Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Things are getting better between us,” I add. “I mean, with Bryan—after the whole—”
She laughs. “Swedish debacle.” It’s what we’re calling it these days.
She squints toward the farmhouse, tucked between ancient oaks and shaded from the worst of the afternoon sun on its north and west sides. I pause to admire the gentle swell of her belly pressing against her denim overalls, her hair braided into a single glossy rope that trails down her back.
Her cheeks glow a soft peach, her brows sun-bleached a shade lighter, delicate freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. She meets my gaze and smiles again. “What?”
“Just admiring you,” I admit with a casual shrug.
“I’m glad I’m worth admiring…”
“You’re kidding, right?”
She giggles. “A little, but truth be told, I’m the lucky one—I get to drool over three hunks every day.” She glances back at the farmhouse again, searching for something.
“What’s wrong?”
“Janet was supposed to harvest whatever’s ripe in the garden,” she mutters. “But I don’t see her anywhere.”
“I think she’s already done with that,” I say. “Pretty sure I walked past her earlier and she was already bringing in a full basket from the garden.”
Makayla sighs. “That girl is on fire.”
“True, but no one’s hotter than Alex right now. I had no idea he was such a natural with a saw.”
“I don’t think Alex had any idea, either, until he picked up a saw and decided to build the vineyard racks on his own.”
The vineyard keeps throwing curveballs, challenging each of us at every turn. But Makayla’s the one who pushes us past our comfort zones. She stitches every detail into a tapestry that lets our lives unfold in a steady, shimmering stream.
“Either way, I’m lucky to have you all riding this wild wave with me,” Makayla says before dropping to her knees and yanking at the weeds again.
“Remind me again why you didn’t just spray the whole lot with weed killer?” I ask.
“Because I want to give an organic crop a shot. Do it old school. Like they used to in the past. Some of the best wines came out of an age when they didn’t spray their vineyards with all sorts of toxins. And yes, I know they’re supposed to be safe and yadda yadda, but… I’m sticking to my guns.”
“Fine.” I drop beside her.
If Makayla’s digging in the dirt, then so am I. There’s no bridge I won’t cross or mountain I won’t climb to help make her dreams come true.
She shoots me an amused look, then returns to plucking the tender weeds. I do the same, and we work for a moment in silence. I figure she’ll come inside with me if I’m patient. The tactic works—it doesn’t take long before she reassesses the task.
“Is this silly?” she asks.
“No, it just means you need longer breaks because you’re—well—pregnant,” I say, pushing to my feet and helping her up.
“I wouldn’t mind an ice-cold lemonade right about now,” she says, glancing over the row. “I’m almost done, anyway.”
“See? Reason wins.”
“And lemonade.”
“The triumph of reason—and lemonade!” I proclaim, drawing a laugh from her.
We walk back toward the house, enjoying the fresh air. I hold her hand protectively to make sure she doesn’t slip on the uneven ground. Makayla knows we’re extra cautious with her, and she’s fine with it. “What good is a man who can’t lead his woman?” she’d said the first time we talked about it. “Let alone three,” I’d replied.
Now she lets me guide her toward the house without a fuss. We climb the porch steps and find Alex waiting beside the table and cushioned chairs, smiling and holding a pitcher of fresh lemonade.
“You fine gentlemen always know exactly what I need,” Makayla says.
“Anything for you, babe.” Alex pours her a glass.
We settle in, watching heat shimmer over the young, vigorous vines—rows that roll to the horizon, where green hills and scattered redwoods reach toward a flawless sky.
My nerves stretch thin; I check the time so often Makayla can’t help but notice.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
Alex shoots me a warning look. I shake my head slowly. “Nothing,” I tell her. “Just waiting for Kellan. It’s taking him forever.”
“He said he’d be back before dinner,” she replies.
“No, he said he’s coming back with dinner,” Alex reminds her with a nervous chuckle.
That’s not what he’s anxious about, though. Not what I’m anxious about, either. But Makayla can’t know, not yet. We planned this carefully. Everything has to go according to plan, so I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to Kellan.
“Where in God’s green earth are you, you big lug?”
Makayla snickers. “And that, my darling Oscar, is why you’re not getting the special dipping sauce… You always rile him up when he’s in charge of bringing food.” She pauses and arches a brow at Alex. “You could’ve just let me cook.”