Chapter 12 Saffron
SAFFRON
I’d been in the vineyard since four in the morning, walking the rows with my flashlight and refractometer even though I’d checked the Brix levels yesterday. And the day before. The numbers hadn’t changed. Twenty-four point two. Perfect for harvest.
I just needed to see them one more time.
Headlights cut across the vineyard as the sky started to lighten. Snapper’s truck.
He climbed out, carrying two travel mugs, and crossed to where I stood among the vines.
“You’re early,” I said.
“So are you.” He held out one of the mugs.
I took it and sipped.
“The crew will be here in twenty minutes.” I turned back to the vines, studying the clusters I’d already examined a dozen times. “I want to start in the north section. The fruit there gets the most sun exposure, so it should be—”
“Saff.”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
I didn’t want to. I hadn’t since that dinner when everything felt too intense. Again.
But I looked anyway.
His eyes searched my face. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“I slept fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He took a protein bar out of his pocket and held it out to me without speaking.
I unwrapped it, grateful he didn’t make a thing out of it.
I took a bite and another drink of coffee, then walked to the next row. Behind me, I heard him sigh.
The crew arrived as the sun broke over the hills. Eight men my father had known forever.
When they got to work, I grabbed shears and a bin and headed into the first row.
Snapper followed.
The vines were planted close enough together that we had to work single file, passing the bins forward as they filled.
Cut, lay, move, repeat. My hands knew the work without thinking.
Which was good, because thinking about what I was doing, why I was doing it, what would happen if this didn’t work, made each breath take effort.
“Hand me that bin,” Snapper said from behind me.
I did.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.
“I haven’t.” I cut three more clusters and laid them in the bin. “We’re harvesting. Can we not do this right now?”
“Do what?”
“Talk about things that don’t matter.”
Silence. Then so quiet I almost didn’t hear it: “I didn’t realize I didn’t matter.”
I caught myself before I crushed the cluster in my hand when my shears slipped. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then, what did you mean?”
“Not that,” I said under my breath.
We worked without talking after that. The only sounds were the shears snipping, the leaves rustling, and the low conversations from the crew in other rows. My back started to ache, and my hands cramped. The sun climbed higher, and sweat soaked through my shirt.
By midmorning, I’d changed into a tank top and still couldn’t cool down. I grabbed a water bottle from the cooler at the end of the row and drained half of it.
Snapper appeared beside me, reaching for his own bottle. His shirt was damp too, sticking to his chest and shoulders. He lifted the bottle to drink, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
“Have you eaten today?” he blurted.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry.” He stepped closer. “I asked when you last ate.”
“Yesterday. Maybe. I don’t know.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it matters.” His jaw tightened. “You’re running yourself into the ground.”
“I’m fine.”
“Quit saying that. You’re not fine. You’ve got shadows under your eyes. You’ve lost weight. Your hands are shaking.”
I looked down. He was right. My hands trembled against my thighs.
“You need to rest.”
“I can’t.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “I can’t stop. I can’t—” The rest of what I was about to say stuck in my throat.
Snapper reached up and cupped my cheek. His touch was gentle enough to make my eyes burn. “Saff—”
“We should get to work.” I stepped away and headed toward the vines.
I felt his gaze on my back, but he didn’t follow immediately.
The afternoon was brutal. Heat pressed down, and my exhaustion made everything harder. I dropped a cluster, stumbled between vines, and forgot to move my bin forward, so I had to backtrack.
Every time, Snapper was there, steadying me. Moving my bin without comment.
By five o’clock, we’d picked the last cluster, and the bins were loaded onto the truck that would take them straight to Los Caballeros.
My hands shook harder as I watched the purple-black fruit disappear.
“Saff,” he said quietly. “Go inside.”
“I need to help—”
“We’ve got it.”
“But—”
“Please.” He stepped closer, and I saw the concern in his eyes. “Let us handle getting the fruit into the tanks.”
I thanked him, then went inside the house that felt too big and empty. I showered and changed into pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt that used to be my dad’s. Then I sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water I didn’t drink.
The mail was stacked in the center of the table. Bills I couldn’t pay. Notices I’d been ignoring.
I opened the top envelope. Equipment supplier. Past due. Please remit.
The next one was from our wine distributor. Account suspended. Outstanding balance must be paid.
I set them aside and reached for the next. And the next. Each one worse than the last.
My vision blurred as tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.
I couldn’t fall apart. Not now.
But my body didn’t listen. The sobs came anyway—ugly, choking sounds that hurt. I pressed my hands over my face but couldn’t stop.
Days of holding it together had taken their toll on me. I couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t carry it alone. Couldn’t be strong enough or smart enough to save us. I was going to fail, and we were going to lose everything.
Headlights swept across the kitchen window.
I heard a truck door slam. Footsteps on the porch. A knock.
“Saff? You in there?”
I couldn’t answer through the sobs.
He opened the door I’d forgotten to lock.
“Jesus, Saff—”
Snapper crossed the kitchen and dropped to his knees beside my chair. His hands framed my face, turning me toward him.
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t let him see me breaking.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what?”
“Any of it. All of it.” I shook my head, pulling away from his hands. “I’m so tired.”
“Then, rest.”
“I can’t.” Another sob tore through me. “If I stop, if I rest, if I let go for even a second—”
“What? What happens if you let go?”
“We lose everything.”
Snapper went still. “The foreclosure.”
I looked up. “You knew?”
“I heard rumors. How bad is it?”
Everything poured out of me. The call from the bank. The threat that if we didn’t bring the account current, they’d begin foreclosure.
“That’s why I needed the favor,” I said. “Why I needed your family’s grapes and equipment. Why the wine has to work. This is the only chance.” My voice broke. “And what if it doesn’t work? What if I fail? What if I lose everything anyway?”
Silence stretched between us. I waited for him to tell me I should’ve trusted him sooner. That I’d made everything worse.
Instead, he said, “Okay.”
I blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay. We make the wine. We save the winery.”
“Snapper—”
“You’re not alone, Saffron. You hear me?”
“You don’t understand how much money—”
“I don’t care about the money. I care about you.”
“But—”
“Listen to me.” His intensity made me go still. “We have what we need. The wine is going to work. And if it doesn’t, we’ll figure out another way. But you’re done carrying this alone.” He sighed. “And that’s another thing. I want you to know that I get why you don’t want your dad to know.”
“You do?”
“Yes. He’d never accept the help, and not because he wouldn’t appreciate it. His pride…”
I was crying again, but I felt lighter. My chest loosened. My shoulders dropped. Air came easier.
“I’m so tired,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I’ve been so scared.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.”
He put his arms around me, and I curled into his chest. One of his hands slid into my hair, and I buried my face against his shoulder.
“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured against my hair. “I promise.”
I believed him, finally accepting that maybe letting someone help didn’t make me weak. Maybe it just made me human.
My breathing evened out, and the tears stopped.
When I rested my hand on his chest, his shirt was damp beneath it. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He moved the hair back from my face. “Feel better?”
“A little.” I let out a shaky laugh. “I’m still terrified.”
“That’s fair.” His thumb traced along my cheekbone.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For being here. For not leaving when you saw what a mess I am.”
“Saff.” He waited until I looked at him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve told you that so often you’re probably sick of hearing it, but I mean it.”
The way he looked at me made my pulse kick up. Not from fear this time. From want.
His gaze dropped to my eyes, then to my mouth. The air between us shifted.
“Saffron…”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me to leave.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because if I stay—” He stopped. Swallowed. “If I stay, I’m going to kiss you. And I don’t think I’ll be able to stop at just kissing.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “I don’t want you to stop.”
His eyes darkened. “You need to be sure.”
“I am sure. I need you to stay. I need to be with you.”
His hands slid from my face down to my waist, and I rose up on my toes to kiss him.
He made a sound low in his throat and brought me closer. His mouth was warm and demanding.
His hands moved to my hips, then lower, gripping my thighs as he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he pressed me against the wall, kissing me like he’d been starving for it.
“Upstairs,” I gasped against his mouth.
He leaned away enough to look at me, checking, making sure before he carried me toward the stairs.