the Tuscan hills in a glow of soft amber. Lexi stood on the farmhouse porch, wrapped in her grandfather's wool shawl, sipping cof

-not his time, not his gestures, not his words. And yet, something about him hinted at

ad que

-

s sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with flour-fin

e asked, v

glanced at her. "But not

You make it sound like

barrel, scribbled a note in his logbook, and said fin

stone wall, arms cros

rows

enne? Not just at the

esit

y know everything about me. My past, my family, my

el, then gestured toward th

-

w minutes. A light breeze stirred the leaves. Bird

said eventually. "His father before him. Gener

d. "Sounds

I was... different. Interested in the science more than the tradition. I left to study oenology in Lyon.

thered bench beneath a

ly, I left for Burgundy. Th

itting cross-legge

giving in Milan. He stayed afterward, asked difficult questions. I

carefully. "You

s ago. My father begged me to return. But it was too late.

s hand lightly.

out over the hills.

etween them, comf

-

shb

mother wanted her to go into finance. Something safe. Predictable. Giovanni had listened quie

chosen j

burned out by

-

ussing pruning strategies and the unexpected early ripening in o

ory hung b

r brother?" Le

than anything. He was the sun I orbit

y. "I think sometimes people assume we're built for the rol

luating glance. "Like vines t

led. "E

-

ong wooden tables overflowed with bread, olives, roasted vegetables, wil

cross the table, Marta's granddaughter tried teaching Lexi an old

t of place and at home al

glass. "You belong

ed a dance. Étienne stood, held out

ly, the Tuscan night wrapp

ou," she

r w

ing me yo

r, but his eyes

-

shb

who shares his wounds is a ma

ven her something fragile.

-

But the promise lingered in

the farmhouse, Lexi

straight lines. Some curl away. Some break.

ke sediment in wine-cloudy, but vital. Maybe

need someone to u

He promised to let me use the refractomet

rew a small hear

e shadows lengthened. Bu

had starte

-