She gives my chest a happy little pat. “I like that. A fresh start, hiccups forgotten.”

I snort. “ ‘Hiccups.’ Is that what we’re calling them?”

“Nope.” Her arms are around my neck again, and she’s looking up at me. “We’re not calling them anything, remember? And I just realized why it was that I was coming after you.”

“It wasn’t to tell me that you loved me?”

“I was maybe going to mention that. But mostly, I was going to tell you that I need a roommate. And you need a roommate…the current one’s no good for you.”

My eyes narrow. “This place is a one-bedroom.”

She bites her lip. “I’m aware.”

My eyes narrow further. “Lucy Hawkins. Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Well, it’s the only way we won’t have to worry about joint custody of Horny,” she says pragmatically.

I smile. “True. He needs to know that both his parents love him very much.”

“Do you think he knows that his parents love each other very much?”

“He should,” I say as I begin backing her toward the bedroom. “After all, he’s the one that watched us fall for each other all over again.”

Lucy puts a hand on my chest, halting my progress. “Well here’s the thing, Reece. I don’t think I ever stopped. I think I’m one of those crazy-stupid girls who’s loved you this whole time.”

I can’t help the happy grin that spreads over my face as I bend my knees and hoist her over my shoulder and expedite our movement toward the bed.

“Well that’s convenient,” I say, giving her butt a playful swat. “Because I’m that crazy-stupid guy that loved you the whole damn time too.”

Epilogue

Lucy

LUCY, TWENTY-SEVEN, REECE, TWENTY-EIGHT

I rest my hand on Reece’s shoulder, tugging his ear down to me so he can hear me as we mingle with the crowd gathering around the makeshift stage.

“You know that if one of us wins, it means that the other loses,” I say.

Reece gives my hand a pat and grins down at me. “Oh, Luce. That’s cute. No, no, sweetie, it means that when I win, you’ll have lost.”

I roll my eyes. Cocky bastard.

We’re at one of wine country’s most-hyped events…an impromptu wine tasting where the top wineries bring what they think to be the best of last year’s vintage for a blind tasting. It’s one of my favorite gatherings. No tourists, no wine snobs, just winery employees and the people who make the stuff.

The party’s been going all night. It’s finally down to five finalists, and the winner is about to be announced.

The winery Reece works for is in the finals.

So is the winery I work for.

My boss catches my eye across the room and holds up a hand with crossed fingers as the judge tallies the final vote. I do the same, although truthfully, I want Reece to win almost as much as I want to win.

I love my job. I mean I really love it.

I love Reece more. Way more.

“All right, ladies and gentleman,” a short lady with spiky blond hair says into a microphone that squeaks. The sound reverberates off the rafters of the large barn where we’ve all congregated. “We have our winner!”

Beside me, I feel Reece shift nervously, and I take his hand, noticing the way some of the people around us smile at the gesture. I don’t want to brag or anything, but in the three years we’ve been in Napa, Reece and I have become something of wine royalty.

We both made Wine Magazine’s Thirty Under Thirty list—he for Innovative Winemaking, I for my guerrilla marketing tactics.

Reece’s words, not mine.

He’s just jealous, because I’m not selling his wine. Yet.

Let’s just say we have plans.

“And the winner is…” Blond lady pulls the paper bag off the bottle of the winner. “Abbott Vineyards!”

My heart leaps in joy. Reece’s wine.

Reece’s only reaction is to clench his fist, giving the smallest pump of victory, before he turns and grins down at me. “Told you.”

“Such a gracious winner.” I go on my toes to kiss him. “Congrats. Go ahead, wallow in this, because next year…”

“Next year I’ll win again, and all the years after that, soooooo…”

I laugh and push him toward the stage. “Go. Get your prize so we can go home and drink the stuff.”

My heart nearly bursts with pride as I watch Reece shake hands and smile at his colleagues. I shake some hands of my own, smiling and working the crowd as I always do, even as one eye follows Reece, loving the pure joy on his face.

I think my pride might kill me.

Nearly an hour later, he meets me at the coat check, helping me into my trench as I make a grab for the award-winning wine bottle in his hand. “Now do I get to see the bottle?” I ask, knowing that Abbott Vineyards has the unique quirk of letting each winemaker pick the name of the wine beyond the type of grape. “You’ve been so weird about it!”

Reece hesitates for only the briefest of moments before letting me pry the bottle from his hand.

I take in the familiar Abbott logo, the cabernet sauvignon descriptor, and then I see the name of the wine itself, and my happy smile turns into stunned wonder, and I look up at him.

“Love Story,” I say. “You named it Love Story. And there’s a little cartoon car that looks suspiciously like Horny.”