Page 10 of Vineyard Dreams

“Watch your step,” Elle said, leading the way down. The temperature dropped as they descended, the air growing cool and thick with the scent of aged wood and earth. Their footsteps echoed against the stone walls.

The cellar air wrapped around them - cool, dense, earthy. Shadows danced across the curved ceiling as Elle switched on another light, revealing rows of bottles sleeping in their wooden racks.

A handful of dusty bulbs cast pools of amber light between the shadows, barely illuminating the labels on the bottles. The cellar opened up before them - rows of wooden racks stretched into the shadows. Some labels had faded with age, their dates barely visible in the dim light.

“This is where we keep our library wines,” Elle explained, moving deeper into the cellar.

Harper stepped closer, her shoulder brushing against Elle’s as she leaned in to examine the labels. Elle’s breath caught at the contact, and she forced herself to focus on the wine rather than the warmth radiating from Harper’s proximity.

“The cellar’s my favorite place,” Elle admitted softly. “It holds so much history, so many stories. Each bottle represents a specific year, a specific harvest.” She turned to face Harper, finding herself caught in those warm brown eyes. “Every vintage tells its own tale.”

The air felt charged between them. Harper’s gaze held hers, and Elle found herself aware of how close they were standing in the intimate space of the cellar.

Elle ledHarper through a narrow archway into one of the smaller storage rooms. Ancient stones curved overhead in a low ceiling, and the space felt more confined than the main cellar. Bottles lined the walls in neat rows, their labels barely visible in the dim light from the single bulb overhead.

“These are some special reserves we...” Elle’s voice trailed off as she noticed Harper’s breathing had changed. The actress had gone very still, her eyes fixed on a point on the wall, butnot really seeing it. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow movements.

The change was subtle at first, but as Elle watched, Harper’s hand crept up to her throat, fingers splaying across her collarbone. Her other hand pressed against the stone wall, as if seeking support.

A bead of sweat traced down Harper’s temple despite the cellar’s cool temperature. The confident, engaging woman from moments ago had vanished, replaced by someone fighting for control. Harper’s lips parted slightly, trying to draw in more air in the confined space.

Elle recognized the signs - she’d seen similar reactions in visitors who discovered their claustrophobia in the cellar’s tight quarters. The way Harper’s gaze darted to the archway, how her fingers trembled against the wall, the slight sway in her stance - all pointed to rising panic.

“Harper?” Elle kept her voice soft, gentle. She noticed Harper’s knuckles had gone white where they pressed against the stone. The actress’s breathing grew more labored, each inhale shorter than the last.

The single bulb cast harsh shadows across Harper’s face, highlighting the fear that had crept into her expression.

Harper must be claustrophobic, and the small room was triggering a panic attack.

7

The first thing Harper noticed was how the walls seemed to press inward. Her fingertips brushed against the rough stone, seeking an anchor point as the cellar’s shadows deepened.

Her heart skipped, then thundered against her ribs. The cool air turned thick, heavy, and it felt impossible to draw into her lungs. The space contracted, squeezing tighter with each passing second.

Dark. Small. Trapped.

The set had been like this. The prop closet they’d used to film Lena’s captivity scene. Hours crouched in that tiny space, take after take, until Harper had inhabited Lena’s terror so completely she’d forgotten where reality ended.

Her legs weakened. The stone wall scraped against her palm as she sagged against it. Sweat beaded along her hairline despite the cellar’s chill. The single light bulb blurred, doubled, tripled - just like the harsh production lights that had burned into her retinas that day.

The floor tilted beneath her feet. Her chest constricted, each breath more shallow than the last. She heard Elle’s voice, distant and muffled, as if filtering through water. But Harper couldn’trespond, couldn’t focus on anything except the crushing weight of the walls closing in.

Her throat closed. The darkness at the edges of her vision crept inward, bringing with it the phantom smell of musty wood and rope from the set. The same suffocating panic that had gripped her during filming now clawed its way up from her chest, raw and primal.

She needed air. Space. Light. But her muscles had locked, pinning her against the wall as the room spun and compressed around her.

Harper felt Elle’s warm fingers slide between her own, the touch cutting through the panic like a lifeline. Without a word, Elle guided her forward, each step pulling Harper away from the suffocating darkness.

The stone walls blurred past as they moved. Harper’s feet stumbled over the uneven floor, but Elle’s grip remained steady, anchoring her to the present. The sensation of skin against skin gave her something real to focus on beyond the crushing weight in her chest.

Cool air brushed Harper’s face as they reached the stairs. Light filtered down from above, growing stronger with each step. Elle’s hand never left hers as they climbed, their footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell.

The pressure in Harper’s chest began to ease as they emerged into the sunlight. A breeze swept across her damp skin, and her racing heart started to slow as she recognized the vineyard’s familiar landscape spreading out before them.

Harper blinked against the sunlight, her legs moving on autopilot as Elle steered her toward a weathered wooden bench. The world tilted, then righted itself as she sank onto the seat. Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers curling into her palms.

The warmth of Elle’s presence disappeared. Harper’s chest tightened again until footsteps crunched across gravel, and Ellepressed a cold bottle of water into her hands. The plastic crinkled beneath her grip.

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