I wasn’t sure who moved first, only that his mouth was on mine and everything else disappeared.
His lips were warm, firm, and perfect. His fingers weaved into my hair, tilting my head back, deepening the kiss. The other moved to my waist, pulling me closer, and I went willingly, pressing against him like I could melt into his body.
He kissed me like he’d been starving for it. Like I was air and he’d been drowning. His tongue swept into my mouth, and I gasped, the sound swallowed by his lips.
He moved us until my back hit the wall, his body pinning me there. His thigh pushed between mine, and I whimpered into hismouth. The sound seemed to break something in him because his kiss went from desperate to consuming.
His hand slid from my waist to my hip, then lower, gripping my thigh and hitching it up around his waist. The new angle pressed us together more intimately, and I could feel how much he wanted this. Wanted me.
“Saffron.” My name against my mouth was rough and reverent.
I kissed him again, harder, trying to show him with my body what I couldn’t say. That I’d wanted this for so long. That he’d been right—I did feel it too. More than a fraction. All of it.
His mouth moved to my neck, and I tilted my head back, giving him access. His teeth grazed my pulse point, and my nails dug into his shoulders.
“Tell me,” he breathed against my skin. “Tell me you feel this.”
“I feel it.” The admission came out broken. “I feel it so much I can’t breathe.”
His chest heaved against me, both of us breathing hard. “Then, tell me the truth. Tell me what’s really going on. Let me help you.”
His words were like being doused with cold water.
Reality crashed back in. The foreclosure. The fact that wanting him and trusting him were two different things.
“I can’t.”
His expression shifted—hurt, then frustrated, then angry. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it does.” He stepped away, putting space between us that felt like a chasm. “Because I just laid everything out there. Told you how I feel. Kissed you like—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “And you still can’t confide in me.”
“Snapper—”
“No.” He held up a hand. “I get it. You’re scared. Fine. But I can’t—” His jaw clenched. “I can’t do this halfway. I can’t kiss you like that and act like everything’s okay when you can’t even be honest with me.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I don’t know how.”
“Then, figure it out.” He spoke gently but firmly. “Because whatever this is between us—it only works if you talk to me. Not just about the easy stuff, but with the hard stuff too.”
He moved to the counter and carefully wrapped the bottle back in its cloth. Then he looked at me one more time, his eyes holding mine.
“I meant what I said. You matter to me. More than anything or anyone. I meant that. But you have to let me in, Saffron. All the way in. Not just the parts you think are safe.”
Then he was gone.
The door closed behind him, and I slid down the wall. I sat on the kitchen floor, hugging my knees to my chest as sobs wracked my body.
He was right. I knew he was right.
But what Isabel said still echoed in my head. And I didn’t know how to reconcile the man who’d just kissed me like I was precious with the one who supposedly said “fuck ’em and leave ’em.” Not to mention the possibility that I wasn’t the first Hope girl he’d kissed. I shuddered. I couldn’t think about him and my sister now. My focus had to remain on figuring out how to make the wine I prayed would save our family. But I didn’t know how to accept that he’d stay when he never had before.
And I didn’t know how to tell him the truth when admitting it meant showing him just how badly we were failing. How desperate I really was.
My phone buzzed on the counter above me. I reached up blindly, grabbed it, and read Snapper’s message.
I’m not giving up on you. Or us. Or this wine. But you have to meet me halfway. Please. I’ll be there at sunup, and we’ll walk the vineyard.
