Fresh tears blurred my vision as I responded,Okay.
It wasn’t much. But it was all I had to give right now.
Before I could set the phone down, it buzzed again with a text from Felicity.
My back is KILLING me, and I’ve had Braxton Hicks all day. Doctor says could be any day now. You’re coming, right? The second I go into labor?
My stomach twisted.Of course. I promised, didn’t I?
You better. I can’t do this without my sister. Love you!
Love you too, and see you and that little one SOON!
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
What if Felicity went into labor in the next week? What if I had to choose between being there for the birth of my niece or nephew and being here to save our family’s winery?
What if the two most important things in my life happened at the exact same time and I could only choose one?
The thought made me want to throw up.
I opened my calendar app. Felicity’s actual due date was eight days away.
The Zinfandel would be ready in two to three days. The Syrah would follow about a week later, and the Gamay would be last.
If the baby was late, I could make it work. Be at all three harvests and still get to Napa before he or she came.
If she went into labor early—or even on time—I couldn’t finish the thought.
My phone buzzed again with another message from Snapper.
Stop overthinking. You’ll figure it out. You always do. Now GO TO SLEEP.
I smiled through fresh tears and set the phone down again.
But sleep didn’t come for a long time.
7
SNAPPER
Every inch of me ached. Not just my rock-hard cock, but my hands that were no longer on Saffron’s body. My lips and tongue that were starved for her. And my heart, because I wanted her to tell me what I already knew and, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to admit to me. That nearly crushed me. If she didn’t believe in me enough to tell me her family was in trouble, then I couldn’t trust that intimacy between us would matter as much to her as it would to me.
The worst part was knowing she wanted me. The kiss proved that. The way she’d melted against me, the way she’d kissed me back like her life depended on it—that wasn’t fake. But the second I’d asked for truth, for her to let me in past those walls she kept so high, she’d rebuilt them brick by brick right in front of me.
I parked my truck in front of the main house and sat in the darkness while the engine ticked as it cooled. The photo we’d found earlier—the one with Marilyn, Concepción, and the mystery Ellen woman—sat on the passenger seat where I’d tossed it after leaving Saffron’s. I picked it up and viewed it again under the dome light, as if staring at it long enough would revealwho this woman was and what role she’d played in destroying the wine collaboration.
I looked up at the mostly dark windows. Sunday dinner had ended hours ago, and everyone had gone home or to bed. I should do the same. Head to my place in Paso Robles, get some sleep, and figure out what the hell to do tomorrow.
But I couldn’t make myself move. I couldn’t stop tasting her on my lips or feeling the phantom touch of her hands in my hair.
The kitchen light was still on, which surprised me at almost eleven on a Sunday night. I grabbed the photo and went inside.
“Back already?” Tryst asked when I found him sitting at the counter. “I thought you’d be gone longer.” He took one look at my face, and his expression shifted. “What happened?”
“She won’t do it.” I dropped onto the stool across from him. “I showed her the bottle, explained we could have it analyzed and get everything we need. She refused.”
“Because?”
