Page 129 of Bitter Rival

Those three little words almost tumble from my lips. I want to say it. I want to tell him.

But at the same time, I know it would be a mistake, and I know he’ll never say them back.

So I bite my tongue and I kiss his neck and breathe him in.

His arm curls around my body and he pulls me closer and I wonder if he’s feeling all the same things I am.

Love is such a funny thing. Sometimes it sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

I didn’t come here looking for it, but it was almost inevitable that I would do the one thing Beckett warned me not to. Fall in love with him.

I wonder what he would do if I told him? No doubt he would run for the hills.

How sad that so many beautiful words are often left unsaid.

“We made it through alive and in one piece, and bonus points, you didn’t burn down the castle,” I say on Thursday morning as we walk back to the house from the winery.

“Told you Zelda was a fraud.”

“Time will tell. We still have another week.”

“How about we spend it in San Francisco?”

I can’t picture him anywhere but here so I’m curious to see what his life in San Francisco looks like. “And what would we do in San Francisco for a week? Would you amp up your efforts to woo me?” I tease. “Because, quite frankly, you haven’t put much effort into it this week.”

Probably because I’ve been trying to convince him to keep the vineyard, and he’s tired of hearing it.

Although, we went to the beach on Sunday and afterward we ate fresh seafood at a restaurant overlooking the ocean. He even let me take photos of him. So we’re making progress.

“That just goes to show how observant you are,” he says. “Last night, I prepared dinner for you. Another fantasy fulfilled.”

I snort. “I’m assuming you’re referring to the ready-made meals you popped in the microwave. Meals you neither prepared nor cooked. Therefore, it doesn’t count.”

He slings an arm around my shoulders and steers me through the orchards. “It counts.”

I smile up at my childhood crush. He seems so much more relaxed now than he did a few months ago. I still can’t help but think that this lifestyle suits him.

He tips his chin. “What’s that smile for?”

You. “So tell me what we’ll do in San Francisco. Are there Michelin-starred dinners in my future?”

“I’m surprised Zelda didn’t mention that,” he says. “How do you feel about football?”

“I’m not sure I have any feelings about it whatsoever.”

“That’ll change when I take you to the game on Sunday. You’ll probably be screaming and cheering louder than anyone in the stadium.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” It also sounds like a date—the kind of date guys take their girlfriends on when they want to introduce them to something they love. “You can count on me. I won’t let you down.”

His muscles tense, and he goes so rigid, I look up at him. “Are you worried I’ll embarrass you?” I joke.

But I don’t even think he hears me. His jaw clenches, and he drops his arm to his side.

I follow his gaze to the terrace and freeze.

No. No way. My eyes must be deceiving me.

Maybe it’s just someone who looks like her.

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