Page 97 of Love on the Vine
I stood in the doorway taking in the scene. Monsieur Reynaud was perched on a small stool, his hand leaning against his cane while he shouted instructions at Michel who was halfway up a ladder peeking into a vat. Chantal was showing Isa how to destem the grapes.
“Are you helping out this weekend?”
“Not just this weekend.” Jake stuck his hands in his pockets shyly. I’d never seen him look so boyish and adorable. “Reynaud has finally decided to sell me his wine.”
Realization dawned on me. “You mean the vineyards?”
“Yeah.” Jake shook his head as if he didn’t believe it himself. “And I was crazy enough to take him up on it.”
“This is amazing!” I threw myself in his arms. “Are you happy?”
“Now that you’re here.” He lowered his head to kiss me again.
Warmth spread through my chest, wrapping around my heart as he led me out into the vineyard. The echo of the villagers’ laughter drifted out to us on the breeze as I took it all in: Reynaud’s bees buzzing happily in the vines, the sunflowers tilting toward the sun with Jake standing in the middle of it all, smiling at me with a boyish grin, dimpling all the way.
I could see him so clearly now, all those his hard edges cradling a tender, beating heart. And suddenly, I was filled with so much love. Inside me and around me, hanging from every vine.
“So did I surprise you?” Jake asked impatiently, his arms encircling me.
“Yes, it’s almost as good as the one I got last year.”
“And what was that?” He frowned, disappointment lacing his voice.
Twining my fingers through his, I stood on my tiptoes and whispered against his lips.
“You.”
Epilogue
OLIVIA
Christmas, one year later
“You don’t really expect me to wear this, do you?” Jake grumbled as he held up his new sweater.
Eyebrows furrowing, he took in the dark green knit embroidered with a cat in a Santa hat. The wordsSanta Clawswere scrolled beneath it. It was an early Christmas gift—well, one of them. I was hiding the other one under my own ugly sweater—a new one this year—red fleece withMeowy Christmasscrawled out in cat scratch script.
“I’m sorry, did you not understand what kind of family you were marrying into? The ugly sweater isde rigeurat all holiday festivities in the Peterson household.” Grabbing the sweater from him, I nudged his arms up so I could pull it over his head.
“If I had known this was part of the deal, I might have reconsidered.” His muffled voice came through the fabric.
“Afraid it’s too late for that. You’re stuck with us now.” When his head emerged, I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from giggling. The contrast between his grumpy face and the frivolous sweater was too much. My shoulders shook with stifled laughter as I turned him around to face the mirror on the back of my old bedroom door.
“Do I at least get something in exchange for this particular humiliation?” His arm snaked out and he dragged me to him, burying his face in my neck.
“Yes, of course,” I teased. “But not here obviously.”
“No, definitely not here,” Jake agreed, looking around at the twin bed with its fluffy white coverlet and the line of stuffed animals against the headboard.
Kirsten had asked us to stay at the house, but we’d decided it would be better to pay for a hotel room in town. The relationship between Jake and my dad was still strained, even though Dad had given me away at our wedding three months ago.
It’s not like he hadn’t had enough time to get used to the fact that Jake and I were together. Jake had insisted on telling him in person shortly after Lucie’s wedding last year. We’d both been super apprehensive about it, but we didn’t want to keep our relationship a secret.
So Jake had flown out to Grand Rapids and invited Dad out to watch a Lions game at a bar in town. Then somewhere between halftime and the final scrimmage, he’d announced that he was in love with me.
Jake told me that night on the phone he’d thought that Dad was going to send him flying over the counter and into the shelves of liquor behind the bar. Instead, Dad had just gone quiet and walked out. He’d called me the next day to make sure it wasn’t, in his words, “some kind of a sick joke.” And I explained that it wasn’t.
It took him the better part of the year to get over it, and he, of course, blamed Jake for my decision to give up law and stay in France. We argued a lot, which made Jake feel awful, but eventually he came around and grudgingly accepted that what Jake and I felt for each other was real.
