Page 44 of Vine

“No, you’re not, Max. You’re way too special for that.” Tears trickled down my cheeks. My last shred of dignity gone, I rested my forehead against the unbudging door. I was a whisker away from begging. “You can tell your friend Éti that there have been some… updates in my personal life I’ve kept quiet about.”

I wiped my sleeve across my face, no doubt leaving a streak of dirt and uncaring. Noir snuffled around the doorframe from inside. Even a cuddle with the dog would be something. “Max,”I tried, “how about you let me in so we can talk? If not now, how about tomorrow?”

“No. And I’m going away for the weekend.”

“That’s nice.” Perhaps if we struck up a conversation, he might let me in. “Anywhere good?”

“Paris. For the soccer. Paris St-Germain’s last game of the season against Lyon. With Éti and my brother. Seats in the VIP box.”

Wow, I bet those tickets didn’t come cheap. “Very nice.”

“Yes. We go every year. Same seats. To the Champions League final every year, too. So I’m also busy next weekend.”

Huh. I frowned. This was starting to sound like a tall tale that was getting a little out of hand. “And the World Cup final? You going to that in a couple of years too?”

He grunted. “Probably. Depends on the farm cover.”

Ah well, whatever. The message was coming through loud and clear. We didn’t need to hammer it out any longer. On a deep exhale, I stepped away from the doorframe, likely to never again see the treasures hidden away on the other side. This peculiar, kind man included. “Okay, well, I’ll…er… I’ll see you around, okay? Although I’ll keep out of your way. And thank you. For being so nice to me about the… the cutting. It’s… it’s been really rubbish here for me these last few months, for lots of reasons. But you’ve made it bearable. So, you know, thank you for that.”

CHAPTER 15

MAX

There was a fine line between stalking and viewing someone from afar to check they were okay. I most definitely did not stray from the proper side of it. I wanted to, though. I wanted to follow Caspian Pumkin-Watts everywhere. Because whatever his marital status, I was in love with him, and he was not happy. Happily married men didn’t cut themselves. Or work at whichever end of the vineyard his husband wasn’t. If Caspian and I were married, I wouldn’t let him out of my sight. Let alone tower over him yelling, with my hands on my hips, like his husband did the day before yesterday.

“I know you’re there, Max.”

I’d been spotted, skulking three rows down from him. Even when the vines were covered in foliage, I struggled to conceal myself behind them. Too tall. And a bit noisy probably.

At Caspian’s voice, Noir wandered over. Being a Labrador, Noir didn’t understand we weren’t supposed to be talking to Caspian.

“Just walking my dog,” I said. “Like normal dog-owners do.”

“Who’s a good boy. Such a good boy.”

“I’m twenty-five. A good man.”

La mer Caspiennesounded tired, his English accent stronger than usual. “I know you are. I was talking to Noir.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a husband.”

The bushy vines hid Caspian’s slight frame, but I could tell where he was from the clipping and snapping sounds. May was a busy month in a vineyard. At the other end of each row, the blonde woman had started stem cleaning, removing unwanted new shoots from the main woody one.

Caspian was pruning hedgehogs—I called them hedgehogs, at any rate—ridding the buds of all the extra unneeded shoots sprouting out of them like hedgehog spines, keeping the strongest one. From what I could see, he was doing a decent job. As I kept up with him, I snapped a few off myself with my pocketknife. He’d have a nice surprise when he reached this row; it might cheer him up.

“Because I haven’t. I was telling the truth. We’re not married anymore. I… he… he cheated on me, and we divorced eighteen months ago.”

“But you’re still sad.”

Caspian’s feet stopped moving along the row. I imagined his pale face examining the plant in front of him, deciding which was the best shoot to keep, and I shuffled a little closer to him. “Yes, I am.”

“So you still love him.”

“No, I… it’s not that simple. I… love what we had. I loved having someone, meaning something to someone. A partner who looked out for me. I don’t have that anymore. I’m not very good at looking after myself, as you’ve probably noticed.”

“Yes. You are too anxious.”

Mon dieu, I could look out for him. He wouldn’t cut with me. He wouldn’t be anxious with me. We were made for each other; Caspian silly-surname Watts was a perfect mix of everythingfucked up I liked to fix. I’d mend him, care for him, keep him whole. “Did you cut yourself when you were married.”

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