Page 16 of Vineyard Dreams

In the kitchen, Harper took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t deny the growing attraction she felt towards Elle. It had happened enough times and clearly, it wasn’t going away, but she also knew that Elle was here seeking comfort, a friend to talk to, so Harper had to find a way to forget about it.

Harper selected a bottle of pinot noir from the wine rack, the smooth glass cool against her palm. She grabbed two glasses and made her way back to the living room, her heart beating a little faster with each step. As she entered, her gaze fell upon Elle, who was sitting on the couch, one hand absentmindedly running through her chestnut hair. The sight made Harper’s breath slow.

There was something undeniably alluring about Elle. Before, Harper might have put it down to the confidence Elle had when it came to her knowledge of wine and running her business, but this version of Elle that was in front of her now was almost the opposite of that. Her hair was slightly mussed, and she looked a little on edge, her foot tapping against the floor. There was none of that confidence, yet Harper could barely take her eyes off her.

Harper approached the couch, setting the glasses on the coffee table with a soft clink. Elle looked up, her hazel eyes still glistening with the remnants of tears. A flicker of something passed between them, but maybe Harper was just seeing what she wanted to see.

Harper poured the wine, the rich burgundy liquid swirling in the glasses. She handed one to Elle, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. The contact sent a shiver through her, and she found herself wondering if Elle felt it too.

Harper settled onto the couch beside Elle, her heart racing as their thighs brushed. She tried to focus on the wine in her hand, on the weight of the glass, the coolness of the stem against her fingers. Anything to distract from the warmth of Elle’s body so close to hers.

Elle took a sip of her wine, her gaze fixed on the dark liquid. “Harper, I... I’m so sorry about the other day. In the wine cellar. I had no idea...” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head.

Harper swallowed. She’d been trying not to think about that moment, the way the walls had seemed to close in on her, the way her lungs had refused to fill with air. “You have nothing to apologize for, Elle. Really. You couldn’t have known.”

Elle met her gaze then, and Harper felt her breath catch in her throat. Elle was beautiful. The way her hair fell softly around her face, the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes.

Harper took a sip of her wine, trying to push those thoughts aside. This wasn’t the time.

“After seeing the movie,” Elle said softly, “I can understand why it affected you like that.” She took a sip of wine. “The way you portrayed Lena’s pain, her grief... it was so raw, so real. It was absolutely mesmerizing.”

Harper swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “It felt real,” she admitted. “Every take, every scene. I’ve had the chance to play some amazing characters over the years, work with some of the best directors, with great scripts, but there was just something special about this part. And I lost myself in it like I never have before.”

Elle reached out, her hand finding Harper’s. Her skin was soft, her touch gentle. “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. To immerse yourself in that kind of pain, that kind of loss.”

Harper’s heart stuttered at the contact. She wanted to turn her hand over, to intertwine her fingers with Elle’s. But she resisted, instead offering a small smile. “It was... intense. But it was important to me to get it right. To honor Lena’s story.”

Elle nodded, her thumb brushing over the back of Harper’s hand. The small gesture sent a tingling sensation up her arm, and she found herself noticing the little things about Elle that she’d been trying to ignore. The tiny freckle just below her left eye. The softness of her skin. The way her lips…

Harper took another sip of wine, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t let herself get carried away. Not now. Probably not ever.

“I’m so sorry for just showing up like this,” Elle said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late, I know. I just… I had this overwhelming need to see you as soon as I left the theater.”

Harper’s heart fluttered. The sincerity in Elle’s eyes, the vulnerability in her voice, it was intoxicating. She wanted to reach out, to touch her, to reassure her. But she stopped herself. She wasn’t about to cross a line she wasn’t sure Elle wanted to cross.

“It’s okay,” Harper managed, her voice a little shaky. “Really. I’m glad you’re here.” And she was. Despite the late hour, despite the unexpected visit. Despite this new problem of finding it impossible to look at Elle without thinking that she was stunning.

“I knew what the movie was about but it just… it hit me hard. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it as I drove back. About Lena, about Clara. About everything they went through.”

Harper nodded, a lump forming in her throat. She knew exactly what Elle meant.

“It’s hard to imagine,” Elle continued, “what it must have been like back then. The fear, the prejudice. The constant threat of violence.”

Harper took a sip of her wine. “It was a different time,” she said quietly.

Elle’s gaze met hers. “I just can’t believe that I didn’t know her name before.”

“There are so many stories like Lena’s,” Harper said softly. “Stories of courage, of resilience, of love in the face of adversity. Stories that deserve to be told.”

Elle nodded, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “You told her story beautifully, Harper.”

A warmth spread through Harper’s chest at Elle’s words. It wasn’t the praise itself that moved her, but the genuine emotion behind it. The way Elle’s voice softened when she spoke Harper’s name, the way her hand lingered on Harper’s, the way her gaze held a depth of understanding that Harper had rarely encountered before.

“It was important to me,” Harper admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elle squeezed Harper’s hand, her touch sending a ripple of something electric through her. “You did more than that, Harper. You made me feel. You made me think.”

Harper’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to lean in, to close the distance between them, to feel the warmth of Elle’s body against hers. But she hesitated, unsure if she was reading the signals right. Was this just the aftermath of a powerful movie? Or was there something more?

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