I quickly explain the purpose—and process—before plugging Casa D’Oro for generously allowing us the off-season experience and directing fans to the vineyard website to get more details.
When I’m done, I turn to my no-longer-a-mystery-guest.
“What do you say, Hunter?” I gesture to the vat of grapes, wishing Miles was here to share this experience. “Are you ready to try your hand—or, rather, your feet—at grape treading?”
“I was born ready.” He rolls his shoulders like he’s about to step into a boxing ring. “Ladies first.”
The phrase echoes through my brain, and I’m reminded of my last night with Miles, when we rode the mechanical bull. Buck Wild isn’t the sort of bar I normally frequent, but even so, it was the best date of my life.
Even if Miles stepped on my toes and damn near threw out his back.
My heart squeezes at the memory.
“Lucy?”
Mierda. This is no time to zone out.
I rally my enthusiasm and smile at the camera. “Let’s do this.”
The instant my feet touch the grapes, they ooze their sweet juice. It’s sticky and squishy and slippery as hell. I nearly lose my balance as Hunter steps into the vat, but he grabs my arm and holds me upright.
“Now we just stomp?” he asks, looking to me for confirmation.
I nod and hold on to his biceps as we tread on the grapes. We laugh and stomp—putting on a good show for our virtual audience—and it’s almost like dancing as we hold on to each other to avoid slipping in the mess.
Despite the squishy, sticky sensation, it really is fun.
Perfect for burning off pent-up frustration.
Like if, say, the man of your dreams breaks your heart.
After about sixty seconds, I’m running out of steam—because I haven’t started my new cardio routine—but Hunter’s still going strong.
There’s probably a stamina joke in there somewhere, and I have no doubt I’ll find it in the comments, but it’s time to wrap up this video before I give myself a cramp.
I turn to the camera and freeze.
Miles stands there in low-slung jeans and a button-down, quietly watching us. His face is carefully neutral, but he can’t hide the dark shadows under his eyes.
From the looks of it, he hasn’t been sleeping.
I know the feeling.
I’ve spent my share of nights tossing and turning, wondering what I could have done differently. Wondering how long this throbbing pain in my chest will last. Wondering if I’ll ever get over him.
And now, here he is.
The urge to run to him, to fling myself into his powerful arms, is nearly impossible to resist. But then I remember his words at the pier. The words that split my heart right down the middle.
I can’t give you more.
Even now, in my memory, they’re a painful reminder of what I’ve lost. Of what we once shared and will never share again.
My pulse thrums at my temple, pounding like a drum. “How did you find me?”
He holds up his phone. “I used the locator app.”
The one he downloaded in case one of us got lost in the woods. I’d completely forgotten about it.
