Worship And Other Love Rituals

Chapter 16

I squinted through the tears stinging my face. I was barely able to see three feet in front of me as I ran blindly down the street. I had no care in the world. My knuckles were white from clenching my fists so tight, my nails were digging crescents into the flesh. All I could think about was getting home to Leo as quickly as possible. I just wanted to bury my face in his little chest and forget everything. The betrayal was playing on repeat in my mind.

I heard the roar of an engine before I saw the flash of red in my peripheral vision. Instinctively, I leaped to the side just in time to avoid being flattened on the road. The sports car fishtailed to a screeching halt, tires protesting against the slick asphalt with a high-pitched squeal. For a moment, all I could do was stand there, chest heaving, as rainwater dripped from the tip of my nose. My adrenaline was high. That had been too close a call.

The driver's side door swung open. It revealed a silver-haired man emerging from the luxurious red interior like a Bond villain. He was tall and imposingly well-dressed despite the downpour, clad in a handsome tweed jacket and a button-down shirt. Water beaded on his brow as his eyes scanned me with equal parts of concern and curiosity.

"You alright there, young lady?" he called out, voice projecting effortlessly over the din of the storm.

"Uh, yeah," I stammered, wiping my face with a sleeve that was already soaked through. "Just...lost my way in the downpour."

I nodded mutely. I was too shaken to form a coherent response at that very momemt. My eyes went to the sports car—a classic cherry red Porsche. The kind of vehicle you'd expect to see gracing the cover of Car and Driver magazine, not parked in front of a vineyard on a country road.

He chuckled, a warm sound like crackling firewood. "Seems like the whole town's been lost its way today. What's with the tears, sweetheart?"

"It's nothing," I mumbled, looking down at the puddle forming at my feet. "Just a bad day."

He squinted at me, his eyes narrowing. "Bad days deserve a good dose of wine... wouldn't you say? And it appears you're standing right across the street from the source." He gestured vaguely with a hand towards a sprawling building nestled amongst rolling vineyards in the distance. My breath hitched.

"You wouldn't be..." I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Skylar Cole?" he replied with a wink.

"Skylar Cole," the man repeated, extending a large hand. His grip was surprisingly firm. "I couldn't live with myself if I hit someone on these country roads. Though clearly this beast has more power than its driver bargained for in these conditions." He patted the hood affectionately.

I blinked, suddenly placing him. Those piercing green eyes and strong jawline were unmistakable even with white hair replacing the dirty blond I remembered from photographs. There was no denying it—I was face to face with Ethan's father, none other than Skylar Cole himself, owner and vintner of Cole Vineyard. The famous winemaker was even taller and more distinguished in person, practically glowing with that easy charisma you only get from immense success and self-assurance.

An awkward pause followed as I struggled to collect myself, unsure of how much to reveal about why I was crying alone in a rainstorm. The melodramatic part of me wanted to spill my guts, lay bare the betrayal and heartbreak in all its sordid detail just to punish Ethan, even if only vicariously through his father. But I doubted Skylar would appreciate an impromptu therapy session on the side of the road.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Well, I don't mean to pry, but it looks to me like whatever's troubling you could use some wine to wash it down. As luck would have it, we're having our annual harvest party at the vineyard—you're welcome to join. It might do you some good to get out of this storm for a little revelry."