Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Nestled between the grapevines, I heave a deep breath and smile, ready to get on with the good part of the tour. Sawyer turns and slaps something in my hand. I wince because it’s the same hand he absolutely pummeled during the softball game earlier, but he doesn’t notice. I look down to find it’s a set of shears.
“Fill that up,” he says, pointing to the bucket at my feet. “I’ll go get you two more.”
Then he disappears, leaving me out among the grapevines.
I wait two seconds, slowly processing what he’s just told me to do. Then I spin around and look for him, expecting to find him standing a few yards away with a smile.
“I’m kidding,” he’ll say, coming over to kiss my cheek and pry the shears out of my hands. “God, you should see the look on your face right now.”
But there is no Sawyer and there is no kiss on the cheek. It’s just me and the grapes.
I turn to a fat bushel hanging on a vine near my face and frown. “Does he really want me to harvest you?”
This has to be one big joke, a “Got you” laugh coming any minute. Why would Sawyer invite me here and then dump me out on my own?
It’s definitely the weirdest date I’ve ever been on, but there has to be a good reason for it. I try to conjure up a few: Sawyer is handsome and (probably) rich. Maybe he’s sick of women throwing themselves at him for the wrong reasons. This could all be his way of showing me his life isn’t all rainbows and butterflies. He helps run his family’s vineyard; he must work tirelessly day in and day out, and he wants to ensure I can carry my own weight.
Right?
“If it’s not that, then I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing out here. Do you?” I ask the grapes.
Unfortunately, they don’t have any good advice.
I give it another few minutes before I actually start on the assignment he’s given me. I don’t have any idea how Sawyer wants me to take these grapes off the vine. One by one? Surely not or he wouldn’t have given me the shears to use. I don’t want to hack at the vine though, so I carefully trim off the clusters that seem the most ripe, lay them in the bucket, and continue.
The task wouldn’t be so bad except that Sawyer’s plopped me in a section of the vineyard that’s particularly muddy. My boots sink in and get stuck and I have to pry them out every time I want to take a squelching step toward a new section of grapes. But that’s not even the worst of my problems. It’s the heat. I had to walk so quickly to keep up with Sawyer that I’m sweating now. Good ol’ Texas summer. The sun’s not due to set for another hour or two, which means the temperature is still hovering somewhere in the 90s. I’m wishing I’d worn a hat.
I wipe my arm across my forehead, trying to keep the sweat from my eyes, and in so doing smear a glob of mud onto my face. My first reaction is a slew of curse words I repress deep down in my soul. My second reaction is more composed: So what? People go to spas and pay good money for aestheticians to rub mud onto their skin. I’m getting it for free!
Where is Sawyer?!
He said he’d be back with two more buckets, but that was ten or fifteen minutes ago, wasn’t it? My bucket is getting full.
I hear footsteps coming up behind me just as I add my last bushel of grapes. Oh thank god. There, I’ve proved myself. I’ve filled a bucket. I try to lift it—but can’t, so I set it back down into the mud and point down at it proudly. The green grapes glisten in the sun. I picked only the juiciest ones. He’s going to be impressed with me.
I didn’t expect you to actually do it, Madison! is what he’s about to say, and then we’re going to laugh and feed each other freshly picked grapes and get muddy for entirely different reasons. Wink wink.
This fantasy is so compelling I’m sad to be drawn out of it when Sawyer says, “Two more,” dropping empty metal buckets unceremoniously at my feet so that they splatter a new layer of mud on my already-ruined dress.
I close my eyes and breathe deep. Okay…this is a little elaborate. If this is some Carry Your Weight lesson, surely I’ve passed.
I blink my eyes open.
“Sawyer—” I say his name with a touch of desperation, but he’s already turned around.
“I’ll be back,” he promises brusquely, scooping up my bucket and walking away.
He’s leaving me out here again?! I don’t understand any of this, and worse, I’m starting to get seriously annoyed. It’s one thing to put me to work. I would have had no problem standing alongside Sawyer, harvesting grapes while we chatted so long as I had a hat and maybe some water to drink! In fact, I could have probably survived without either of those things if he’d just been here, teasing me, helping me pick the best grapes, leaning in for a kiss. I don’t even care about my dress or the mud. I just want to know what’s going on.