Page 72 of Vine

We plodded a few feet more before his words sunk in and their meaning slotted into place. Then I skidded to a halt. “What? Are you… what?”

I stared into his eyes like they were the only thing on the beach, trying to suck the truth from them. “Are you…you’re the…?”

Max’s own eyes didn't flinch. Locked onto mine, they were steady and determined. Proud. I drank him in. So many questions flashed across my mind at once, too many for me to even name them.“It’s your… it’s your vineyard, isn’t it?”

A flush of colour stole across his cheeks. “Yeah. It is. I inherited it from my mother when she died. I’ve always rented it out.”

A fuzzy, tingling warmth spread across my forehead, down my neck and into my cheeks. My mouth opened and closed; no words issued forth.My head spun, too, like I wasfalling through the sky, pirouetting, backflipping, not sure how I would land, but for the very first time, not petrified of finding out. Strong enough to take a chance.

I got my mouth to work again.“Why,” I was surprised by the calmness of my own voice, “didn’t you tell me?”

Max shrugged one of his big shoulders. “It wasn’t important. Stuff like that isn’t. Pale cheeks are important. Shells, oysters, and vines, too. Earlobes, mean gestation periods for Alsatians. The weather report. Finding a perfect peach and having good teeth.” He kissed me on my gobsmacked mouth, one of his firm, possessive kisses that made me feel loved in a way no one else ever had. “But who has what, and who owns what. None of that stuff matters at all. Except that you’re mine. That matters. A lot.”

THE END

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