Page 79 of Second Dance
Leo smiled. “Grapes like to struggle a little but not panic.”
They led us over to another section of the vineyard, and I reached for Alex’s hand as we walked. He threaded his fingers through mine immediately, squeezing gently.
“This back valley is harder to farm.” Marisol brushed her palm over a leaf. “Rocky, stingy soil. The vines have to work, which is good for flavor. I tell that to my teenagers too.” She laughed, and the hawk circling above seemed to underline the joke with a single, clean cry.
We continued our tour, walking into a courtyard where fieldstone buildings shouldered together—a tall, gabled house with arched cedar doors, iron strap hinges, a small bell tower, and, opposite it, an ivy-climbed stone façade with a round window and a massive plank door dark as tea. Boxwood clipped low edged the beds; citrus trees in terracotta pots pinched the air with a clean, green smell.
Marisol led us through a pergola hung with grape leaves, the shade dappled and cool on my arms. Alex’s fingertips traced a light path down my bare arm, raising goosebumps. Bare Edison bulbs were strung along the beams, not yet lit, waiting for evening. Beyond, a patch of soft lawn gave way to the first terrace of vines and the low buzz of bees working clover.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Marisol said. “Our oldest daughter’s a gifted chef and works here now.”
“Sophia?” Alex asked. “How can she be old enough?”
“Time flies along, doesn’t it?” Marisol asked.
A long farmhouse table sat under the pergola, a linen runner down the center. Mismatched wooden chairs. Two wine barrels stood in for side tables piled with cheese, including a creamy cow’s milk, a nutty aged wedge, a chalky goat, and fig halves, Marcona almonds, and a bowl of herbed salt. On the main table, fresh bread sat beside a shallow dish of olive oil freckled with pepper and orange zest.
Alex pulled out a chair for me, his hand lingering on my shoulder as I sat. The simple gesture made my heart flutter.
Leo poured a pale rosé that tasted like strawberries and clean stone.
“We’ve just started offering lunch for our guests,” Marisol said, settling in and nudging the bowl of olives our way. “It’s proven to be very popular.”
We ate chunks of bread and cheese with our hands, washing it down with the rosé and cold water. Under the table, Alex’s knee pressed against mine, a constant, warm presence.
“Nothing’s ever tasted this good,” I said.
“It’s the air here,” Leo said. “We think, anyway.”
“How are the kids?” Marisol asked, her expression serious. “We worry about them.”
“They’re okay,” Alex said, his hand finding mine on my lap. “Good days and bad.”
“And how are they adjusting to you dating?” Marisol asked.
“Bella’s been tricky,” Alex said. “But I think she’s coming around.”
“Bless her little heart,” Marisol said before turning to me. “Tell me about your daughter.”
For the next few minutes, I told them about Grace and her interests, our life in Willet Cove. Marisol and Leo listened and nodded, asking questions for more detail. Alex’s thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand the entire time, a quiet reassurance that steadied me.
“Do you want to see the caves?” Marisol asked when the plates were mostly crumbs.
“The caves?” I arched a brow at Alex.
“Barrel room,” he said.
“Oh, yes, please.”
We followed Leo along a path cut into the hillside to a stone arch half-veiled in ivy. Marisol fell in step with me, taking myarm as if we were old friends. “Alex seems good. You make him happy.”
“He makes me happy.”
“I’m glad to hear that. We’ve been worried about him and the kids since they lost Mattie. But I could tell when he called yesterday that he’s better. You’ve brought him back to life.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I wasn’t sure what you’d think.”
“We loved Mattie and miss her,” Marisol said. “But Alex and the children have to keep living.”
