“No.” I held up a hand. “You listen. I appreciate that you found it. I appreciate that your family agreed to help. But I can’t—I won’t—destroy something this important on the chance that maybe it’ll give us what we need.”
“Even if it could save you?”
His statement hung in the air between us, heavy with implication.
My throat closed. “What do you mean?”
He searched my face. “I know something’s wrong. Something big. And you won’t tell me what it is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” He took another step closer. “I’ve known you too long. I can see it in your face, in the way you can barely hold it together. The desperation. The fear. Dammit, Saffron, why won’t you just tell me?”
“There’s nothing?—”
“Stop lying to me!” His frustration nearly undid me. “YouknowI’ll help. But you have to fucking trust me.”
Tears burned behind my eyes and I shook my head.
“Why can’t you tell me?”
Because you’ll offer money. Because my father will refuse. Because you’ll leave anyway, and I’ll be left with nothing but a broken heart and a foreclosed winery.
Because Isabel was right—I’m just convenient.
“Saffron.” He stepped close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his body. “Talk to me.Please.”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
His hand came up, cupping my face with a gentleness that made everything inside me crack. “Why won’t you let me in?”
“Because—” I couldn’t continue.
His thumb caught a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “What are you afraid of?”
“That you’ll leave. That I don’t matter.” It all poured out of me, years of frustration and longing spilling over. “I’m convenient. Available. And?—”
His other hand came up to frame my face. “You think that’s all you are to me? Convenient?”
“Aren’t I?”
“No.” His tone was fierce. “You’re not convenient. You’ve never been convenient. You’ve been—” He stopped, and his eyes searched mine. “You’ve been the one person I couldn’t stop thinking about. The one person I looked forward to seeing everytime I came home. The reason I started coming home more often even when I didn’t need to.”
“Snapper—”
“How can you not know how I feel about you?” The question came out raw and honest. “I care about you. Not because you’re convenient or available or any of that bullshit. Because you’re you. Because you’re smart and stubborn and you call me out on my shit. Because you make me want to be a better man. Because when you smile at me, really smile, it feels like the warmest sun is shining on me.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I could do was stare at him as what he’d said rewrote everything I thought I knew.
“I’m done keeping my distance,” he continued. “Done waiting for you to catch up. So I’m telling you now—you matter to me. More than you know.”
“I don’t—I can’t?—”
He shifted closer, his forehead nearly touching mine. “Tell me you don’t feel it too. Tell me I’m alone in this, and I’ll back off. But if there’s any chance you feel even a fraction of what I do?—”
I kissed him.
Or he kissed me.
