Epilogue
Josie
The days are still warm, but the evenings are cooling, and every row in the vineyard seems to be waiting for the same signal.
Bins have been stacked near the crush pad.
Equipment has been staged throughout the property.
Crews have spent the week moving through final checks, and everywhere I look there is motion held just short of release.
For years, this part of the season carried a pressure I could feel beneath my ribs.
Every decision mattered because the margin for error was thin.
Every delay, every repair, every weather shift had the power to knock us sideways because it gave Evie a reason to get involved.
To second guess. To decide arbitrarily. This year, the pressure is still there, but it feels different.
We aren’t bracing for impact anymore. We’re getting ready to move forward.
I’m at my desk in the winery with harvest reports spread in front of me when Alex appears in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans one shoulder against the frame and watches me with a quiet, assessing look. I cap my pen and try not to smile before he even opens his mouth.
“Come take a walk with me.”
I glance at the reports, and then back at him. “Is this a walk, or are you staging an intervention?”
“That depends,” he says, stepping into the office. “How emotionally attached are you to those spreadsheets?”
“Very. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“I was afraid of that.”
I close the folder, because the truth is I don’t need much convincing.
Dinner isn’t for another hour, Eloise is with Zara, and the vineyard outside my window is washed in the kind of late-summer light that makes even practical decisions feel softer around the edges.
Alex holds out his hand, and I take it as I stand.
We leave the winery and head toward Block 58, where the rows stretch toward the lake in clean, dark lines.
The sun hangs low over the western hills, gilding the leaves and catching on the fruit tucked beneath them.
Around us, the property feels alive with anticipation, even though the crews have gone home for the evening.
It’s there in the stacked bins, the parked tractors, the quiet readiness of a place that knows the most important work of the year is about to begin.
“So,” Alex says as we step between the rows, “how are harvest preparations going?”
“Dangerous question.”
“I’m feeling brave.”
I laugh, but once he gives me the opening, I take it.
Block 58 is performing better than I dared hope.
The fruit is consistent, the sugar levels are where they need to be, the acids are holding, and the flavor development has been exceptional.
If the weather stays steady, we’ll start bringing this block in first, and then move through the others according to the schedule Sera and I finalized this morning.
Alex listens more than he talks, his hand warm around mine. He asks the occasional question, but mostly he lets me talk through crews, tank space, production timing, and the order of picks. There’s no impatience. If anything, his mouth keeps curving like he enjoys hearing me get carried away.
“What?” I ask when I catch the look.
“You’re happy.”
I look across the vines, where the fruit hangs heavy and ready beneath the fading light. “I am.”
We reach the end of the row and turn toward the next block, and somehow the conversation shifts from harvest to everything waiting beyond it.
Sera and I have been talking about expanding the visitor experience, building stronger tourism traffic, using the lake views better, creating events that make Black Bear a destination instead of only a tasting room.
There are infrastructure upgrades we want, equipment we’ll need, and sections of land that could support additional vineyard development if we approach it carefully.
“Long term, if the numbers keep moving the way they are, we could do more than maintain what’s here,” I say, stepping around an irrigation line.
“We could actually grow this place. Not recklessly. Not all at once. But there are projects Sera and I keep circling back to, and for the first time they don’t feel impossible. ”
Alex’s thumb moves once over the back of my hand. “You’re talking about years.”
“I guess I am.”
The words slow me down.
A year ago, every version of my future had an exit built into it.
Napa had looked like proof that I was worth choosing, because Black Bear didn’t feel like something I would ever be allowed to claim.
Now I’m walking through Block 58 at sunset, talking about harvests we haven’t picked yet, buildings we haven’t renovated, vines we haven’t planted, and every single plan is rooted right here.
I keep walking, but something inside me goes still. I’ve stopped planning my escape and started planning my life.
Without thinking, I start talking again. “If the visitor program works the way we’re hoping, we could probably justify expanding the tasting facilities within a few years. We’d need to be careful about traffic flow, but there’s room to do it properly.”
Beside me, Alex nods. “Mm-hmm.”
I glance over to find him staring somewhere beyond the next row.
“That’s your interested face?”
His attention snaps back to me. “It is.”
“It looks suspiciously similar to your distracted face.”
A smile flickers across his mouth before he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m listening.”
“Sure you are.”
I continue talking as we move deeper into the vineyard, describing one of the tourism proposals Sera and I have been considering.
Alex nods in what is probably meant to be encouragement, but halfway through my explanation he glances at his watch before looking toward another section of the vineyard.
The movement is subtle, but not subtle enough.
I stop walking. “Okay. What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
His answer comes a little too quickly, and when I narrow my eyes, he laughs.
“You are absolutely doing something.”
“I’m walking.”
“Poorly.”
He laughs again. “I didn’t realize there was a correct way to walk.”
“You’ve spent the last twenty minutes checking your watch and staring into neighboring rows.”
“I checked my watch once.”
“Twice.”
“Allegedly.”
I gesture toward the vines around us. “It’s six-thirty on a Saturday. Unless you’ve secretly booked a dinner reservation in the middle of Block 58, there is no reason for you to have a schedule.”
“You’re overthinking this.”
“Am I?” I start walking again, waiting until he falls into step beside me. “Because you’ve also spent the last ten minutes pretending to care about vineyard management.”
His hand finds the small of my back. “I do care about vineyard management.”
“You have opinions about coffee shops, television commercials, and whether hot dogs qualify as sandwiches. There is absolutely no chance you’ve suddenly developed strong feelings about irrigation infrastructure.”
“That is a very specific accusation.”
“It isn’t an accusation. It’s a fact.”
His grin widens, but his attention drifts past me again before returning so quickly it almost makes me laugh. Whatever he’s waiting for, he’s terrible at hiding it.
“Everything is fine,” he says.
The reassurance arrives before I’ve asked for it, which tells me exactly how fine everything isn’t.
I study him as we continue down the row. On the surface he looks relaxed, but there’s an energy beneath it I can’t quite place. Every few minutes his attention wanders somewhere beyond the conversation before snapping back again.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I tell him.
“That’s a strange threat.”
“It’s not a threat. It’s the only reason I’m letting this continue.”
“I appreciate your generosity.”
I roll my eyes, but my curiosity continues to grow. The vineyard isn’t exactly crowded. There shouldn’t be anything out here distracting him.
Then movement catches my attention.
Eloise steps into the row with both hands tucked carefully behind her back and the solemn expression of someone entrusted with nuclear codes.
Her curls are slightly windblown, and there is dust on one knee of her leggings, but she moves toward us with such purpose that I don’t immediately say anything.
Beside me, Alex lets out a slow breath, and the tension that has been radiating from him finally eases.
Eloise stops in front of us and lifts her chin. “I have a job.”
“I can see that,” I say, looking from her very serious face to Alex’s suddenly innocent one. “Is this the kind of job that requires secrecy, or the kind that explains why your father has been acting strangely for the last twenty minutes?”
Alex coughs into his hand, but Eloise only looks more pleased with herself.
“It’s an important job,” she says, drawing the words out with great dignity before bringing one hand forward.
A small box sits in her palm, dark and square and entirely too formal to be anything she found in the vineyard. “This is for you.”
I stare at it for a second before taking it from her. “For me?”
She nods hard enough to make her ponytail bounce, while Alex waits beside me.
The weight of the box feels wrong in my hand, too small to explain the sudden tightness in my chest and too significant to pretend I don’t understand what might be happening.
I look at Eloise again, but her mouth is pressed closed as if keeping quiet is now the most difficult part of her assignment.
Carefully, I lift the lid. The ring catches the light.
For a moment, the vineyard seems to narrow around the three of us.
The entire restless property falls to the edges of my attention as I look down at the ring tucked inside the box.
My fingers tighten around the velvet, and when I finally look up, Alex is watching me with a tenderness that makes it difficult to breathe.
He takes the box gently from my hand, turning it once between his fingers before looking back at me.