I'm done for. Completely, hopelessly done for.
We crest a hill and the view spreads out below us, immediately familiar. Recognition hits me like a wave because we've been here before, and as we wind down the narrow road I know exactly where we are.
"Alex…" I say quietly, my voice catching.
The French restaurant.
The one where we came on our mini getaway, the one that felt like stepping into my grandmother's kitchen, into every good memory I have of learning to cook before it became about pressure and perfection and my father's approval. The building appears as we round the final curve, and it looks exactly as wonderful as I remember.
Stone walls weathered by decades, shutters painted that blue-grey, flower boxes still overflowing with late-season blooms. The property hugs a hillside with vineyards stretching out behind it, the whole place radiating a warmth and charm that makes you want to stay forever.
He pulls up the gravel drive, stones crunching under the tires, and puts the car in park. He doesn't say anything, just looks over at me and smiles, gesturing for me to get out.
I step out of the car in a daze, my legs slightly unsteady, and Ijust stand there looking at the building. The fig tree is still there, the one that reminded me so powerfully of my grandmother's garden in France. Its branches spread wide and generous, leaves rustling in the breeze, and looking at it feels like a hello from her across the years, like a sign sayingthis is the right place, the right choice, the right life.
Alex comes to stand beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touch, and we both look up at the tree together.
"Your new restaurant," he says quietly.
I turn to stare at him, my brain refusing to process the words, refusing to make them mean what they seem to mean. "What are you talking about?"
He shrugs. "I knew I didn't want to take your father's deal. Losing you would never be worth any amount of money, and I didn't want his money for myself anyway. But then it occurred to me that I could use it foryouinstead, and I thought this might be perfect. I thought maybe this could be your place. Your restaurant. Your dream, not his."
He watches my face carefully, and I realize I'm crying. Tears are forming and spilling over before I can stop them, my throat tight with too much emotion to speak.
"It's…" I'm completely lost for words, overwhelmed by the enormity of what he's saying, what he's done, what this means. "How did you make this happen? They told us they were retiring, that they were closing. How did you?—"
"The paperwork isn't signed yet," he says, and there's a careful note in his voice. "These things take time, plus I wanted to make sure it's actually whatyouwant. Otherwise I'll just give you the money for whatever your real dream is, wherever you want to go, whatever you want to build. But I knew you loved this place, so I called them right after your father made his offer. The owners remembered us, said they'd thought about us a few times after we left, hoping we'd come back before they closed and put the place on the market."
He pauses, his eyes searching my face. "They're ready to retire. They've been looking for the right people to hand it to, people who'll love it the way they have, who'll respect what they built here. And when I called and told them you were interested, that you might want to continue the tradition they started… they said yes. Said they'd been hoping for someone like you or me."
I feel more tears spilling down my cheeks, my chest so full it feels like it might crack open. "You bought the restaurant for me? With my father's money?"
He laughs, reaching up to brush tears off my cheek, his touch gentle. "Your father is finally helping his daughter follow her dreams. Just not the dream he had in mind."
I laugh through my tears, the sound coming out wet and slightly hysterical. "You beat Jean-Pierre Beaumont at his own game?"
"Well, like you said, this kind of money is nothing to him, right?" His grin is pure mischief now, unrepentant. "So I didn't feeltoobad about taking it. And besides, the contract was very specific. It says that if I use the money to start my own restaurant, then I have to stay away from you. But I'mnotstarting my own restaurant. I'm buying youyours. Technically, I'm not violating anything. He should have been more precise with his language."
I try to take it all in, the happiness building in my chest like a physical force, spreading through me like sunlight. Alex didn't leave. He took my father's money and turned it into my freedom. This place that I fell in love with, that I was devastated to learn was closing, will be mine. Will be ours. Will be exactly what I've been wanting without even knowing how to ask for it.
He looks at me, his expression softening, hope and vulnerability showing through the confidence. "Do you like it? Is this what you want? Because if it's not, we can do something else.This is your dream, Isabelle. Not mine. Not your father's. Yours."
I let out a huge smile, the kind that takes over your whole face, that makes your cheeks hurt. "Alex, Iloveit. I love it so much I don't even have words."
I throw my arms around him, laughing and crying at the same time, tears streaming down my face as pure joy floods through every part of me. He catches me easily, spinning me once before setting me down, his arms tight around my waist, solid and real and here.
I pull back just enough to look up at him, my hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my palms, steady and strong. "So we run it together, right? Our own place here in Napa, moving here full time, doing this together? Building something that's ours?"
He laughs, the sound rich and warm and full of affection. "Only if you want me. I mean it. It's yours. I can stay in Dark River with Harbor & Ash if that's what you'd prefer, come visit on weekends, support you however makes sense. Whatever you want, whatever makes you happy. This is your dream, Isabelle. I'm just making it possible."
I reach up and cup his face in my hands, looking at him with everything I feel written all over my face—the love, the gratitude, the overwhelming joy. "Don't you dare. You better stay right here with me. I don't want to do this without you. I don't want to do anything without you."
He looks down at me with all the tenderness in the world, his eyes soft and bright and full of so much love it makes my breath catch, and he smiles in that way that makes my heart turn over in my chest.
"As you wish, my love," he says quietly. "As you wish."
He leans down and kisses me, his mouth warm and sure against mine, and I kiss him back with everything I have. The sun is setting behind us, painting the sky in shades of gold androse and deep purple, the fig tree rustling overhead in the evening breeze, and I can smell earth and grapes and the faint herb-scent of the garden that my grandmother would have loved, that she would have recognized as home.