I fake my shock. “Wait? It’s not?”
“It’s dirty, sweaty, gritty…”
I interrupt him before he makes me trip over myself. “Stop. Are you trying to turn me on or make me think of the gridiron?”
He snorts. “Neither. Just telling you what we do here is rougher than any NFL practice I’ve ever endured.”
“That’s because you have more endurance than the average player.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Troy stops dead in his tracks. His eyes roam my face for a long moment. I can’t seem to look away. Finally, he picks up his explanation. “Harvest is the time that tries our sanity.”
Trying to get us back on an even keel, I joke, “For a moment, I thought you were about to quote Thomas Paine.”
He bumps into me gently. “We start before dawn?—”
I nudge him back. “We?”
“Listen, there’s no job on this property I won’t ask someone to do that I, myself, haven’t done.”
“That’s…” My words falter for a moment when his hand grazes mine as we approach the villa.
“What?”
“Impressive.” I glance down at his hand and that’s when I notice his fingers have a dark reddish hue in places.
He takes note of where my eyes are and displays them. “Some of this year’s harvest. It’s not forgiving.”
What in life is? I think sourly. But then Troy wipes every thought from my mind with his next words: “Harvest is pure agony. You scream to the heavens—sometimes with your head, sometimes with your heart. But over time, the pain subsides. Your efforts have built new strength in your muscles. The blues and purples piling up aren’t your bruises but the payoff of your efforts over the long summer months. The sweat and storms you suffered and prayed through.” He looks up the hill, eyes unfocused. “It’s about knowing you’re a part of something that began because you had enough faith to give it a chance.”
Before I have a chance to react, his phone rings. Troy pulls it out and answers it, “Ciao, mamma. Tutto bene?” There’s a pause before he excuses himself. “I have to speak with my family. I’ll see you at dinner?”
“Absolutely. Thanks for the tour.”
Troy winks at me before he heads toward his office, speaking in rapid Italian.
It isn’t until after I’m back in my room looking at the pictures from today, I remember the heart is a muscle. The question is whether mine is ready for any sort of workout?
16
GO ROUTE: RECEIVER SPRINTS STRAIGHT DOWNFIELD.
My girls are at work when I try to call them, but the texts fly back and forth once I summarize what almost happened at the castle ruins.
Emery:
And you didn’t kiss him, why?
Me:
Because I was engaged up until a few months ago?
Christin:
Was. Was and to a douche.
Me:
Fair point.
