Page 68
She nodded. “You used a very important word when you described the vineyard that day.”
He tilted his head.
“Magical.”
She watched his face intently as he processed. “Magical,” he repeated.
She nodded again.
“How so?”
“The soil,” she explained. She let out a heavy sigh, giving in to it. “We’re not sure if there’s even a word for it, but my grandfather discovered it when he planted our vines and began making wine.”
“What does the soil do?”
“It…provides luck.”
He squinted his eyes. “Luck,” he repeated.
She shimmied out of his arms and sat up, tucking the duvet around her chest. “I knew you would think I was crazy.”
Leo grabbed her legs and pulled her body flush against his again. “I never said you were crazy. I’m trying to understand what you mean. Especially if you’re telling me the soil I’ve been working with for three summers has magical capabilities.” He kissed her shoulder. “Don’t run. Talk to me.”
She relaxed at his touch, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “The magic doesn’t make everything perfect, but it does make everyday things go really, really well. Whether it’s something growing in the soil or something we consume from it, things run smoothly. It’s like having the best day ever, when everything goes exactly the way you want.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Can you give me an example?”
She glanced around his bedroom, then through the open door to the main room of the shed. “How many times have you and Bear tracked dirt into this house?”
He groaned. “Plenty.”
“And how many times did it attract bugs or other types of small critters?”
His forehead crinkled as he thought about it.
“Didn’t realize that until now, huh?”
He peered at her. “What else?”
“The tea that Sophie makes, it never goes cold. Or the bees that feed on the nectar from flowers in the field, they never sting.”
She saw his brain working in real time, slowly piecing things together.
“A bottle that falls to the floor, but the wine remains still in the neck and never spills.”
His eyes went wide, recalling that early day in the tasting room together. He had called it lucky.
“Or the fact that harvest is always on—”
“September sixth.” His face lit up with understanding. He sat up as he processed, turning to face her. “And when you drink the wine?”
She nodded. “You’re blessed with luck. For a few hours, you’re blessed to have a night where everything goes smoothly. Where nothing bad could happen.” She pointed to her lips. “There’s a small tingle at the center of your tongue when you first take a sip. Have you ever noticed that?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But I thought it was our fruit, giving off some kind of natural effervescence.”
She shook her head. “It is natural, but not in the way you would expect.”
He scanned her face, then looked out to his kitchen and the bottles of Marien on the table. “The logo…it has a ladybug in the corner.” He pointed to the window. “And the ladybug, on the sign for the vineyard.”
