Ginger grabbed herself a to-go burger from the diner, opened a bottle of red wine and looked forward to an evening in her little hideaway—alone. After half a burger and one glass of wine, she just reclined on the couch and let her eyes close.

She awoke to the twittering of her phone and sat up with a start. Matt, she thought. He called every night even though he was so tired. It was pitch-black out. She grabbed for the phone and checked the time. It was so late for him to call; it was after ten. He must be exhausted.

“Matt,” she said, answering.

“Ginger, are you out this evening?”

“Huh? Out? No, I’m home. I fell asleep on the couch. I must’ve been—”

“I knocked. I called and I knocked.”

“You...?” It took her a second and then with a cry she jumped off the couch and ran to her back door, throwing it open. And then she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, God, it’s so late! It’s not the weekend! What are you doing here?”

“I stole a night,” he said, burying his face in her neck. “Let’s not talk too much. Let’s just make love.”

“Good idea. We’ve had enough talks for a while.”

“I need a shower,” he said. “Then I need you.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. It was getting too long and it made her smile. “Then let’s not waste a minute.”

In the end she shared his shower, helped dry him off while he dried her and then fell into bed with him. Oh, how she’d missed him! They hadn’t been together since Portland and even though they had talked, they had both needed this—love that was kind and happy and filled with tenderness. His touch was gentle yet fiery and she responded as though this man was made for her. He whispered words of love that brought tears to her eyes. As she lay satisfied in his arms, gently touching his stubbled cheeks, she whispered, “The grapes let you go?”

“For a little while. I’m going home to check on a few things at the farm, then right back to the vineyard. Another few days and our work with Sal will be done and we’ll start picking in the orchard. On the weekends, in most cases three-day weekends, our cousins will help. Dysart trucks will be parked on our land for three weeks, loaded with pears.”

“Can I come?”

“If you want to, if you feel up to it. It’s hard work.”

“But you have women helping?”

“A few sisters, sisters-in-law and quite a few teenagers who look at it as a way to earn extra money. The temperatures are dropping. Dad and I will stand watch, in case we have to put out smudge pots, but the forecast is good.”

“Will I be in the way? Tell the truth...”

“I’ll take care of you,” he said. “I’ll make sure you know what you’re doing, that you don’t feel awkward. Maybe you want to ask Peyton if she’s coming?”

“I will. I can’t believe you snuck away!”

He kissed her temple. “In a couple of days, when I leave the farm to go back to the vineyard, I’ll be back. I’d rather spend the night with you than some hairy-legged cousin who snores and farts in his sleep. The only problem is, I have to leave so early. Before sunrise.”

“I’ll take anything I can get.”

He squeezed her. He didn’t ask about the phone call, about Mick. She had already decided she would never lie to him. But on that night, so rare and unexpected, she didn’t bring it up. She only loved him with every fiber of her being.

* * *

Two nights later when he snuck back into her bed during the hours of darkness, he did ask. They lay naked, tangled in each other’s arms and legs, and she hoped he didn’t feel her grow tense. If he became angry or upset, it would spoil everything and all she wanted was to be like this with him, trusting and confident of his love.

“I talked to him. He was so pathetic and wimpy on the phone I started to worry he might be sick. Maybe dying! I agreed to meet him for coffee in North Bend. I thought I’d better, just for my peace of mind, in case he died or something and my last words were hateful. But he’s fine. He wanted my opinion on his career strategy.”

Matt rose up on an elbow and looked down at her. “You’re making this up.”

She shook her head.

“And did you give him advice?”

“I did. I told him that as long as he applied all his attention to being a huge success and none to being a good musician, a good man, he wasn’t likely to ever make it. And I suggested that all his bragging and name-dropping could be counterproductive. I also told him never to call my mother again because my brothers really want to beat him up and maybe break his jaw and that could impede his meteoric rise to fame and fortune.”

To her great relief, he grinned. “Meteoric, huh?”

“I said it with a great deal of kindness,” she said, smiling at him.

“I’m sure you did.” He brushed her pretty hair away from her face. “I take it he didn’t upset you.”

She shrugged. “Only in the usual way. Those regrets, you know.”

“You have nothing to regret,” he said.

“Oh, I didn’t do bad things. I just wish I’d never been so foolish, so naive. I really have nothing in common with him. I could’ve started picking pears instead and found the man of my dreams long before now.”

“You have things in common with me then?” he asked, twirling a little hair around his finger.

“Everything, though it’s hard to think about practical things when we’re naked together. When we’re naked all I can think about is how well we come together, like I was born for this, to be with you. But when I have my clothes on and can think straight, I realize we like the same things, want the same things. I have no trouble imagining why you love your work, why you love all that dirt and manure...”

“That interfering family?” he asked.

“I get the impression from George’s wife that she makes sure she gives them plenty of respect and attention but she runs her own home,” Ginger said. “She has a career.” She looked away. “I won’t ever have a career, you know. I have some regrets about that, too.”

He kissed her nose. “Be yourself, Ginger. You’re perfect the way you are.”

She smiled at him. “I am good with the flowers.”