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She sighed and resolved to ignore him, continuing her work. Otto did say he wanted to keep this man around. He has become family. But if he neglected the vines and found ways to shortcut the process, even if the soil did a lot of the work, Alana would put a stop to it.

She felt a sharp pinch between her thumb and forefinger. She hissed and dropped the tool, leaning back and inspecting the damage. No cut, but a deep red spot was there, and an impending blister would likely form. “I should go get some work gloves.”

Leo reached into his back pocket, then tossed a pair to the ground. “Here, use mine. I have an extra set in the shed.”

She eyed him warily. “Um, thanks.”

He nodded stiffly. “I can start down by the Riesling and work my way up, until we meet in the middle.”

She slipped the gloves on. “Yeah, sure. That works. We might not finish today though.”

“Good thing we have tomorrow.”

It wasn’t the most profound sentence, but for some reason, it made her pause. Good thing we have tomorrow. Leo had said it in passing, almost as if it weren’t a big deal. But it felt like a big deal to her. Emotion welled up in her throat.

“Y-yeah,” she finally choked out. “Good thing.”

He tilted his head a fraction, surveying her. Then he twisted on his heel and left her alone in the dirt.

It was three o’clock by the time her father forced her to stop working and eat something. Alana sat on the top step of the patio next to a half-eaten chicken salad sandwich, cigarette in hand. She watched Leo across the field, flinging a branch down the slope for his dog to run after. The dog seemed rather sweet and a tad hyperactive; he sprinted out the door when Leo let him out around noon, coming right up to Alana and licking her face. Leo whistled in the distance and the dog loyally obeyed.

Occasionally her eyes flitted to the two-story Victorian across the street, sitting at the top of the hill. She had ignored it the past couple days on purpose, doing her best to fix the fissures she made in her own family’s home before making her way to another. But the house remained dark and quiet. No lights, no cars, no signs of life. Bushes of wild swamp rose mallows lined the perimeter of the house, still in bloom. She and Tess used to pick handfuls of those bright-pink flowers, making bouquets for their moms and braiding crowns for their hair. But there was no sign of Tess now. She wondered if Tess even lived in Brent anymore.

“That’s disgusting.”

Alana shifted in her seat as Freya clomped down the stairs. She was wearing tight capri slacks and a pale pink blazer, with sensible one-inch black heels.

She smirked at her sister. “Are we talking about your outfit or⁠—?”

Freya’s cheeks burned red. “No, the fact that you’re smoking.”

“Ah.” Alana examined the cigarette pinched between her pointer and middle finger. She took a drag, then puffed in Freya’s direction.

Freya stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Ack,” she spat, then made her way to her car.

She jumped up and ran after her. “Freya, wait.”

Freya held up a hand. “I can’t handle you right now. I have a meeting I need to focus on.”

“Come on, you have to talk to me at some point.”

“No, I actually don’t.”

That irritation flared up in her chest again. Feeling vindictive, she smirked. “Meeting, huh? Who are you meeting with?”

Freya’s cheeks flashed the color of her blazer as she opened the passenger door and tossed her bag onto the seat.

“Or maybe it’s not a meeting.” Alana leaned on the driver’s side, blocking her sister’s entrance. “You would dress up like that for a date.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you sit around and talk about all your assets and investments? Negotiate a good business deal?”

“Get out of my way.”

“I’m kind of surprised.” She pointed her thumb behind her, down the slope. “Didn’t work out with the winemaker, huh?”

Freya stared at her with a blank expression, then a beat later, she burst out in hysterical laughter.