Page 108 of Sweet Escape

At that, she smiles, and that tightness in my chest settles.

“I’m sorry I left. I ran instead of giving this a chance.”

“But you came back to me,” I tell her, placing a kiss against her cheek, and then her nose, and then her lips.

And then I look her in the eyes and tell her a truth I know to be true.

“We can make it through anything if we always come back to each other.”

Epilogue

Vivian

One Year Later

“Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”

My smile is stretched wide on my face, my laughter loud as I run in place, my hands on the edge of the barrel, my feet stomping on the grapes at the bottom. The squishy, smushy sensation is strange and unfamiliar. But I keep going, unable to contain my wild cackle at how ludicrous this is.

To my left and to my right are several barrels, and other members of the Hawthorne Vines harvest crew are in each one, all in similar states of laughter and hilarity.

It’s the End of Harvest Jubilee, a marker to declare that all the grapes have been collected and pressed and fermentation has begun. According to Memphis, the end of the harvest means the busiest, most difficult part of the year is behind them, which also means it’s time to celebrate.

Apparently, some vineyards throw a big to-do, inviting the whole town out for a party. But the event at Hawthorne Vines is strictly a family affair with only the staff and crew present. There’s food and wine and several competitions, including the grape stomping.

I wasn’t in town for the Jubilee last year, so when I got my tour schedule and saw that I’d be free in November, I made sure Memphis knew I wanted to throw my hat into the ring.

I can safely say, I’ll be a supportive spectator next time.

A loud cheer from the barrel two down from mine fills the air, and I look over in time to see Murphy with her hands in the air, her chest heaving, the bucket underneath the spout sticking from the front filled to the brim.

“Murphy advances!” Sarah announces into the bullhorn.

I laugh, panting and looking at Memphis where he’s standing a few feet away.

“Advances? You mean she has to do this again?”

He grins, his hands coming to my waist as he helps me climb out of the barrel.

“Yeah, there are a few heats before the final round.”

I shake my head, my purple feet settling into the grass. “I will gratefully take an L,” I declare, then I turn and shout in her direction. “Congrats, Murphy!”

She laughs and waves, the glee at having won the first round clearly lighting her up.

“You did an amazing job.”

I pin Memphis with a look that says I don’t buy it. Then I look into the bucket sitting underneath the spout of my barrel, finding it only a quarter of the way full.

“You know, I don’t need your false flattery,” I say, my eyebrow high.

“You don’t?” He smirks at me, that dimple I love so much becoming more prominent. “So I should stop telling you how good you are in bed,” he says, his voice dipping low.

I bark out a laugh. “That’s not false flattery. That’s cold hard facts, my love. Cold. Hard. Hard. Very Hard. Facts.”

“Keep sayinghardlike that,” he taunts me, that sexy smirk still stretched on his face. “And I’ll show you some facts.”

Shaking my head at his absurdity, I drop down onto a bench and dip my feet into a bucket of water, then use a rag to try to lessen the purple hue of my skin. But something tells me it might be a day or two before this color fades.

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