All is forgiven, I wrote back.
Three dots appeared immediately. They disappeared, then appeared again, and I ran out of patience.
I can’t stop thinking about our kiss,I wrote, hitting send before I could talk myself out of it.
This time, the dots were replaced by a message in a matter of seconds.
I can’t stop thinking about it either.
My heart slammed against my ribs.I wish I was still there.
The dots appeared again. This time, they lasted longer, and I could picture her deleting and retyping, trying to figure out what to say and how much to admit.
Finally—I wish you were too.
Then, before I could reply,Good night, Snapper.
I set the phone down, and a stupid smile spread across my face despite everything.
She wanted me. She’d as good as admitted it. All I had to do was figure out how to get her to trust me enough that we wouldn’t start this thing with secrets between us.
I headed to the bedroom, hoping I was relaxed enough now to sleep. Tomorrow, I’d see her at dawn. We’d walk the vineyards together, check the grapes, and make plans for the harvest.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d find a way to break through those walls she kept building between us.
8
SAFFRON
Iarrived at the Zinfandel block just as the sky began lightening from deep purple-gray. The October chill bit at my exposed skin, and I hugged my jacket tighter to my body.
Headlights cut through the dim morning, and Snapper’s SUV rolled to a stop at the edge of the vineyard. I watched him climb out with two travel mugs in hand.
“Morning, Saff.” He held one out as he approached. “Extra cream, extra sugar. The way you like it, even though it’s basically a milkshake.”
I took it. “You drink yours black like a lunatic.”
“I drink mine like someone with functioning taste buds.” He grinned, and just like that, some of the tension eased. This was us. This was normal. Except for the part where I couldn’t stop thinking about his mouth on mine last night.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said.
“How can you tell?”
“I’ve known you since before you convinced yourself you could skateboard down Dead Man’s Hill. What were you? Six? Seven?”
“I made it halfway.”
“You broke your wrist.”
“I would’ve made it all the way if I hadn’t.” I took a sip of coffee to hide my smile. “Should we check the grapes?”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t move immediately. Instead, he stood there, looking at me like he was trying to figure out what I was thinking. Good luck with that—I didn’t even know.
We walked on opposite sides of Zinfandel vines, maintaining a buffer of space that felt both necessary and ridiculous. I took the refractometer out of my pocket, grateful to have something technical to focus on.
“Here.” I handed it to him, then reached for a cluster.
Our fingers touched, and heat shot up my arm. We both pretended it hadn’t happened, but I saw tension ripple across his shoulders.
