Page 103 of Sweet Escape

That it was just two weeks.

That it was just for fun.

That we didn’t really know each other that well.

But those arguments are falsities. Like information that is completely out of context to the truth of what those two weeks were like, how those moments bloomed into something more, and how much deeper those feelings became.

It’s a vicious cycle of regret. I stop wondering if I could have done or said something different to have truly convinced her that we could figure it out. That we didn’t have to abandon our lives in order to create a new one together. That there was something here worth fighting for.

I didn’t, though.

I didn’t say any of those things.

Instead, I just let her go.

Just let her get in the car and drive away.

And my pride has kept me from calling her. Or texting.

Or fuck, driving down to LA and telling her how I really feel.

But she wouldn’t want that.

Look what happened with Theo.

He went after her, didn’t he? And she shut him down. Sent him packing.

Realistically, our situations are different. She communicated what she wanted, and I’m the kind of man who knows how to listen.

She wanted to say goodbye, so I let her.

If only I could fucking say it, too.

“I need your help tonight,” Murphy says, resting her hip against the kitchen island.

I glance at her, but continue spreading mustard onto a slice of bread, intending on eating an early dinner and then heading over to the warehouse to look through some inventory.

We’ve settled on January as the transition timeline for the restructure. We don’t want to rush things, but really give ourselves the time to brainstorm. Get through the busiest part of the year one final time before Micah and Murphy take on the full range of their new responsibilities.

As much as I’m looking forward to the day when we’re sharing the joys and hardships of this vineyard together, I don’t want to dump it all on them at one time. So for now, some of those tasks still rest with me.

Like inventory.

But I don’t mind. The knowledge that we’re in it together is almost enough to make it seem like I’m not working as much.

And my desire to keep busy and keep my mind off Vivian is definitely enough to make the continued work a nonissue.

“What do you need my help with?” I ask, putting the bread on the turkey sandwich and slicing it in half.

“I need to staff the booth at the Fall Festival.”

My lip curls slightly at the idea. “No thanks. I hate that shit.”

“I know you do. But we need two people—one to handle the wine samples and one for the game.”

“Ask Sarah.”

“She was originally who I asked, but she’s not feeling good.”

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