tito. My name. My event.” Her voice carried effortlessly now, reaching every corner of the restaurant. “And everyone here knows it.”
The dining room erupted in supportive applause. Nero saw several diners rise to their feet, adding enthusiastic whistles to the ovation. Even the kitchen staff had emerged to witness the confrontation, their applause particularly vigorous.
Tito stood frozen, his face contorted with humiliation as he scanned the room and found no allies. His gaze hardened as he turned back to Sophie. “You’ll regret this,” he hissed, low enough that only those closest could hear. “One mountain dinner won’t salvage your career when I’m finished.”
“I think the videos currently being uploaded to social media might suggest otherwise,” Nero replied calmly, nodding toward the dozens of phones capturing the moment.
Tito’s composure cracked completely then. “How dare you!”
“No, how dare you?” Sophie retorted.
“I think you have most definitely overstayed your welcome,” Nero said, striding to the door and yanking it open. “Not that you were ever welcome here in the first place.”
“Or ever again,” Cassia called out as Tito stalked away. As he passed Nero, he muttered something under his breath that only Nero could hear—a threat that made Nero’s bear roar with protective fury.
Can I chase him off our land? Nero’s bear asked menacingly, claws itching to emerge.
No, Nero replied firmly. We need to be here for Sophie.
Tito stormed out, the door slamming behind him. A collective exhale seemed to pass through the restaurant, followed by excited murmurs as diners returned to their conversations, now with fresh gossip to dissect.
Nero turned to look at his mate, who stood rooted to the spot, the color draining from her face now that the confrontation was over.
“What have I done?” Sophie asked, her face suddenly pale. Her fingers trembled as they touched the ruby pendant at her throat, as if to draw strength from it.
“You stood up to a bully,” Cassia replied, stepping forward to squeeze Sophie’s arm reassuringly. “And you showed the world who he really is.”
“I had no idea he was so...” Sophie’s voice trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Rude,” Nero said, moving to her side.
“Egotistical,” Cassia added.
“Mean,” Sophie finished quietly.
“I know we could stand here and insult him all night,” Cassia said, switching back to her role as restaurant manager rather than a staunch supporter of a friend in need. “We have a dinner to prepare, and Sophie’s fans are waiting for her culinary magic.”
She ushered the staff back into the kitchen.
Sophie straightened, drawing strength from Cassia’s practical tone. Nero watched with pride as his mate visibly gathered herself, shoulders squaring beneath the elegant blue dress.
Nero wanted to scoop her into his arms and shield her from the world, but she didn’t need shielding. She needed space to breathe in her victory.
Or wallow in it, his bear teased.
Nero chuckled to himself. Or wallow.
“How are things going?” Leanne called as she and Hugo arrived through the side entrance, unaware of the drama that had just unfolded. “Is there anything you need us to do?”
“No,” Nero said, and went to Sophie and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Sophie, has it covered.”
He looked down at her, and her bottom lip trembled. For a moment, he thought she might crumble under the pressure. Then she sucked in a breath and said, “I do.”
Her gaze shifted past Nero, and her expression brightened. “Norman, Hilda, I’m so happy you are here.”
The older couple approached, hand in hand, dressed in their finest for their special night. Norman wore a well-pressed suit with a vintage pocket watch chain visible across his vest. Hilda was resplendent in an emerald-green dress that matched her bracelet.
“Happy anniversary,” Nero said as he went to meet them.
“Thank you, Nero,” Hilda said, giving him a hug. “And thank you for this.” Hilda held out her wrist and showed him the bracelet he’d repaired. The emeralds shone like plump ripe grapes on the vine.
“You are welcome,” Nero said with a smile.
“Happy anniversary,” Sophie said, joining them and presenting a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers and herbs tied with a silk ribbon.
“Thank you, Sophie,” Hilda said, leaning forward to smell the fragrant arrangement. “They are beautiful.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked up. “And so are you.”
Sophie blushed, touching the necklace at her throat. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy your special dinner tonight.”
“We’re looking forward to it,” Norman said, his arm around his wife’s waist. “Fifty years together, and we still love trying new things.”
“Me, too.” She turned to Nero, squeezing his hand. “I need to check on the kitchen. Will you make sure Norman and Hilda get seated?”
“Consider it done,” he replied, brushing a quick kiss against her temple.
As Sophie disappeared through the kitchen doors, Nero felt a surge of pride so intense it nearly overwhelmed him.
His bear rumbled with satisfaction. She stood her ground. She faced her fears. And she conquered them.