Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
His voice is low, rumbling. “Oh, I think it’s more than that.”
My breath hitches and my legs wobble. “It’s bad history. That’s all.”
“Or a new future,” he counters softly, and all my fears—or are they dreams—come true as his mouth descends onto mine.
It’s not that fiery crash of lips on the night of the gala but something so terrifyingly sweet, I almost believe I could forgive Gabe for breaking my heart. His mouth roams mine, a slight brush of tongues, a gentle exploration, as if he’s trying to lay down new memories to block out the old.
A rebranding of sorts.
As quickly as it starts, it ends, with Gabe being the one who pulls back to peer down at me. I can’t read his expression, but I expect that’s intentional as he’s trying to read mine without providing any influence.
He’s using silence to force me to say if this is okay.
Continue? Slap him? Tell him to go to hell? Ask him to kiss me again.
“Aunt Kat,” Sylvie calls in the distance. I try to jerk away, but Gabe holds my hand tight for a second. My head twists and I see her making her way to the cedars where her complete view of us is momentarily obstructed.
Did she see that kiss or was she too far away?
I look back to Gabe, still holding tight to my hand. I stare at him imploringly to let me go before Sylvie can see us in this intimate position.
“We need to talk,” he says.
“We talk all the time,” I mutter.
“About us.”
“There is no us,” I snap and jerk hard, my hand sliding free as I step back.
“There could be, Kat. Second chances happen all the time.”
“Aunt Kat. Uncle Gabe,” Sylvie calls again and I see her waving at us enthusiastically as she clears the cedars and lopes down a gentle incline to reach us. By the tone of her voice, I can tell she didn’t see anything.
“Kat,” Gabe says softly, and I look back at him. His eyes are the ones beseeching now. “Can we talk?”
The thud of Sylvie’s feet on the earth has me distracted so I mutter, “Maybe,” and then turn back to her.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say, opening my arms for a hug. She flies into them and I embrace her tight. “Have a good time at Camille’s?”
Camille was a classmate of Sylvie’s and the closest friend she left behind. This is the second night she stayed over with her.
“Oui,” she says with a toothy grin. “Nous nous sommes tellement amusées!”
I laugh because since returning to her homeland, Sylvie has slipped back into French as if it’s a natural extension of her body, like her arm or leg. “English, please!”
“We had so much fun,” she corrects and then slips from my arms to hug Gabe. “Her parents took us kayaking yesterday afternoon on the Dordogne and then we had a bonfire in their yard last night. Her dad told us ghost stories, but we weren’t afraid.” She then glances back to me, her expression chagrined. “Much.”
Tonight, Sylvie is going to another overnighter with a group of girls who she took ballet with for several years and while she hasn’t shown any interest in returning to dance in Kentucky, her bonds with these young girls are strong. One of the mothers suggested a big sleepover at their house and though it’s our last night in France, I can’t deny her the opportunity to squeeze every drop out of this visit.
“What do you want to do for the day?” I ask as she steps back from Gabe and leans over to look at a bunch of grapes. She doesn’t pick one the way Gabe did but turns a full bunch in her hands. This is the stage known as fruit set, something I learned this week, and the tiny green spheres haven’t accumulated any significant sugar. They’re still green to match the color of the leaves but by early September, they’ll be ready for harvest.
It’s astounding to me that this little girl, only ten years old, examines these grapes with the seasoned eye of a master vintner. She may be a Blackburn now and she’s being raised on a horse farm in Kentucky but I’m seeing her future, and I know it’s going to be here.
“We can do whatever you want until it’s time for your sleepover,” I say, my gaze landing on Gabe. I know that I can’t let the overwhelming nature of this winery let me be complacent when it comes to making sure we preserve Sylvie’s legacy. I can help Gabe make this place even better. “And maybe tonight we can work on a game plan for the expansion.”
Gabe nods, his mouth curving into a pleasing smile.
For a moment, I only focus on that mouth, remembering the whisper-soft kiss we just shared, and I wonder if something has actually reignited between us. It was an impulsive act but it doesn’t mean it lacked meaning or merit.