Page 82 of While You Were Trending

Not me.

Dori.

Cricket and Dori wouldn’t have been here last year for harvest—they each went viral and arrived within the past six months—so that makes sense that they’d need an explanation.

“My grandma used to make them every Sunday,” Dori replies. “Biggest thing I miss about leaving home.”

“Get inside quick if you want them,” Ginny says. “Shade’s already making a dent, and I heard Pip making noise upstairs. You know how much she can eat.”

“And how many biscuits she can shove in her pockets for later,” Olivia says.

“Ew,” Dori says. “Now I’m thinking about what you might mean bypockets.”

“Come eat,” Ginny says. “It’ll take your mind off of Pip’s pockets.”

The women file in past her, every one of them pausing to hug her and then rub my dog’s head.

I’m debating if I want to eat or just take Flow back to the apartment and sleep when Ginny makes eye contact with me. “You coming?”

Just like that.

Want to come eat something with us?

Like she used to.

Even when I was scowling and muttering about the mess in the kitchen or all of the milk being gone.

I wasn’t imagining what happened between us yesterday.

She’s forgiven me.

I give her a tired smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“It’s tradition.”

“You sleep well last night?” I ask her.

She grins. “Sowell. For hours and hours. I feelgreattoday.”

“Rubbing it in?”

“Yes.” Her eyes twinkle.

My mind drifts to an image of this being my house, these being my fields, Ginny being my wife, standing there calling me and the kids inside after we picked our own grapes, me kissing her as I greet her at the door, and my heart tries to pull itself out of my chest.

Not going there, dumbass.

I’m here off and on for a few months.

Not forever.

Long enough to film what I need to for this documentary.

And then I hope that it does well enough that I get a second documentary.

But instead of making wine for a second season, I want a shot at trying to get back into the league.

It’s the entire reason I agreed to do the documentary.