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“How do you know?” he asked, setting down the bushes. He took hers and put it on the ground, as well. “Does your mother live in St. Helena?”
“She grew up here. After high school, she ran away to Los Angeles. That’s where I was . . .” Her face heated, definitely turned red, and he watched it all happen with a small, fascinated smile. “I was conceived there. Apparently. No further details.”
“The vagueness of it all,” he said, echoing her earlier words.
“Yes,” she said on a big breath. “She tried raising me on her own. We came here, from time to time, when she needed to recharge. Or long enough to soften up my grandmother into loaning her some money. Then we’d be off again. But by the time I reached high school, she finally admitted I would be better off here. I still see her every couple of years. And I love her.” Hallie wished she could rub at the discomfort in her throat but didn’t want him interpreting the action. Or chalking it up to pain that had been building over a lifetime. “But it’s complicated.”
A low grunt from Julian. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve given me the CliffsNotes?”
“Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t.” Hallie tried to smile, but it wobbled. “The vagueness of it all,” she tacked on in an almost whisper.
Julian stared at her long enough that she started to fidget.
“What?” she finally prompted.
He shifted, drawing those long fingers through his hair, still sweaty and windswept from his run. “I was thinking, in order to make this an even exchange, maybe I should give you the CliffsNotes version of why the Vos family, or what’s left of it in Napa, is complicated.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Mystified eyes flickered over her face, her hair. “The fact that I’ve completely lost track of time. And I don’t do that. Not around anyone but you, apparently.”
Hallie had no idea how to respond. Could only stand there and savor the information that she made this man forget the most important component of his world. And how . . . that could either be a great thing or literally the worst possible thing.
“Makes me wonder how long you could make me . . .” He dragged that bottom lip through his teeth while seemingly transfixed by the pulse on her neck. “Lose track of time.”
That pulse sped up like a sports car on an open road. “I have no idea,” she murmured.
He took a step closer, then another, a muscle bunching in his cheek. “Hours, Hallie? Days?” A raw sound ground up from his throat, one hand lifting to run a single finger down the side of her neck. “Weeks.”
Do I just jump him now? What was the alternate option? Because her thighs were actually trembling under the onslaught of his full intensity. That exploring gaze. His deep, frustrated tone of voice. Before she could fully convince herself they were talking about the same thing—sex, right?—behind her, a shout went up from the vineyard and they both turned, watching the tops of several heads move down the horizontal rows, all gathering in one place.
She turned back to Julian and found him frowning, his chest lifting and falling a lot faster than usual. “Looks like they’re having a problem,” he said hoarsely, clearing his throat. After that, he seemed to hesitate, those long fingers flexing. “I should see if they need help.”
Nothing happened. He didn’t move. The shouting continued.
Hallie shook herself free of the lingering need to get up close and personal with the apparent game-changing invention of sweatpants shorts. Did he seem uncertain about walking into his own family vineyard? Why? “I can come with you,” she offered, not sure why. Only that it felt like the right thing to do.
Those eyes cut to hers, held, as he inclined his head. “Thank you.”
* * *
When Hallie and Julian approached the group of men—and one woman—among the vines, every head swiveled in their direction. Conversation ceased for several seconds.
“Mr. Vos,” blurted one of the men, the tan of his cheeks deepening. “Sorry. Were we being too loud?”
“Not at all, Manuel,” Julian said quickly, flashing him a reassuring smile. Silence fell again. So long that Hallie looked up at Julian and found his jaw in a bunch, his eyes wandering over the rows of grapes. “It just sounded like something was wrong. Can I do anything to help?”
Manuel looked horrified at Julian’s offer. “Oh no. No, we have it under control.”
“The destemmer is broken again,” the woman said, giving Manuel an exasperated look. “Damn thing breaks once a week.” Manuel buried his head in his hands. “What? It does!”
“Does Corinne know about this?” Julian asked, frowning.
“Yes.” Manuel hedged. “I can fix the destemmer, but we’re already short-staffed. We can’t lose one more person out here. These grapes need to come off the vine today or we won’t stay on schedule.”
