Page 32 of The Vines Between Us
"It makes the most sense," I replied, keeping my voice neutral. "Financially speaking."
Hugo nodded, his eyes on the setting sun. "Of course. Financially."
We sat in silence as the sky turned from blue to orange to deep crimson. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with something I wasn't ready to name. Hugo's shoulder pressed against mine, our thighs touching on the narrow stone seat.
"I've missed this place," I admitted quietly. "More than I realized."
"Just the place?" Hugo asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I turned to find him looking at me, his face impossibly close. The dying sunlight caught in his auburn hair, turning it to fire. A smudge of dirt marked his cheekbone, and without thinking, I reached up to brush it away.
My hand lingered on his face. His skin was warm beneath my fingers, and I watched his pupils dilate slightly at my touch. Fourteen years dissolved in an instant, and suddenly we were teenagers again, discovering each other in secret corners of the vineyard.
"Alexandre," he breathed, my name a question and a plea.
I should have pulled away. I should have made an excuse about needing to check the equipment or review our notes or to do something, anything. Instead, I remained frozen, caught between the past and present, between desire and fear.
Hugo closed the distance between us, his lips meeting mine with a gentleness that belied the tension thrumming through both our bodies. For one heartbeat, I remained still, shocked by the contact. Then something broke loose inside me, and I was kissing him back with fourteen years of denied longing.
His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss deepened, grew desperate. I tasted the salt of his skin, the sweetness of the grapes we'd sampled throughout the day. My fingers tangled in his hair, dislodging the band that held it back. His arms wrapped around me, strong and sure, anchoring me to the moment.
We broke apart, breathless, foreheads touching. Hugo's eyes were dark, searching mine for answers I wasn't sure I had.
"I've thought about doing that every day for fourteen years," he whispered.
The words hit me like a physical blow. Fourteen years. The magnitude of what I'd walked away from—what I was risking again—crashed over me in a wave of panic. I jerked back, nearly falling off the stone in my haste.
"I can't do this," I said, stepping back, hating the familiar constriction in my chest—the same feeling I'd had whenever my father's voice echoed in my head. Worthless. Disappointment. Shame of the family.
"Alexandre," Hugo's voice was gentle. "Whatever you're afraid of—"
"I'm not afraid," I snapped, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I'm being practical. We have vineyards to save, not teenage romances to resurrect."
I turned away before he could see how my hands trembled—my father's son after all, running from intimacy, building walls where bridges should be.
The walk back to our respective homes was silent and tense. At the fork in the path where we would separate, Hugo paused.
"We still need to finish the assessment tomorrow," he said, his voice carefullyprofessional.
"Of course," I replied, not meeting his eyes. "I'll meet you at the equipment shed at seven."
He nodded once.
"I know you're scared," Hugo said abruptly, turning back to look at me directly. "But I need you to know something. I'm not eighteen anymore, Alexandre. I'm not going to wait around indefinitely for you to decide whether I'm worth the risk."
His directness surprised me. The Hugo I remembered had been patient to a fault.
"I'm not asking you to make any declarations or promises," he continued. "But I am asking for honesty. If you're planning to disappear again, tell me now. Don't let me believe we're building something if you're already planning your exit."
"I'm not—" I started, then stopped. Was I planning an exit? Part of me always was, wasn't it? "I, I don't know," I admitted. "I want to stay. But wanting and being able to... those are different things."
Hugo nodded, returning to his vines. "Then figure it out. Because I won't go through this again—caring about someone who's got one foot out the door."
The words stung, but they were fair. More than fair.
"How do I prove I'm trying to stay?" I asked.
"Stop looking for reasons to leave," he said simply.
