Page 30

“In your house,” he replied. “Your dad likes having him as company.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“I bring him over on Sabbath. I think it distracts him from missing her so much.”

Alana’s mouth twisted back into a frown. Her mother had given up many of her traditions from her Orthodox Jewish upbringing, but she’d kept the Sabbath. She liked having a single day that was meant for rest and not work. It was the one day they left the fields alone. They didn’t open up the vineyard to guests and host tours. They made sure all the animals had enough food the night before. Typically Sabbath was on a Saturday, but Sunday made more sense for their business. Saturday was too lucrative. But Sunday was easier to let go of, and it made gathering around the table for dinner far more special. The perfect way to start the week.

But Alana wasn’t at the table. She was here, ignoring everyone, and failing miserably all over again. How dare this man come up to her like this and invade her peace. How dare he remind her of her mother on a day that was so sacred to their family. How dare he⁠—

She groaned and closed her eyes. “God, I need a cigarette.”

His chuckle was low. “Having a hard time?”

“‘Having a hard time?’” She mocked in a high-pitched tone. She shook her head. “Sorry. Yeah. It’s bad. I want to throttle everyone.”

“Here.” He held up his arm in front of her. “Would punching me make you feel better?”

“That sounds like an employer lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Really. I don’t mind.”

“Really. I don’t like lawyers.”

He chuckled again as he lowered his arm. “You need to find a hobby. Something you can turn to when you get the urge to smoke.”

“Like what?”

“You could get a dog.” He ran a hand through his hair. “That’s what I did.”

She sat up. “You smoked?”

“Of course. I’m from France.”

“Right. How long has it been for you?”

“Seven years.”

She groaned loudly. “I can’t even survive half a day.”

“You will. One minute and one hour at a time.”

She twisted her head to get a better look at him. Despite their predicament—the potential that they could lose the vineyard, that he could lose his job—Leo seemed calm. He concentrated on the sky above, his body relaxed, like he was always meant to be here.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Why here? Why Marien?”

He scratched his beard. “A friend of mine is a wine rep in the city, and he told me about this famous small vineyard looking to hire. Your father and sister wanted to interview in person, and when I arrived, I never left.” He cocked his head, rolling it in the grass to look at me. “Well, I had to grab the rest of my stuff, but you know what I mean.”

“Dad says you moved to the city because of a relationship,” she said bluntly.

Leo nodded, unbothered by her prying. “I met her in France. We dated for four years, but it fell apart.”

Is this his big story? Alana thought back to what her father had alluded to, about Leo’s difficult past and how he was seeking refuge from it. She could understand that feeling, that longing to want safety in a world that felt uncertain and vulnerable. She swallowed, not wanting to push it too hard but curious enough to see where their conversation would lead. “I’m sorry,” she replied softly.

He shrugged. “It was okay. She and I didn’t have the same goals.”