No One Gets Me Like You

Chapter 1

Kortnie

The gravel crunches beneath my heels as I step out of the car, a sound too familiar, too steeped in memory. The late afternoon sun stretches long shadows across the vineyard, casting golden light over rows of vines that seem untouched by time. But I know better. Everything here has changed.

Including me.

The scent of ripened grapes and fresh earth fills my lungs, and for a split second, I let myself savor it. The air is different here—cleaner, richer, tinged with the faintest whisper of nostalgia. I grew up with this smell, spent my childhood running through these rows, pressing my small fingers into the soil, learning how to tell the difference between a good grape and a bad one before I could even spell the word "sommelier."

But I didn’t come back for sentimentality.

I square my shoulders, adjusting the strap of my leather tote before turning toward the estate house. It looms in front of me, all polished wood and stone, a place that once held every one of my dreams. Now, it’s just a job. A consulting gig. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Then I see him.

Rex Montgomery stands at the top of the porch steps, hands in his pockets, watching me like I’m something fragile. A ghost from his past that he’s not sure how to handle. His dark hair is shorter than I remember, his jaw sharper beneath the light stubble dusting his skin. He wears a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, a reminder of the man who used to work these fields alongside me, before ambition pulled him somewhere I couldn’t follow.

Before he broke my heart.

I force my expression into something unreadable, something polished and professional. "Rex."

His lips twitch, like he isn’t sure if he should smile or brace for impact. "Kortnie. You made it."

"Obviously." I climb the steps, keeping my stride measured, my face neutral. I refuse to let him see that my pulse is hammering, that just standing this close to him stirs something warm and dangerous inside me.

He exhales, a soft laugh escaping him. "Still got that sharp tongue, I see."

"Still stating the obvious, I see," I shoot back, adjusting my bag.

His smile—damn him—grows, slow and knowing, the kind that used to unravel me when we were younger. But I’m not that girl anymore.

"Come inside," he says after a beat, stepping back to let me pass.

The moment I cross the threshold, it hits me—hard. The scent of aged oak barrels, fresh lavender from the garden just outside, the faintest hint of wine lingering in the air. This place, this house, still remembers me. I swallow against the knot tightening in my throat and keep moving, past the foyer, past the sunlit hall that leads to the tasting room.

"I appreciate you coming," Rex says, closing the door behind us.

I glance at him. "I didn’t come for you."

He flinches—just a flicker, but I catch it before he schools his expression into something unreadable. Good. He should feel that sting.

"You came for the vineyard," he says after a pause, nodding like he accepts that answer. "Then let’s talk about it."

I nod, relieved that we’re cutting straight to business. "What exactly are you looking for with this project? I read through the initial reports, but if you want my help, I need to know the real situation."

Rex leans against the edge of the wooden table in the center of the room, crossing his arms over his chest. "We’re expanding the label. Trying to elevate the brand, refine the quality. The vineyard’s strong, but we both know that’s not enough in today’s market."

I press my lips together, nodding. He’s right. It’s not enough to have good wine anymore. You need a story, a soul, a reason for people to reach for your bottle over a hundred others on the shelf.

"And you need me because…" I let the sentence hang.

"Because you’re the best." The words leave his mouth so easily, so confidently, that I almost forget how much he once undervalued what I brought to the table. Almost.

I exhale, folding my arms across my chest. "I don’t know if I should be flattered or suspicious."

He studies me, his gaze steady, unreadable. "Can’t it be both?"

It’s been years since we’ve spoken like this, since we’ve stood in the same space, since we’ve felt—whatever this is—tugging between us.

I clear my throat, breaking the moment before it can turn into something dangerous. "Alright," I say, forcing a cool tone. "I’ll assess the vineyard properly tomorrow. I’ll need to go through the current stock, test the varietals, and check the soil conditions before I give my recommendations."

Rex nods, pushing off the table. "Sounds good."

I turn to leave, but before I can reach the door, he speaks again.

"Kortnie."

Something in his voice—something rough, uncertain—stops me.

I glance back, keeping my face neutral. "What?"

His jaw tenses, his fingers flexing at his sides. For a moment, I think he’s about to say something real, something that might shatter the delicate boundary I’m trying so hard to hold.

But then he just shakes his head. "Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow."

I don’t let myself hesitate. I just turn and walk out, back into the warm evening air, my heart pounding harder than I’d like to admit.

Tomorrow.

I tell myself this is just business. That this is just a vineyard, just a job.

But as I breathe in the vines, the memories pressing in on all sides, I know I’m lying.

And Rex Montgomery?

He knows it too.