Page 83 of Sweet Escape

Vivian smiles. “Thanks, Sarah. It was great meeting you.”

My aunt pushes back from her chair and leaves us, probably to check on the food on the island and clean up.

“I really like her.”

I smile. “She’s pretty great.”

Vivian leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, the plastic of the folding chair creaking with her movements. “How’s work coming along?”

“Good. I’ve gotten a lot done.” My curiosity gets the better of me, and I can’t keep my question to myself. “How come you didn’t let me know when you got here?”

She shrugs. “Your work is important to you, and I figured I was more than capable of entertaining myself until you had a free minute or two.”

My lips tilt up at the sides at her understanding of the responsibility I have toward my work.

“I was thinking I might go on a little walk around the vineyard and then sit out here with my guitar and work on some of my music. As long as it won’t be distracting.”

Everything about Vivian is distracting, in all the best ways.

“That sounds like a great idea. I’ve got a few more things to finish up, and then I’ll come meet you out here when I’m done?”

“That sounds great.”

I take my empty plate inside, give my aunt a thank-you kiss on the side of her head, and dip back into my office.

But standing at the threshold, looking into the room, I’m immobile.

My computer is still bright, an open spreadsheet on the screen. An unread compliance report needing my attention sits on the desk. And I don’t doubt there are at least a dozen emails that have remained unread for most of the day that I should be responding to.

Yet ... I can’t think of a single thing that absolutely has to be completed right this minute or the vineyard will shut down tomorrow.

So instead of crossing the room and rounding my desk to get back to work, I flip the light off and return to the patio.

Vivian is standing at the edge, pulling her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head as she looks out at the property. When I come to a stop next to her, she does a double take when she sees me.

“Mind if I join you on that walk?”

A smile stretches wide on her face. “I’d love that.”

We wander for over an hour, a slow mosey through the vines and all the way across to the other edge of the property, easy conversation flowing between us the entire time. And on the way back, when her feet start to hurt from her poor choice of shoes, I carry her to the house piggyback style, not even trying to pretend I don’t love having her arms wrapped around me and her body pressed close to mine.

After we get back to the house, she gets out her guitar and we sit on the now empty porch. She idly strums melodies that sound brand new and familiar at the same time. It’s the first time I can remember in months—years maybe—sitting outside and enjoying the sunset as it dips behind the rolling hills in the distance.

“Are you looking forward to getting back to LA?”

Vivian takes longer than I’m expecting to respond, to the point that I wonder if she didn’t hear me. She continues to gently strum her strings and look off to the side.

But when she does answer, I’m more than surprised at what she says.

“No, actually. I’m not.”

“Why?”

She rolls her neck around, then leans her head back against the house, her fingers on the guitar coming to a stop.

“I mean, Ishouldbe excited to get back. I’m recording an album this week. I’ve been dreaming about this since I was old enough to hold a tune.” She shakes her head. “But a lot has changed since I left. And when I go back, I’m gonna have to face it.”

My brow furrows as I consider what she’s just said.

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