Page 4

I have to calm my mind, so I can focus on the road and not crash. I shift my thoughts to Rick—the stepfather who raised me with my mom after my parents fell apart. He’s predictable and the man I could see walking me down the aisle someday. He had no children of his own, but he welcomed me with open arms when he didn’t need to.

As I continue down the two-lane highway looking for a place to pull over, I smile to myself as I think of him. Rick came into our lives when I was in elementary school, and my mom was struggling as a single parent. Both financially and emotionally, though she never let me feel it. Nor did she ever ask my rich dad for extra help. Rick inherited a stepdaughter on the verge of puberty, but he was the anchor we needed. I’ll never forget Saturday afternoons spent at arcades with him and stopping for sodas and tater tots whenever he got out of work early and picked me up from school.

I don’t have those kinds of memories with my actual dad.

When I turned eight, I told my mom I never wanted to spend another school break with him, and she respected that. I don’t think Dad minded either. I only saw him after that for one Christmas during middle school, my sixteenth birthday, and then my high school graduation.

But I have a new degree now and no student debt because of him. He figures as long as he gives me money, he has a big enough presence, and I have no reason to bitch. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Oh, thank God.

I exhale a deep, centering breath. A family-owned winery with open gates ahead. That should be a safe enough place to ask for directions. I turn off the highway to nowhere through the parted metal gates. The vineyard is beautiful, with a sizable pond just off the main driveway, surrounded by rows of grapevines and green lawns.

Opposite the rows of grapevines, I spot a tall, dark-haired man standing by what looks like an office building with a red-tile roof and cream-stucco exterior. With tattooed sleeves framed by a short-sleeved polo, he doesn’t give off an approachable vibe, but he notices my car before I can turn back. I set my Camry in park and cut the engine to save the small amount of gas I have left.

“Hi, I’m lost,” I say, brushing my hair behind my ear.

He looks me up and down, and I wish I were wearing more. I always wear running shorts and a tank top, even in the mild California winter. It left me tanned and freckled, but when I’m not lost in Napa, I’m usually running—one of the few methods that soothes my constantly racing mind.

I look up at his face. His tattoos creep up his neck, stopping at his jawline. I don’t miss the black gauges in his ears either.

Maybe this wasn’t a safe place to stop.

But damn, he’s fucking hot. I never liked long hair on a man, but he pulls the man-bun off like he set the trend. His face is tan, and I imagine the rest of his skin would be if it weren’t already decorated in varying designs. Even his hands are covered.

Ouchie.

His incredibly dark eyes meet mine, and something in my stomach dips.

“Hmm,” he breathes.

“Um, this is my first time in Napa. I’m just trying to find my dad’s house, but I missed a turn somewhere. And my phone’s dead.”

“Where does he live?” the tall, tattooed god asks.

Hercules!

That’s who he reminds me of, just modern. Like Hercules had a tattoo artist on speed dial and wore black denim.

My eyes widen as I snap back to reality. “Um, the street had the word Valley in it, I think.”

He blinks at me. “Fuck, that narrows it down.”

I must look like a foolish damsel in distress to him. He’s older, probably in his thirties, and I check his hand for a ring before I can help myself. He has a couple of silver rings on, but none on the important finger, and the silver-and-gold watch on his wrist catches the sunlight. My dad always wore the same brand, too.

“His name is Charlie Vaughn. Do you know him?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Napa’s not that small, but I can try Googling him?” His voice lifts as he reaches back for his pocket.

I rub my arm. If only I had a smooth way of grabbing a t-shirt from my suitcase. Not that I want to hide myself from him. I didn’t miss the way he undressed me with his eyes when he first saw me. “Okay, I’d appreciate it. It’s Charles,” I add as he holds his phone. “I’m Tilly, by the way. I just drove here from Sacramento.”

“So, your name isn’t Lost?” he teases, and a giggle instantly escapes from my lips.

“No, but I’m bad at directions.” I watch as he types on his phone. “My parents are divorced. My dad moved here a few years ago from LA. He used to start companies and sell them. He had a huge buyout right when I graduated high school, and he retired here.”

Stop giving this stranger your life story, Tilly!

But I feel the urge to fill the silence with something. It doesn’t help that I drank a Red Bull on the way here. I was supposed to avoid caffeine, but I was never great at listening to my doctor.