Green eyes widening in surprise. The soft catch of her breath. The way she'd tasted, sweet and warm, before she'd pulled away?—
He swung the hoe harder than necessary. A clump of dirt exploded against the nearest vine post.
"Easy," he muttered to himself. "Damage the grapes and you'll really have something to sulk about."
*Three days.*
Three days since the wine tasting. Three days since he'd walked her home through streets painted gold by the setting sun, three days since he'd made her roses bloom and watched her face transform with wonder, three days since she'd flinched away from his touch like he'd burned her.
Three days of nothing.
No calls. No visits. Not even a text about festival planning, though they had a committee meeting scheduled for next week and plenty to discuss. She'd even had someone else pick up her car.
He'd thought about reaching out. He'd picked up his phone a dozen times, typed out messages and deleted them, composed casual invitations that all felt desperately uncasual when he read them back.
*Hey, want to grab coffee and talk about tent rentals?*
Delete.
*Thought you might want to see the vineyard in daylight.*
Delete.
*I haven't stopped thinking about you since you walked away.*
Delete, delete, delete.
In the end, he'd done nothing. She'd made her position clear when she'd flinched away from him. A gentleman would respect that. He was trying very hard to be a gentleman.
It was killing him.
*Dig. Pull. Toss. Move.*
The morning sun climbed higher, shifting from warm to genuinely hot. His muscles burned pleasantly as he worked his way down the row, losing himself in the simple satisfaction of cultivation. These vines were his legacy, or would be, someday. Every bottle that came from this soil would trace back here, to this land he'd poured himself into.
Most days, that thought brought him peace. Today, it just reminded him how empty the tasting room had felt since she'd left. He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the click of heels on the gravel path.
Almost.
"Well, well." The voice was honeyed and deliberate, pitched to carry. "I heard rumors about vineyard workers, but I assumed they were exaggerations."
He carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression as he straightened and turned around.
Rachel stood at the edge of the row, her designer heels sinking slightly into the soft earth. She wore a cream-colored sundress that probably came from the small boutique she owned, the kind of garment designed to look effortless while requiring enormous effort. Her blonde hair was swept into an artfully messy updo, and her lips were painted a shade of red that seemed aggressive in the morning light.
She was looking at his bare chest like she'd ordered it from a menu.
"Rachel." He kept his voice pleasant. Distant. "This is unexpected."
"Is it?" She slowly picked her way closer, like a lioness stalking her prey. "I thought I'd stop by and see how preparations for the festival are coming along. As a concerned member of the Chamber of Commerce."
"At ten in the morning. On a Wednesday."
"I'm very dedicated."
He leaned on the hoe handle, letting his silence speak for itself, but her smile didn't waver. If anything, it sharpened.
"Don't be like that, Thallos. I'm simply trying to be neighborly." Her gaze dropped to his chest again, lingering on the sheen of sweat there. "Though I have to say, if I'd known the view was this good, I'd have stopped by sooner."
