Page 3

The screen door swung open once more.

The three of them turned their attention to Freya as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her expression unreadable and cold. Her sister’s hair was much shorter, cropped just above the shoulder, the front strands tied up in a small bun at the top of her head. She wore the same clothes, the ones that signaled she’d spent the day in the field. Jeans. Boots. Forest-green tank top with the Marien logo on the back.

There was no running for Freya. No warm welcome.

Alana had expected as much.

“Otto.”

They turned their attention to the winemaker standing a few feet away.

“Ah, Leo, yes!” Her father threw his arm around Alana’s shoulder. “This is Alana, our oldest.”

Leo’s eyes widened, realization dawning. Then his features cooled and he nodded to her. “Nice to meet you.”

Alana cocked her head. “For now, that is.”

Sophie slapped Alana’s arm with the back of her hand. “Lana, be nice.”

She ignored her sister and turned to face her father, narrowing her eyes.

The corners of his mouth curled in amusement. How she had missed that crooked smile. “We needed the hands, darling.”

She knew he was right. Without her mother, without her…Otto Marien was useless in the vineyard.

I wonder how much he knows. She eyed Leo, his lean build towering over them.

Sophie snatched her hand and tugged. “Come on. We’re grilling and I need help shucking the corn.”

She grinned. “Be careful. My hands are covered in dirt.”

Sophie knocked her head side to side. Even at eighteen, there was so much of that little girl still in her. It made Alana bubble with pride. “God made dirt,” her sister singsonged.

She recalled her mom’s favorite saying and laughed. “And dirt don’t hurt.”

Otto snatched Alana’s duffel. “Will you be joining us for dinner, Leo?”

Leo hesitated, taking in the three of them. Then his eyes flicked up to the house and, likely, the person on the patio. “I think I’m going to stay in tonight. But thank you for offering.”

“Anytime, my boy.” Otto beamed, then offered his arm to Alana.

She took it. “Thank you.”

“Welcome home, darling.”

2

“Tell me about the winemaker.”

Otto hesitated at the stove where he’d been brushing the tops of homemade dinner rolls with honey butter. She was patient. Alana knew she had trust to earn back, and she couldn’t get angry at the way the rest of the Marien family had functioned after her mother’s death, and subsequently, her disappearance. She wanted to get angry though. Bringing an outsider into their family trade seemed like the worst idea possible.

“He’s kind. Very knowledgeable,” Otto started, nimbly placing the empty butter bowl and pastry brush in the sink. “He helped us finish harvest that summer, then moved from the city and stepped into the role pretty much immediately. Freya drew up a contract and said it was best if I hired him once fermentation was finished.”

White-hot anger flared in her chest, but she wrestled it into submission. She didn’t have a right to an opinion, especially when she’d been the one to put them in that position. “Is Freya making all of the business decisions now?”

Otto shook his head. “I am still the one in charge. But she has taken on more responsibility. She’s made it clear to me her hope is to take this over someday.”

Alana gazed up the stairs where her sister escaped to once they all entered the house. Freya had yet to come downstairs. “I didn’t know she cared enough to want it.”