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“I only speak the truth.”

Alana sighed. “No, I’m more worried about how much money you just spent on me.”

“You’re really worried about fifty bucks? That’s silly. You can make that in less than a day working the fields.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t asked Papa for a dime.”

Sophie hesitated. “You’re not getting paid?”

It was part of the deal of staying and working at the farm. Otto offered each of them what his father had when he turned eighteen: move out to go to college, work a job, or stay and work at Marien. After graduating high school, Alana chose to stay. Her starting pay was minimum wage, but that didn’t bother her. Her expenses were low. She didn’t have to pay rent, but she was expected to pitch in for groceries and house supplies. Eventually there was room to grow and make more, and Alana began earning a decent amount. She hadn’t expected that same salary when she returned, and now with the vineyard’s future up in the air, she wasn’t sure if she was going to ask her father for money at all.

“No, and I won’t bring it up, especially now,” she replied. “We need the money for something else.”

“Yes, but you need money to survive.” Sophie’s face fell. “Don’t you want more? A house of your own? A family some day?”

She dug her nails into her thighs. “I don’t think I deserve any of that,” she replied quietly.

“Lana, that’s ridiculous⁠—”

“Hey there.”

Alana’s stomach dropped at the sound of that voice. She blinked up at Chris hovering above their table. His hands were in his pockets and he was smiling, but his body language told a different story. He looked tense. Nervous.

She sat there, frozen. Eventually she caught herself and jumped up, bumping her chair with the backs of her legs. It toppled over with a loud smack.

“Hi, sorry, oh god.” She picked up the chair, then rounded it and held out an arm. “Hi.”

Chris smiled and accepted the hug. His arm was firm around her body, his fingers clutched in a fist. The feel of his strength and warmth brought her right back to the last time he held her, in a hospital hallway lit with too-bright fluorescent lights. She promised she would be right back. She lied.

Chris let her go and patted her arm. “Hi.”

“It’s—uh—good to see you.”

His smile seemed sad. “You as well. I’m glad you’re home safe.”

She twisted her lips, then smiled. “Me too.”

Sophie remained seated, her elbows perched on the table, head cradled in her hands. She was glowing.

Alana narrowed her eyes, picking up on what was happening. She took in Chris’s appearance, noticing he was using that same White Tail Brewing tote bag from the market yesterday.

She put it together quickly. “Do you work here?”

He grinned. “Yeah. I’m one of the brewers.” He pointed to her drink. “What do you think of the saison?”

“Ridiculously fruity.”

“In a good way, or⁠—?”

“A little too much strawberry,” she bluntly replied. “It needs something else to balance it out.”

He tilted his head. “Like?”

“Acid.” She held up a finger. “Lemon, orange, grapefruit⁠—”

Chris smirked. “Still an acid head, I see.”

Alana huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Yes, well, it does help to balance out a drink. Try it and thank me later.”