I take in a deep breath. Home.

I’m home. This is everything I’ve wanted.

I’ve never been so miserable.

Reece follows me into the bedroom and sets a box labeled Bedding on the dresser.

His eyes flick around the room, avoiding me. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” I say in a wooden tone that sounds nothing like mine.

“There’s one more box in the car,” he says, just as flatly. “I’ll grab it then be on my way.”

I nod but can’t bring myself to say anything else.

A quick glance in the small bathroom shows that the girl I’m leasing from is a good soul. There’s a roll of toilet paper after all.

I hear a soft thud on the door, and I open it for Reece, who must have kicked it to get my attention since he has his hands full with the enormous box of my few kitchen belongings.

He sets it easily on the counter and stretches his back. “Good?”

I can only look at him. Seriously? Good? No. I’m so far from good, I’m not even sure there’s a word for what I am.

“Yup,” I say. “Thanks for carrying my stuff up.”

He nods in acknowledgement and turns toward the door.

“Wait,” I say. “Where will you stay tonight?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Motel. I texted my boss, he leaves tomorrow. I’ll settle in there for a few days until I can find a cheap rental.”

I nod, silently begging him to say, but unable to say the words. I don’t know how to talk to this Reece.

He looks at me for a long minute, and I swear there’s something akin to disgust on his face before he nods and heads toward the front door. “Enjoy your life, Lucy.”

“Wait, what?” I say, just as he reaches for the door handle. “That’s all you’re going to say? After all of this?”

He gives a weary sigh, his head dropping forward as though he’s been expecting this conversation as much as he’s been dreading it.

I half expect him to walk out the door without a backward glance, but he turns around and gives me a slightly bored look. “What do you want me to say?”

I have no idea. I want him to stay. I want him to go. I want him to apologize. I want to apologize.

“Okay, what’s going on?” I say, forcing a smile. “Are you just doing that skittish guy thing?”

“Sure.”

“Damn it, Reece,” I snap. “You’ve got to give me something. What the heck happened? Why are you acting so weird?”

“How have I been weird? We’ve talked. We’ve screwed. We’re good.”

“No, we’re not good!” I shout. “Is this how we’re going to end this? To just fizzle out with a haphazard Have a nice life?”

His smile is colder than I’ve ever seen it. “Not part of your plan, was it, babe?”

Babe? He’s never called me babe in his life.

“What plan? What are you talking about?”

“You don’t have a problem that this is ending, you have a problem that it’s not ending your way. That you’re not in control.”

I blink rapidly, trying to follow, then give up, and drag my hands over my face tiredly. “Okay, can we do this tomorrow? We can both get a good night’s sleep, get on the same page in the morning.”

His hand is already on the doorknob, jerking the front door open, and I feel a surge of panic. “We’re already on the same page.”

“Really?” I say with a nervous laugh. “Because nowhere on my page is it written that you walk out that door.”

He turns away. “I’ll shop for a new car tomorrow and drop the keys for Horny off as soon as I can.”

My panic surges into full-on terror. “Reece, wait. I don’t want Horny, I want…you.”

He goes rigidly still for a moment.

Then he shakes his head, and without another word, shuts the door in my face.

Chapter 37

Reece

Good news: four days in, the new job is going great.

Better than I could have expected, really. As promised, the winery’s got a small-family feel with a big-time budget. The wine’s damn good, my coworkers are chill and friendly, and even coming in as the new guy, my pay’s better than at my old job, courtesy of Sonoma’s higher cost of living.

Granted, all I’ve done so far is shadow other people, learning their processes, their lingo, and most importantly, their grapes.

But in under a week, I’ve already got ideas. For the first time in a long-ass time, I feel excited about possibilities. Not only about the grapes and the blends, but about how they’re underselling their merlot and treating their cab like it’s a happy-hour special instead of a robust, steak-night special.

I mean, not that I give a crap about the marketing mechanics. That’s for fancy-pants like you know who to worry about. But I do know grapes. I know wine.

And Abbott has some good stuff.

It’s going to be even better once my training wheels come off and I get my hands dirty. Literally.

So that’s great.

What’s not so great?

I still don’t have a place to live. Joe, lead winemaker, and my official boss once he gets back from his honeymoon, returns in two days. And though I know he’s grateful to have someone to feed his ugly cat, and I’m grateful for the place to stay, he’s going to be none too happy to find his new vineyard worker still sleeping on his couch.

Blowing out a long breath, I lean back, thumping my head on the headrest of the blue Chevy pick-up.