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Alana groaned, pulling her legs under her where she sat on Sophie’s bed. “All we’re doing in that video is working in the vineyard.”

“And sneaking glances at one another,” Sophie added. “And helping each other out without having to even share a word. And arguing about grape clusters.” Her smirk was just as menacing as Tess’s.

Alana covered her face with her hands.

“This doesn’t seem like a bad thing,” Leo added.

Alana peered at him between two fingers. “Are you kidding me? The internet thinks we are an item.”

“No. The internet thinks we are flirting.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with a little innocent flirting.”

“Is this the moment you explain to me how the French love to flirt?”

The left corner of his mouth twitched. “Oui.”

“Innocent or not, it’s bringing in a lot of engagement.” Sophie pulled up a browser on her laptop, then held it out for them to see. “We’ve already raised five thousand dollars.”

“Are you serious?” Alana gawped, snatching the laptop to get a closer look. It was true. Their GoFundMe page had raised just over five grand. She quickly did the math in her head. If they made enough videos like this one, then maybe…just maybe…

“What else do you need from us?” Leo asked Sophie.

Sophie lifted a conspiratorial brow. “Keep pretending like you can stand each other. I’ll handle the rest.”

Alana locked eyes with Leo from across the room. His smirk melted into a shy smile, and something inside of her softened. It wasn’t much—Sophie wasn’t asking them to fake some kind of relationship and act like a couple. She was merely telling them to keep being themselves. Whatever chemistry the internet believed to be there was likely due to a good camera angle and expert storytelling.

Later, as she stepped into the fields to start her work for the day, she couldn’t ignore the small snag in her chest every time she glanced at Leo across the vines, or the way he kept sneaking glances himself. Once, when she snuck a glance, she found he was already looking in her direction. She could feel her heart pick up speed, the thud, thud, thud in her ears blocking out any other sound. Her thighs grew heavy under his gaze and a heat far different than the blazing mid-August sun began to build between her legs.

She realized then that she’d been lying to herself. There was chemistry between them, something that felt more than friends, something that sparked the moment she dug her hands back in her family’s dirt. But it was safer for her to ignore. Safer for her to pretend like it didn’t exist at all.

Between Tess showing up, learning about the viral video, and hours of backbreaking work in the vineyard, it had officially been one of the most exhausting days of Alana’s life. Her knees were cut up and bruised from kneeling in the dirt, her muscles sore from inspecting the clusters as they finished veraison. They were three weeks out from harvest, which was no time at all. Five thousand dollars raised felt like a miracle, but seventy-five thousand? Her earlier hope was fading fast. Maybe she needed to think of a backup plan for her family if they couldn’t pay the Kasners in time. Maybe she needed a backup plan for herself.

Restless and unable to fall asleep, she threw her covers and slid out of bed. She cracked her neck, her ache for a cigarette almost blinding. She hated how reliant the last three years had made her. She’d picked up her first pack after Courtney died. It was a sick way to remember her, the sweet smell of second-hand smoke somehow a comfort. She hadn’t even finished that first pack; the habit had formed years later at some bus stop between Indiana and Iowa, she couldn’t remember where or when. But the rest of that first pack had sat untouched, likely still hidden in her sock drawer.

She ripped it open and rummaged through the mismatched pairs, growing more irritated with each second. There was no way Sophie had found it. How would she even know it existed?

After tossing fistfuls of socks to the floor, she eventually found it. A box of Camels, with one empty slot.

She groaned, tucking the pack and a lighter in her sweatshirt pocket. She carefully opened her bedroom door and tiptoed down the stairs. Everything was dark except for the dim glow of a single lamp in the living room.

Otto was asleep on his lounger, one of his favorite Western novels propped on his belly. A line of drool dribbled down his cheek.

Alana nimbly moved the book, then covered him with one of the afghans her mother had loved to crochet. They were all over the house, little reminders of the woman who never stopped. She’d loved to work in the fields and loved creating with her hands. Afghans were her favorite, always made with warm colors mixed with her favorite cobalt blue.

She used the corner of her sweatshirt sleeve to wipe away his drool. When that didn’t rouse him, she kissed him softly on the cheek.

He snorted, then smiled, then fell back asleep.

It was a balmier night. Most nights by the lake were a reprieve from the hotter summer days, the soft winds that helped cool the grapes a key component for a longer growing season and exceptional wine. But even the soil couldn’t stop the effects of climate change. The days and the nights were getting warmer and warmer with each summer season. She wondered if eventually their harvest date would have to change, growing unpredictable like the surrounding of the vineyards who constantly played that guessing game. How soon was too soon to pick? Would the grapes get enough time on the vine to create that perfect balance of sugar, acid, and flavor? Or would cooler climate regions cease to exist as they knew it?

She rubbed her forehead. Just another thing to add to her laundry list of worries. She’d spent enough of her life worrying. Worrying about her mom, Courtney, Tess, her sisters, her father, her failing relationship with Chris, this farm. She was so tired of worrying. She’d thought she could run from it, escape all of the things that weighed on her day in and day out. But running only put those problems on pause. They would always be here, whether she liked it or not.

Alana peered up at the house, wondering if she was too close to light up. She didn’t want Sophie or Freya to witness her failure. She put on her hood and made her way across the field and down toward the lake. When she passed the guest shed, there was a light still on in the kitchen. Curious, she peered in.

Leo was standing at the small kitchen island, a crease in his brow and a frown on his face. In front of him were four bottles of red wine and four glasses.

Unable to stop herself, Alana leaned over and lightly rapped on the glass.

His head popped up. The crease in his brow smoothed when he saw it was her. He raised a hand and motioned for her to come in.