Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(64)

She sighed with pleasure as they approached the tidy rows and whispered, “I’m b-a-a-a-ck.”

And damn if a slight gust of wind didn’t make a hundred of those grapes bow down in gratitude.

“It’s like they know,” he said.

She giggled as she reached for a plump green grape. She ate half and handed the remainder to him, as she had the first time he’d visited The Five Sisters so many weeks ago. “Two more months and we’ll start the harvest.”

“And then what?” Cameron dropped her hand and stepped through a space in the vines into the adjacent row. They walked side by side, with the grapes between them, Margaret’s hands running lovingly over the leaves.

“Crushing,” she said. “Fermenting.”

“Then?”

“Bottling, at some point, I guess.”

“Can I ask you a question?” He raised himself on tiptoes to look at her long hair, glossy in the sunshine. He noticed that she never wore it up in a tight chignon anymore, only down or in a long braid. It was happy hair for a happy Margaret, and he loved it.

She looked up at him, shielding her eyes. “Anything.”

“Now that I’m finished with C& C Winslow, and we got to the bottom of the break-ins . . . and sleeping apart from you, even for just a night, sounds completely awful . . .”

“Agreed,” she said, her voice light and happy.

“Well, I was thinking . . .”

“Catch!” she said, throwing him another grape half over the vines.

He caught it and popped it into his mouth. “So, um, I was thinking, how about I . . .?”

Fuck, why was it so hard to ask her for this?

The answer came swiftly: because if she said no, it would mean they were in two very different places in their relationship, and it would hurt to discover that.

Her voice came from the other side of the row. “How about you . . . what?”

He grumbled softly. She wasn’t making it any easier on him either.

“Well . . . I could come and stay out here with you.”

He tried to catch a clear glimpse of her through the vines between them, but her head was down and he wasn’t able to see her expression.

“You mean, move in with me?”

“Um, well, yeah.” And marry you, and have kids with you, and run this vineyard with you, and live happily ever after with you.

She surprised him by slipping through the vines and standing directly in front of his path with her hands on her hips. Her lovely face was tilted up, and a half grin played on her lips. “Is this just so you can follow me around all day every day and make sure I’m safe?”

“Partly.”

Her shoulders, which had been bunched playfully around her ears, fell. “Oh.” She sighed, turning her back to him and taking a few steps forward, away from him. “I thought I was clear in the shower yesterday. I don’t want to be your project. I want to be your partner.”

Her words gave him the courage he needed. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around. He searched her eyes, feeling so much smaller than his six feet three inches, feeling like the fate of the entire world—his entire world—rested on the next words he chose, and whether she wanted to hear them.

“About that . . . being partners, I mean. I’d love to follow you around every day, baby, but I suspect I’d keep busy handling our distribution, marketing, and shipping. And events, of course. The vineyard and vines and wines would always be yours, but I could manage the business end. I could . . .” He swallowed the lump in his throat.

She’d found and purchased this place on her own, planted the grapes, hired the staff, built two outbuildings, and renovated a cottage. What would compel her to share her dream with him?

And then he knew.

Love.

“I love it here,” he whispered, his fingers gripping her shoulders. “I love everything about it. I love the land, the vines and vineyard, the fields beyond, and the hills in the distance. I love the way the sun sets over the vines and rises over the tasting room. I love it that my sister will be married here. I love it that our kids will grow up here.”

She’d been mostly stoic as he spoke, but she inhaled sharply as he mentioned their future children, and her eyes suddenly swam with tears.

“I love you,” he said, staring deeply into her eyes, which told him that all his worries were for naught. “My life was a shell until you let me love you. I didn’t know what love was—not between a man and a woman, not the ‘I’d do anything including die to keep you safe and for the privilege of loving you forever’ sort of love. And without you, I might have lived my life in a constant, manic struggle for peace and happiness. Instead, you’ve delivered them to me. You are my peace; you are my happiness. You are my goddess in librarian’s clothing, my childhood crush, my beloved woman. And this place—this magical place—is where we began. And so I love it. And I never, ever want to leave it.”

Tears ran down her cheeks in rivulets now, and he reached up and swiped them away.

“No half measures, remember?”

She nodded, sniffling softly, and smiled at him through her tears.

“I think you should know my intentions, Margaret Story.” He lowered his voice, nailing her with his eyes. “Not long from now, I’m going to ask you to be my wife.”