“Don’t overthink this. You’ve got a tendency to get in your own head and talk yourself out of the good shit.” His expression turned serious. “Don’t let Saffron slip away because you’re too scared to take the shot, Snap.”
I nodded.
“So what will you tell her?” he asked.
“Fuck if I know,” I said honestly.
He squeezed my shoulder. “I wish I could offer words of wisdom.”
“Me too.” But no one could. I just prayed that whatever I came up with, she’d believe.
5
SNAPPER
It was midafternoon but still warm for this time of year as I drove to Saffron’s house. The Hope Family Winery property sat on a hill overlooking the valley. The main house was a sprawling craftsman-style home that had been in her family for three generations. I’d been here dozens of times over the years—for parties, tastings, casual visits. But today felt different. Today, I was bringing her hope.
I parked in the circular driveway and climbed the front steps. Before I could knock, the door swung open.
Saffron stood there in the same jeans and flannel shirt she’d worn at breakfast. Now, though, her hair was up in a ponytail, her makeup was no longer apparent, and her feet were bare. She looked exhausted and beautiful and so damn vulnerable it made my chest ache.
“Snapper. I didn’t expect—did you—” It was as though whatever she wanted to say got stuck in her throat.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course. Sorry.” She stepped to the side to let me pass.
The house was quiet. “Are your parents home?”
“No, they left this morning for Napa with Felicity and Wagner. The baby is due any day now.”
“How long will they be gone?” I asked, relieved I didn’t have to tell her what transpired since we left the diner in front of them.
“No idea.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Why? Did you—did you talk to your brothers and Alex?”
“I did.”
Her face went pale. “And?”
I let myself smile. “They’re in. All of them. We’re doing this, Saffron.”
For a second, she just stared at me. Then her hands flew to her mouth, and tears she tried to blink away filled her eyes. “Really? You’re serious?”
“Completely.” I stepped closer. “Cru confirmed we have the grapes you need. The Syrah will be ready in about a week, the Gamay in two. If your Zinfandel is ready sooner, we can start there.”
“It might be. I haven’t checked since Friday, but—” She broke off, laughing.
I wanted to pull her into my arms, but kept my hands at my sides. “We’ll check all three varietals tomorrow at dawn. Walk your vineyards first, then ours. See what we’re working with.”
“Thank you. I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to thank me. We’re partners, remember? Fifty-fifty.”
She smiled, and it transformed her whole face. “Still, thanks.”
“There is something we could do in the meantime,” I said.
“What’s that?”
