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“How very noble of you,” she grumbled.
“Don’t you want the same?” he pried.
She glared at him. “Excuse me?”
“You care deeply about this vineyard and your family, non? You wouldn’t have come home if you didn’t.”
“I came home because I ran out of money.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t believe that?” She guffawed. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“I watched you dip your hands into the soil the second you stepped back on the property,” he recalled. “Then the next morning, bright and early, I saw you tending to the vines. Not just pruning, but literally talking to them. Do you know that you do that? You talk and hum and sing to them while you work?”
“I—well—no.”
“I get it, you’re hurting. I can’t imagine what it’s like coming back after losing your maman.” He brushed a hand against one of the grape leaves, then dropped to his haunches to check one of the clusters. “But after watching you this week, I don’t think money is the reason you’re here. You’re here because this place means everything to you.”
Alana twisted her lips and stepped away from him, staring out at the field. She didn’t want to admit he was right. After all, she did return to the Finger Lakes with a one-way bus ticket purchased with the last few bills she had left. Money was the issue. But that gnawing feeling of being away, of never feeling settled or at home…It was that magnetic force that’d truly brought her right back to where she started. She was scared of it. Scared to experience what would inevitably come from her return. She was the opposite of the soil. Everything she touched withered. The soil brought life. She brought death.
“Alana.”
Her heart stuttered at the sound of her name coming from his mouth. She glanced up at him warily.
“This place means everything to me too.” He licked his lips. “Please don’t take that away from me.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. This man was already too close. Too close to the family, and clearly too close to the truth. How could he possibly love this place when he had no idea about the magic beneath their feet? Would he still love it if he knew, or would he ruin it for them?
“Promise me something,” she replied. She stared into those piercing blue eyes, the rest of his face shadowed from the sun behind him.
He nodded, and his sheer lack of hesitation frightened her.
“Promise me you’ll always love all of it.” She twisted to face him squarely. “The good, the bad, the ugly. Everything about this place. My father clearly sees you as one of his own. So promise me you’ll love this place like we do, and hold its secrets close, no matter the cost.”
He cocked his head, seeming confused. “Sure, okay.”
“Sure isn’t good enough.”
“Yes, I promise.”
Alana held up a pinky. “Swear it.”
He peered at her hand, hesitating.
She wiggled her pinky. “It’s a pinky promise.”
“I know what a pinky promise is.”
“You seemed confused there for a minute, winemaker.”
“I’m confused why you would choose a pinky promise instead of a handshake.”
“Because I’ve never broken a pinky promise.” She shook her head. “Not once.”
“Really? Not once?”
“Never. Pinky promises are sacred.” She wiggled it again. “Swear it.”
