The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(70)

Inside the farmhouse, before a crackling fire, they drank to the earth’s bounty.

And when the bottle was empty, they made love again.





Chapter Forty-three


Mid-February, Belize





Manolo smiled as he watched a ragtag clutch of kids shuffle down the dirt road to the one-room school in cliques of two and three, whispering and shoving and singing the way schoolchildren did, the world over. Now, thanks to the village’s new water filtration system, they could spend more time learning instead of hefting heavy buckets up the hill from the river multiple times a day.

He thanked his team, filed his reports, and packed up his gear.

Then it was wheels up.

Halfway through the long flight, he patted his breast pocket containing the heirloom passed down to him by virtue of being his mother’s only son.

When he landed, he rented a car for the final leg of his journey.

But the view outside his car wasn’t of the Sydney Harbour Bridge or the Opera House.

And in place of the Southern Hemisphere’s bronze-tinged autumn leaves, he was surrounded by flocks of robins digging in the newly turned earth, field hands bundled up in hoodies wielding long-handled pruners, and fuzzy willow catkins along the quiet two-lane roads . . . the unmistakable signs of a Pacific Northwest spring.

*

Junie bounded down the porch steps to meet Manolo.

Though they’d spoken on the phone every night, it had been two months since he’d held her in his arms. He dropped his bags and swung her around, loving the joyous laughter that bubbled out of her throat.

Arm in arm, they entered the farmhouse.

“I have a surprise for you,” said Junie.

In the living room sat an inviting new couch flanked by matching chairs.

Manolo eased his body into the plump cushions.

“You like?” she asked, beaming.

Manolo patted the seat next to him. “I’d like it better with you here, next to me.”

She plopped down by his side and he slung his arm around her.

“Feels like home sweet home,” he said.

“That’s the best thing you could have said to me,” she replied, smiling up into his face.

“I have something for you, too.” He withdrew the tiny box from his pocket, cracked it open, and took out the ring, tilting it to watch the stone’s facets reflect the light.

Since December they’d worked out all the details of their future plans. But he only intended to get engaged one time. He wanted to do it right.

“This was never supposed to happen,” he began. “Growing up, I felt trapped, chained to a family business. All I ever wanted was to break free . . . to run as fast and as far as I could, building something as my hallmark at every site. If I managed to make some lives a little easier along the way, so much the better. And then I ran into you.”

He withdrew his arm from around Junie’s shoulder, picked up her hand where it rested on the couch and cradled it in both of his.

“When I landed here last summer, at first I thought it was only about creating this amazing space for you to sell your wine. Then when I went to Belize, I had this nagging feeling that I’d left behind unfinished business. I kept dreaming of ways to make this place even better, thinking that it was just like all the other jobs—all about the work. But in the end, I realized what I’d really left behind was my heart.”

Manolo slipped his grandmother’s ring onto Junie’s ring finger, drew her hand to his lips, and kissed it.

He drew in a breath. “After all the things we’ve said over the past two months, you may think this is just a formality, and I guess it is. Something about me that hasn’t changed, that will never change, is I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep. And this is one promise I want to make in person.”

He slid down on one knee in front of the couch and looked up at her.

“Juniper Hart, I promise to stay by your side through everything that is to come . . . through seasons of want and seasons of plenty, forever and ever, no matter what.”

Junie’s face crumpled and she tucked her chin into her chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with alarm, dipping his head, seeking her eyes with his.

“I’m an ugly crier,” she apologized, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Gently, he lifted her chin with a fingertip, then chuckled, pulled her to her feet and gathered her into a bear hug.

“You’re beautiful, Buttercup. And I’m crazy about you.”

He pulled back to show her he meant it by the straightforward look on his face.

Eyes the turquoise of the Mediterranean sparkled into his. She looked down at the ring glittering on her finger. “If I said no, I’d have to take this off, wouldn’t I?” she laughed through her tears.

“Pretty smooth, how I did that, huh?” he laughed with her.

He kissed her then, and their tears mingled, washing away their loneliness, welcoming something new and strong and whole.





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Chapter One “Thanks for coming! Good seeing you again.”