I squeezed juice from a berry onto the device’s prism while he held it up to catch the light.
“Twenty-two point three Brix,” he said.
“Another couple of points, and we’re there.” I moved to the next vine, hyperaware of how near he was. Close enough to smell his soap and to see the shadow of stubble along his neck. Close enough to remember exactly how that stubble had felt against my skin when he’d kissed me.
I cleared my throat and focused on the grapes. “These look healthy.”
“Yeah, your dad’s always run a tight ship. Remember when we were kids and he caught us eating grapes straight off the vines?”
“He lectured us for twenty minutes about respecting the harvest.”
“Worth it, though. Those grapes were incredible.” He shot me a sideways glance. “You ate way more than I did.”
“I did not.”
“You had juice running down your chin.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it.”
“Is it?” His grin was wicked. “Because I have a very clear memory of your dad making you write ‘I will not steal grapes’ a hundred times.”
“Fifty times. And you had to do it too.”
“Yeah, but I only wrote it twenty times before he gave up on me.” He reached for another bunch, examining it. “He always liked you better.”
That made me laugh out loud. “God, I would hope so. Although I think he always wanted a boy.”
“Sons-in-law count,” he said with a wink.
The easy banter felt good. Like we could do this—work together, be around each other, behave as though everything hadn’t shifted between us. Until that comment. While I knew what he meant, it only reminded me of what Isabel had said about him and my sister.
We were quiet as we worked through the rest of the block, sampling from different areas. The readings stayed consistent—twenty-two to twenty-three across the board.
“Wednesday or Thursday,” he said. “October fifteenth or sixteenth.”
Even if the baby was born today, my parents wouldn’t be back from Napa by then. It would be at least another week. Maybe two. Plenty of time for us to get what we had here picked and get the maceration started at Los Cab’s facility.
“This could really happen,” I said under my breath.
“Not could,is.” He stepped closer. “You scared?”
“Terrified,” I admitted.
“Of the wine? Or of me?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t know.” I looked away. “Can we just focus on the grapes?”
“Sure.” There was an understanding in the way he said it that made me feel seen. “Ready to check our blocks?”
The driveto Los Caballeros took less than ten minutes. I’d made this trip a thousand times—for family dinners, harvest celebrations, and that time when I was sixteen and Lucia had taught me and Felicity how to make proper tamales. But today, sitting in Snapper’s passenger seat with the memory of what had happened last night burning between us felt awkward.
I’d thought about taking my own vehicle, but when he insisted I ride with him, I decided it would be best not to fight him every step of the way. Now, I wished I was in my own truck, so I could freely have the conversations with myself that I so desperately needed to.
“So. We’re really not going to talk about it?” he asked.
“Talk about what?”
“Saffron.”
