Three dots appeared, disappeared, then his message came through.Come over tonight. I’ll make you dinner, and we can worry about tomorrow together. Or I can distract you from worrying. Your choice.
The tension in my shoulders eased.Is that your way of saying you’re going to seduce me into forgetting my problems?
It’s worked pretty well so far.
I smiled despite the anxiety churning in my stomach.What’s for dinner?
Whatever you want. I’ll even let you have some of my food since you always seem to prefer it over your own.
I do not prefer your food.
Saff, you’ve been reaching across the table since we were twelve. You’re not fooling anyone.
My smile stretched wider.Fine. But only because you’re a better cook than I am.
I never thought you’d admit it.
Don’t let it go to your head.
Too late. See you in an hour?
I’ll be there.
I set the phone down and looked around the office at the dusty filing cabinets full of records going back three generations. Faded photos lined the wall behind me, including one of my grandfather standing proudly beside oak barrels, his smile wide and confident in a way I couldn’t imagine feeling right now. The window looked out over vines my family had tended for decades, and I let myself wonder if we’d still be tending them come spring.
Tomorrow, everything would change. One way or another.
Snapper’s distractionworked exactly as promised. He made pasta with a sauce he’d learned from his mother, poured wine from his family’s cellar, and kept up a steady stream of conversation that kept me distracted. We talked about everything except the tasting, everything except foreclosures and deadlines and all the ways this could go wrong.
After dinner, he led me to his bedroom and took his time undressing me, his hands slow and reverent against my skin. He kissed the worry lines between my brows, the tension knots in my shoulders, and the places where I’d been holding stress without even realizing it. When I finally fell asleep in his arms, I didn’t dream about losing the winery. I dreamed about him.
I drove home the next morning with my body loose and satisfied and my mind clearer than it had been in days. The memory of his mouth on my neck and his whispered promises in the dark kept me calm while I straightened the house and waited for my parents.
By five o’clock, I was pacing in the kitchen, too anxious to sit still.
When their car turned into the driveway, I was out the door and down the steps before they’d even parked. Dad climbed outfirst, looking tired but happy, his shoulders more relaxed than I’d seen them in months. Mom followed, already reaching for me with both arms.
“There’s my girl.” Until she hugged me, I hadn’t realized how much I needed it. “God, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Mom. Both of you.”
Dad wrapped his arms around both of us, and for a moment, we just stood there in the driveway, the three of us together at home for the first time in weeks. The late-afternoon sun was warm on my back, and I let myself sink into the comfort of being held by my parents.
“The place looks good,” Dad said when we broke apart. He glanced around the property with the assessing eye of a man who’d spent his entire life working this land. His gaze moved from the bare vines to the winery building and to the house that had been in our family for generations. “Thanks for managing everything while we were gone. I’m proud of you, honey.”
Guilt twisted in my chest because I hadn’t just been managing the property. I’d been keeping secrets, making plans, betting everything on a whim that might not even work. “Yeah, I’ve been keeping busy. I had help, though.”
My mom’s brow arched. “From Snapper?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Among others.”
My parents exchanged a look that communicated an entire conversation without either of them needing to speak. Dad’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, and Mom’s eyes sparkled with the kind of curiosity that meant she’d be asking more questions later.
“Let’s get your bags inside,” I said quickly, desperate to change the subject.
I busied myself carrying their luggage while they walked through the house, reacquainting themselves with home. My mom ran her hand along the kitchen counter like she wasgreeting an old friend. Dad stood at the window overlooking the vineyard and just breathed for a minute, his shoulders rising and falling with what looked like relief.
I made sandwiches that nobody really ate. We sat around the kitchen table and talked about Beatrice, about Felicity adjusting to motherhood, and Wagner learning to change diapers without gagging. It was a normal conversation that felt anything but because I knew what was coming.
