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Harry’s eyes softened, and Rowan was certain she saw a tiny upward twitch of his lips. She’d give anything to see his smile again.
“Until Frankie and Temperance’s friendship, the only kind of love I’d ever known was from Edie. Spending time outside with her was the light of my entire existence, Harry.That,to me, was love. I’d never known healthy romantic love.” She took a step toward him. “So, every time I told you the scientific name of a plant, or taught you how to work the vines, or introduced you to a toad, or tried to get you to soften a bit toward spiders—I was showing you how I feel. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. It’s the only love language I ever knew.”
Harry squeezed the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes. A tear slipped free.
“Rosie,that’s what Edie called me. Remember?”
He sniffed. “Yes.”
“She used to say—nicknames are the name your heart chose for someone. And when you call a person by that name, you’re telling them, ‘I love you.’”
A pause, then a stark laugh. He shook his head and looked down at his feet, nudging the grass around. “You wouldn’t call me Harry.”
Say it, Rowan.
“Harry.”Rowan said his name deliberately, like a caress, an invocation. She waited until he raised his eyes to look at her. “I love you.”
The words landed gently, quietly between them. Harry blew a hot breath through tight lips, hard and fast, like she’d just hit him with her car.
Finally,finally—he came close. The dock creaked under his feet as he stepped back onto it. A constellation of emotionshone in his eyes. His hair was wind tossed, and Rowan tenderly tucked a few fallen locks back from his forehead.
“You taught me how to fall in love,” Rowan murmured. “And I showed you how to fall out of it.”
“Sure about that?” Harry nodded at the dried daisy in her hand. One petal left. Calm settled on them both like morning fog in the vineyard.
“You told me once you knew plants better than you knew people. What’s this last petal telling you, Dr. McKinnon?”
She felt like a star about to go supernova, seconds from shattering into a billion points of light. “I don’t remember this from any botany textbooks.” Her laugh was wavery. Hopeful.
Harry smiled gently and took the pathetic flower out of her hand. He plucked off the final parchment-like petal, and the night wind lifted it right into Rowan’s curls.
“He loves you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Rowan
Rowan always loved spring, when the botanical world reawakened. This year, when April’s flourish swept the landscape, she saw the world as not only a botanist, but as a woman in love.
After she and Harry reconciled in September, he returned to Los Angeles to tell Dr. Sinclair Berry once again he’d be leaving her practice. She’d taken the news with grace and humor, telling him she would absolutelynotbe holding his position at her practice open this time, and if he ever came back to California, he’d better have Rowan with him so she could meet her.
Rowan finished the fall semester at her adjunct teaching position in Philadelphia. In December, she presented Nate with a résumé for the Brady vineyard and future winery’s principal viticulturist position. It was a purely symbolic gesture, but she insisted on making a formal declaration of intent to the Bradys, and an acknowledgment to herself that this was the official direction of her career. The work she did there was a beautiful fusion of her rigorous education, the precious bright points of her past with Edie, and the love she had for the land she’d come to know so well.
And Harry.Harry.
It was a life she’d never given herself the space to even dream of.
Beginning in January, Rowan audited an enology course at Linden Community College to learn more about the science of wine making. None of her fellow students knew she had a Ph.D. in botany. It was an energizing joy for her, a veteran academic getting to learn new things alongside fresh-faced youths who were just beginning their educational journeys.
The winery construction was in progress, starting with a complete gutting of the bank barn. It would have a fully equipped lab in the lower level where she’d get to dive into the chemistry of crafting wine. Gia even planned to take Rowan with her to Spain sometime that year—they’d spend a few weeks at the Vega winery as an intensive workshop with her sister Renata.
Care of the vineyards would remain under Rowan’s direction. Next month, the empty section of the Cabernet Franc block would be replanted with healthy new vines. A new vineyard was in early planning stages for white Albariño grapes, which would be imported as cuttings from Vega Vineyards. The climate and soil in Galicia were remarkably similar to the conditions in Vesper Valley. It was an exciting opportunity for the Bradys, since Albariño wine wasn’t yet a common offering in the States. It would set them apart from other boutique wineries.
Harry was doing part-time on-call work at one of the Philadelphia hospitals. Four months of long commutes each day had begun to wear on him. They were living together in the carriage house, but Rowan knew a change was coming—Harry would eventually get a full-time job. Likely in the city. Linden was a lovely community, and a reasonable midway point between the farm and Philly, but even so, the thought of not living there made her sad.
It wasn’t the land itself she’d finally put her roots into, though. It was Harry she’d tethered to.Hewas her home.
After a lifetime of fearing attachment, now that Rowan had given over to real love, she reveled in it. Binged on it, devouredit. She wanted to experience every nuance, every morsel, scrap, and atom. She was all in. She wanted to marry Harry Brady.
