“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”
She stared at me for several seconds, then rose up on her toes and kissed me. It was soft and tentative, like she was testing whether I might disappear if she pushed too hard.
I kissed her back, keeping it gentle even though every instinct screamed at me to deepen it, to take more, to show her exactly how much I meant what I’d said. But Bit’s warning replayed in my head.Let her set the pace.
She broke the kiss. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
“You’re not a mess.”
“I am. I’m scared and confused, and I don’t know what I’m doing with any of this.”
“None of that makes you a mess. It makes you human.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t know what I’m doing either. I’m figuring it out as I go too.”
“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
“Only because I’m sure about you.”
She laughed, watery and rough. “That makes one of us.”
“Finish eating,” I said, guiding her back to her chair. “Then dance with me.”
“What?”
“Dance with me. We found the formula today. We’re starting the harvest tomorrow or the next day. We’re going to make this wine, and it’s going to be incredible. So tonight, just for a little while, let yourself celebrate that.”
She looked at me like I’d suggested we fly to the moon. “I don’t think I remember how to celebrate.”
“Then, I’ll remind you.”
Our conversation shifted to lighter topics as we finished our meal. She asked about my brothers, about the rodeo circuit, about stupid things Kick and I had done as kids. I asked how her parents were, and we laughed when she reminded me about the time she tried to convince her dad to let her get a horse and ended up with a barn cat instead.
By the time we’d eaten every bite of food and drained the bottle of Pinot, some of the tension had eased from her shoulders.
I stood and held out my hand. “Come here.”
She let me help her to her feet, and I led her to the open space between the table and the doors. No music played, just the sound of crickets and the rustle of wind outside the solid rock walls of the room. I gathered her close to me, one hand at her waist and the other clasping hers against my chest.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” she murmured.
“Good thing I’m not.”
“I hate to think how you got so good at it.”
“My ma. She taught every single one of us, even Alex. I grew up two-steppin’ in our kitchen.”
I swayed, slow and easy, keeping her near enough that I could feel every inhale and exhale. She rested her head against my chest, and I pressed my cheek to the top of her hair.
She hadn’t asked, but this was exactly what I wanted. Saffron Hope in my arms, every day for the rest of my life. It felt so right. Like this was where I was supposed to be. That she completed me. If only she’d let me all the way in.
We moved in small circles, neither of us talking, both of us wrapped in this moment that felt stolen from time. Her body fit against mine like it had been designed for it. Her hand gripped my good shoulder, and her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt. Mine splayed across her lower back, holding her steady.
After a while, she lifted her head and looked up at me. Her eyes were darker in the candlelight, and I could feel her pulse quicken where my thumb rested against her wrist.
“Snapper,” she whispered.
I kissed her. Not like the desperate, consuming kiss in her kitchen. This one was slower, deeper, a question instead of a demand. I stopped moving and cupped her face with both hands, tasting the wine on her lips, hearing her whimpers of desire.
