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“Corinne is stressed enough,” said the woman, whipping a handkerchief from her pocket and swiping sweat from her brow. “We don’t need another delay.”
“My mother is stressed,” Julian responded tightly. “That’s news to me.”
Just like yesterday, when she’d informed Julian of the slow decline of Vos Vineyard, Hallie could see that he truly had no idea. He’d been kept completely in the dark. Why?
“I can call my son home from summer school—” started Manuel.
“No, don’t do that,” Julian broke in. “I’ll pick the grapes. Just show me where to start.” No one moved for long moments. Until Julian prompted Manuel, the apparent vineyard manager. “Manuel?”
“Uh . . . sure. Thank you, sir.” He stumbled in a circle, making a hasty gesture at one of the other men. “What are you waiting for? Get Mr. Vos a bucket.”
“I’ll take one, too,” Hallie piped up automatically, shrugging when Julian gave her a measuring look. “I was going to spend the day in the dirt anyway, right?”
His attention flickered down to her knees. “I think you mean every day.”
“Careful,” she returned. “Or I’ll pinch your grapes.”
Manuel coughed. The woman laughed.
It was tempting to go on staring into Julian’s eyes all day, especially now, when they were sparkling with that elusive humor, but Manuel gestured for them to follow, and they did, trailing behind him several yards into the vines. “This is where we left off,” Manuel said, gesturing to a half-picked section. “Thank you. We’ll have the destemmer up and running in time for the grapes to come in.”
“No need to thank us,” Julian said, hunkering down in front of the vines. He stared at them thoughtfully for a moment, then glanced back at Manuel. “Maybe we could sit down later and you could let me know what else around the vineyard needs attention.”
Manuel nodded, his shoulders drooping slightly with relief. “That would be great, Mr. Vos.”
The manager left, and they got to work, which she would have done much faster if Julian Vos wasn’t kneeling beside her in sweaty clothing, with a bristly jaw, his long, incredible fingers wrapping around each grape and tugging. Lord, did she experience that tug everywhere.
Hide your gardening tools.
“The quality of these grapes is not what it should be. They’ve overcropped,” Julian said, removing a cluster of grapes from the vine and holding it out to Hallie. “See the lack of maturation in the cane? They weren’t given room to breathe.”
His professor voice sounded so different out in the open like this, as opposed to pumping from her laptop speakers. “Hey, I just drink the wine,” she murmured, wetting her lips. “I don’t know the intimate details.” He had the nerve to smirk at her while adding the grape cluster to his bucket. “You are one of those professors who gives a test review that covers nothing that ends up being on the actual test, aren’t you?”
His gaze zipped to her, with something close to surprised amusement. “The entire body of material should be studied.”
“I thought so,” she drawled, trying not to let it show how flushed and sensitive his attention made her skin. “Classic Jeopardy! enthusiast move.”
He chuckled, and she couldn’t help but marvel at how different he looked in this setting. At first, he’d been tense, but he relaxed the longer they moved down the row in tandem, plucking grapes from their homes. “What did you do after high school?” he asked her.
“Stayed right here. Went to Napa Valley College. By then, my grandmother had already made me a co-owner of Becca’s Blooms, so I needed to stay close.”
He hummed. “And did you have professors like me in school?”
“I doubt there are any professors exactly like you. But I could usually tell on the first day of a semester which classes I would be dropping.”
“Really. How?”
Hallie sat back on her haunches. “Cryptic comments about being prepared. Or understanding the full scope of the course material. That’s how I knew their tests would try to trick us. Also that they were most likely sadists in their spare time.”
His laughter was so unexpected, Hallie’s mouth fell open.
She’d never heard him laugh before—not like that. So rich and resonant and deep. It appeared he’d startled himself, too, because he cleared his throat and quickly returned his attention to the vine. “It’s safe to say you would have dropped my class.”
She shifted on her knees beside him, still awash in the sound of his laughter. “Probably.”
Yeah, right. She’d have sat front and center in the first row.
“More likely, I would have dropped you the tenth time you showed up late.”
Now it was her turn to smirk. “Actually, I managed to make it to most of my classes on time, obviously with some exceptions. It was . . . easier back then. My grandmother wasn’t a strict person, but she’d cross her arms and look stern while I set my alarm. I made the effort because I couldn’t stand disappointing her.”
