The stalks didn’t answer, but I hadn’t expected them to. I’d been talking to these plants since I was old enough to walk their rows with my father. He used to say that vines could sense intention, that they knew when they were loved and tended with care versus when they were just a crop to be harvested and sold.
I hoped he was right. I hoped these grapes understood what was riding on them.
I spent an hour checking the fruit for any signs of disease or stress. Everything looked good. Healthy. Ready. Then I headed to the winery building to look over our equipment—the bins we’d need for handpicking, the small sorting table we rarely used anymore, the bins that would carry what we picked to Los Caballeros for processing.
My phone rang just as I was coming back outside. Felicity’s name lit up the screen.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” I asked.
“Still pregnant. Still huge. But good.”
“Any signs of labor?”
“Not yet. The doctor says it could still be another few days.” She paused. “Bored now that the harvest is over?”
Bored? “I have plenty of work to keep up with until Dad gets back.”
“I swear, one of these years, you should make Snapper actually take you on a date.” Felicity’s tone softened. “You’ve basically been running things for years, Saff. Dad could probably retire.”
Had I? It didn’t feel that way. It felt like I’d been scrambling to keep up, patching holes, making do with equipment that should have been replaced a decade ago, stretching every dollar until it screamed. I just hadn’t realized why until last week.
“So listen,” Felicity continued. “I was just thinking about how crazy it is. Wagner and the baby and our winery and this whole life we’ve built—I never dreamed I could be this happy, you know? Like, I didn’t even know this was possible.”
“That’s great, sis. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks, pumpkin.” She paused. “Are you okay? You sound weird.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“You work too hard.”
Rich, coming from my sister who’d helped her husband with their harvest while eight months pregnant. But I didn’t say that.
Instead, I asked a question I knew I shouldn’t. “Is Wagner the only man you’ve ever loved?”
The question hung in the air for several seconds. I almost took it back, almost laughed it off as a joke, but something kept me quiet.
“That’s random,” she muttered.
“I know. Sorry. I just—I was thinking about how you two are so perfect together, and I wondered if you’d ever—” I stopped, unsure how to finish.
“If I’d ever what?”
“If there was anyone else. Before him.”
Another pause, longer this time. “I thought I loved someone once,” she said quietly. “But I really didn’t. It was lust or infatuation or something that wasn’t love. Not like this. Not like what I have with Wagner.” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “Why are we talking about this?”
“No reason. Just curious.”
“Well, stop being curious about my past and start being curious about your future. Speaking of which, any interesting men in your life I should know about?”
Snapper’s face flashed through my mind. His hands on my waist in the kitchen. His mouth on mine. The way he’d looked at me in the caves this morning like I was precious.
“Since Saturday? Fat chance.”
“Liar. I can hear it in your voice. But fine, keep your secrets.” She yawned. “I should go. Mom says I should sleep as much as I can now since once the baby is here, I won’t be able to. Which reminds me, you’re still coming right? I need my sister.”
“You know it. I love you, Felicity.”
