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A chance to grow alongside someone, to adjust together until they met in the middle.
Emotionally, they had places to go. Physically?
They had that part down. Real well.
She’d dropped her defenses in the vineyard tonight like a bad habit.
Thinking about what they’d done, about breathless words spoken in chokes and rushes, not even the cold breeze could cool her cheeks. In all of her fantasies, she’d never imagined intimacy like Julian had shown her tonight. That desperate, down-in-the-dirt slaking of needs. She’d never expected to relinquish herself so totally to lust. To sensation. Or to have the wild feelings in her chest play such a part in what her body craved.
Standing there on the darkness of the path, she wanted him again. Not just the release of tension he’d give her, but the press of his weight. The scent of salt and wine and cologne, their fingers intertwining, his hips twisting and bucking between her thighs. She’d never been more honest in her life than she’d been underneath him, no critical thoughts for herself or second guesses. Just letting go. Just flying.
Hallie squinted into the distance toward Vos Vineyard and could just make out the silver outline of the guesthouse. She could go there now. Knock on his door and hand deliver the letter. Maybe she owed him that. Especially after he’d shown up tonight at the tasting with flowers and an apology. She could do the same, couldn’t she? Face the music in person? And the last thing she wanted was to start down the road toward a relationship with a lie. She felt the increasing strain of that deception with every passing moment.
Hallie took a few steps in the direction of the guesthouse, her bravery slipping away like pebbles falling from a hole in her pocket. Eventually she stopped, the breeze blowing curls across her line of vision. Julian might read the letter and need time to process everything. To really consider her words. Would she be putting him on the spot by standing over his shoulder while he read it? Wouldn’t it be better to end this journey how it started—with a letter? At least he’d have space to think. To consider what he wanted.
Decision made, Hallie tucked the letter as securely as possible into the designated stump crack and jogged up the path, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and the confession before she changed her mind and took it back. What if the admirer just sort of . . . vanished? Stopped writing? Julian would never know what she’d done.
Nope. You’re not getting off that easy.
In a matter of hours, her craziest idea yet would be revealed to Julian and she’d just have to hope . . .
She’d have to hope he still wanted the circus.
* * *
After returning home from her letter-drop mission, Hallie had slept fitfully, the dogs seeming to judge her from the end of the bed. She’d woken up to find she’d overslept well into the afternoon, her stomach gathering like wool at the numbers on the clock. Julian would be getting ready for his run. Mere minutes from discovering her secret.
She got up and walked the dogs. Fed them.
Brewed coffee and sat in her backyard among the periwinkle hydrangeas, legs curled up beneath her on the patio furniture. Her fingers drummed on the side of her mug, a rapid-fire heartbeat in her chest. Julian must have found the letter by now. He was probably back home reading through it for the eighth time, wondering how he’d mistaken psychosis for charm. Any second now, her phone would ring and he would very curtly attempt to end things—and while she wouldn’t blame him, she would try to change his mind.
That was one item she’d managed to resolve in the middle of her sleepless night.
Would she fight him if he tried to break up with her?
Yes. Of course. She was worth a little vexing, right? She was a slightly frazzled, often muddied gardener who could laugh easily, even while carrying around a lake of hurt inside of her. There was often no rhyme or reason to her professional ideas, but didn’t they turn out beautiful enough? Likewise, when she did something ridiculous like steal cheese or begin a secret-admirer-letter-writing campaign, didn’t she mean well?
Yes.
She liked her place. She loved her people.
She just needed to find a better way to channel her inherited impulses. She would, too, because sitting there in her backyard and waiting for the man she loved to discover her lies was torturous, and she never wanted to feel that way again.
When noon rolled around and there was no call or front-door arrival from Julian, Hallie set down her stone-cold cup of coffee and dialed Lavinia.
“Afternoon, love,” Lavinia sang, the cash register dinging in the background. “How was the tasting last night?”
