He’d gone.
Sophie had watched him go. Felt him go.
It wasn’t just that Nero had walked away. It was as if they were connected by an invisible thread.
She swallowed hard. He hadn’t even said goodbye.
Was she imagining things? Projecting feelings that weren’t shared? Maybe it had been one-sided all along. Her side.
Was that it? She’d latched onto him to try to soothe her pain and then imagined he’d felt something, too. But the look in his eyes… Had she imagined the intensity?
Before she could sink further into the ache of longing blooming in her chest, a young couple approached her stall, all glowing excitement and starry-eyed questions about their wedding menu.
Sophie forced a smile and talked them through flavor pairings and edible petals, offered tips on stabilizing lavender cream on a warm day, and pretended the ache in her chest wasn’t growing stronger by the second.
They asked for a selfie. She obliged, camera-ready, her grin flawless—even though her heart quivered like the panna cotta she was about to demonstrate.
But as she leaned in, the thought blindsided her: I wish I were the one planning a wedding.
Not just any wedding, hers .
And not with Tito.
With Nero .
The realization jolted her, sharp and impossible to ignore.
If she were still in love with Tito, wouldn’t he be the one waiting at the end of that aisle in her mind’s eye?
But when she pictured that moment now, the archway wasn’t draped in showy roses, it was woven with wildflowers and wisteria.
And it was Nero standing there, waiting for her.
The shift in her thoughts had happened so quietly that she hadn’t even noticed.
Tito belonged to her old life. Nero... Nero felt like something entirely different. A spark of possibility.
And that terrified her more than she wanted to admit.
He’d turned everything upside down. Her plans. Her peace. Her heart.
Still, Sophie made it through the rest of the afternoon.
She smiled, she nodded, and when it came time for her demo, she delivered every line with polished ease.
She hit her cues, plated her rose-petal panna cotta with practiced grace, and gave the local press a perfect soundbite: “Love is the sweetest ingredient of all.”
But inside?
She felt like a fraud.
Keep it simple , she’d always told herself. That had been her mantra. The thought that guided her.
But nothing about this felt simple anymore.
Not Nero.
Not her heart.
Not even dessert.
“Sophie.”
She turned to find Finn Thornberg approaching with a charming smile, a bottle of wine, and a bouquet of late-summer flowers.
“From Thornberg Vineyard,” he said.
“You didn’t have to,” Sophie replied, though truthfully, she couldn’t think of anything better than a hot bath and a generous glass of wine.
“I did,” Finn said. “Honestly, I don’t think I expected just how many people would turn up because of you. You’re a star.”
“Oh, I doubt it was because of me,” Sophie said modestly, though it had been busy. And she’d met more fans than she expected.
“You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” Finn said warmly. “Take the credit. You’ve earned it.”
She dropped her gaze, her fingers tightening slightly around the neck of the wine bottle.
“Thank you. Really. I appreciate the invitation. This whole trip... It’s been exactly what I needed,” she said, then bit back the words she wasn’t ready to share.
“There’s something about the mountains, the forests. ..they’re inspiring.”
“They are,” Finn said with a quiet chuckle. “They’ve inspired my family for generations. Hence the vineyard.”
Sophie turned the bottle in her hands, admiring the label—elegant peaks silhouetted against a dusky sky, the lettering etched in gold. The vintage promised notes of blackberry, oak, and “the essence of mountain air after rainfall.” It was romantic. Evocative. Almost magical.
“Would you like to visit the vineyard?” Finn asked.
Sophie’s guard snapped up. Had Nero put him up to this?
“I don’t think I’ll have time,” she said lightly, keeping her tone friendly.
“Pity, my brother’s mate...partner.” He hesitated and then went on. “Cassia is the one who suggested I ask you to come to the expo, and I know she would love to meet you,” Finn replied.
“Oh.” She smiled wistfully. In truth, she would like to see the vineyard.
But it was better to keep her distance. “Another time,” she replied.
“I need to leave tomorrow.” That was not exactly true.
Now, things with Tito had ended. She didn’t need to be anywhere as long as she fulfilled her contract to create the remaining recipes for his book.
But the more distance between her and Nero, the better.
“Well,” Finn said with a hint of disappointment, “it’s an open invitation. Whenever you’re ready.”
Sophie clutched the wine bottle a little tighter, feeling its comforting weight in her hands. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “And thank you for this. I’ll enjoy it tonight.”
“It was good to meet you.” As Finn walked away, Sophie once again found herself wondering if she was making a mistake. The thought of visiting the Thornberg Vineyard stirred something within her.
How would it feel to have that sense of connection? To the land, to the mountains…to a man. She longed to set down roots, make a family… Maybe that was why she’d clung so tightly to Tito for so long. She’d mistaken the hope of belonging for love.
That was why she had to step back now. To stop herself from repeating the same mistake.
And that was what she was in danger of doing. She was trying to mend her broken heart, her broken dreams, by moving on to the next man. Specifically to Nero, who seemed to offer her everything her heart desired.
Listening to him talk about the vineyard and his family’s roots had tapped into her longing.
But before she could move on, she needed to give herself time to heal. Time to process what had happened.
With a sigh, Sophie gathered her things. The expo was winding down, vendors beginning to pack up their displays. Her last demonstration, a lavender honey panna cotta, had gone surprisingly well despite her distracted state, and several couples even requested the recipe for their weddings.
Back in her hotel room, Sophie kicked off her shoes and placed the wine bottle on the small desk by the window.
The bouquet Finn had given her—wildflowers in shades of blue and purple—went into the bathroom glass for now.
She’d ask reception for a vase later, but for now she wanted a nice soak in the tub.
Sophie went to the bathroom and ran the water, pouring in a generous amount of the complimentary bubble bath. Steam rose in fragrant clouds as she uncorked the wine and poured herself a generous glass.
She paused to inhale the wine’s aroma, then took a slow sip. The taste barely registered before an image of Nero filled her mind. In her fantasy, he was stripped bare to the waist, the sun caressing his honey-toned skin, as he worked between rows of lush vines.
“This is ridiculous,” she told herself firmly, taking another sip of wine. “You barely know him.”
Yet something about him had gotten under her skin in a way no one else ever had. Not even Tito, whom she’d dated for nearly a year. How was that possible?
Sophie slipped into the bath, letting the hot water envelop her tired body. She tried to push them aside, but the day’s events circled back over and over… Nero falling at her feet, the ring box, the viral video, his gaze that seemed to see straight through her.
This would not do. Tomorrow, she would leave Bear Creek behind. And somehow pick up the threads of her life.
The warm water lapped at her chin as reality crashed back in. Tomorrow meant returning to the mess waiting for her back home. Tito’s cookbook deadline was looming, and she was still contractually obligated to develop and test his not-so-simple recipes. A bitter irony not lost on her.
Sophie took another long sip of the Thornberg wine. She could already picture Tito’s smug face when she returned, pretending nothing had happened between them. As if finding him with Jules hadn’t shattered everything.
Jules. The thought of her former PA made Sophie’s stomach clench. The woman she’d trusted with everything, her schedule, her home access code, her professional secrets. All the while, Jules had been sleeping with Tito behind her back.
How long had it been going on? Months? The entire time Sophie had been secretly dating Tito?
Sophie closed her eyes as pieces started falling into place.
All those late-night “emergency meetings” Tito had insisted on.
The way he’d been so adamant about keeping their relationship private, claiming it was “better for both their brands.”
And Jules had been there through it all, helping arrange their secret dates, managing Sophie’s calendar to create those private moments. Had she been laughing the entire time? Planning her own rendezvous with Tito the moment Sophie was out of sight?
“God,” Sophie whispered, sliding deeper into the water until it covered her face completely. The muffled silence beneath the surface was a momentary escape from the humiliation burning through her.
When her lungs began to protest, she resurfaced with a gasp, pushing wet hair from her eyes. Water sloshed over the tub’s edge as she sat up suddenly, struck by a realization.
She didn’t have to go back yet.
Sophie reached for her wine glass, mind racing.
There was nothing physically tying her to her apartment right now.
She could work remotely—develop recipes anywhere with a decent kitchen.
Her agent had spent months trying to persuade her to focus on her own cookbook rather than ghostwriting for others.
“I could stay,” she murmured, the idea taking shape. “Right here in Bear Creek.”
She could rent a place for a few weeks. Somewhere quiet, with a good kitchen where she could develop recipes both for Tito’s book and her own.
Her own book. The thought sent a thrill through her that had nothing to do with the wine.
All day, fans approached her, telling her how her recipes had changed their lives and given them confidence in the kitchen.
They weren’t following her because of Tito’s celebrity; they were following her for her approach to food.
A quick glance at her phone told her it was too late to call her agent now. But tomorrow she would run the idea past him. If he okayed it, she would find somewhere with a kitchen and cook to her heart’s content. Cook to forget. Cook to mend her broken heart.
Sophie set her wine glass on the edge of the tub and sank deeper into the bubbles, feeling the first real sense of direction she’d had since walking in on Tito and Jules.
The thought of staying in Bear Creek, surrounded by mountains instead of memories, felt right in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
She would need to find a place to stay—somewhere with more than just this cramped hotel kitchenette. A rental cabin, perhaps? Something rustic but functional, where she could spread out her ingredients and work without interruption.
Though there was one interruption she wouldn’t mind.
And his name was Nero Thornberg.