Page 131 of Just for Tonight

“It is. Day off or no?”

“I can’t. There’s a hard frost forecast and I gambled on having a little more time to pick…”

“And you might not get the whole harvest in,” he says, finishing my sentence with the understanding of someone who also grew up on a farm.

“It’s so close and Opa made an exception for my plan and, oh, I really don’t want it to fail. Can you stop a hard frost?”

“No, I have no expertise with that particular kind of mountain. What if I come help pick today?”

“Where are you?”

“At the end of your driveway.”

“You are not!” My heart leaps and does a little somersault in the air before nailing the landing perfectly.

“I am. And I have to think that picking grapes is not very different from picking tomatoes.”

“It’s probably not.”

“I was the fastest picker in the greenhouse, and I’m motivated. What do you say?”

I still can’t believe he’s serious. “You would pick for me today?”

“That’s the deal.”

“What’s this going to cost me?”

Jake laughs again. “Maybe your future.” He sobers. “Seriously, I work for beer. I probably wouldn’t be averse to a massage tonight either.”

I smile, because I can’t help it. “Cheap date. You’re on.” I wait for him to hoot in triumph. “And you’re late, Cavendish. We’ve started picking.” I end the call and pull on my gloves as I join the crew, who are already working. I hear footsteps closing and turn to see Jake striding down between the rows of vines with purpose, his eyes gleaming. He grins at me, then catches me close and swings me around, taking time for a possessive kiss that almost makes me forget my name. The guys whistle and we break apart, me blushing and Jake grinning.

“Miss me?” he murmurs in a dangerous whisper.

“Not at work,” I murmur and he steps away, eyes still glimmering. He brushes his lips across my temple as if he can’t resist me. I want to drag him behind the next row of vines and have my way with him, but need to follow my own rules.

“Got it, boss lady.” Jake scans the rows of vines, seeing how we’ve marked the ones that have been picked, then assesses the team. “This is it?”

“Bad, bad luck this month.” I’m picking as I talk. “I have two out with sprains, one ankle and one wrist; I have at least four down with a nasty virus, I have…” I’m still counting out missing crew but Jake is on his phone. Before I can finish my list of woes, he’s got Mike and Sierra coming to help, as well as Madison and Luke. “How do you do that?” I ask and he grins.

“Once you start moving mountains, it just gets easier. Now, show me this grape thing.”

I beckon to Sloane who brings Jake shears and gloves. He demonstrates how to clip and drop.

“Just like tomatoes,” Jake says.

“Not quite,” Sloane says. “These are all going to be crushed today, so you don’t have to worry about bruising. Just get them off the vine and into the crate ASAP.”

Jake gets right in there and he is fast. And that’s good, because my phone chimes with a weather alert. There’s now a chance of thunderstorms late in the afternoon with hail.

“Chance of hail!” I shout and there’s a cry from the team. We have a lot of grapes to pick first and we all know it. Everyone starts working faster, and we’re making great progress even before Mike and the other Cavendishes come down the rows to help.

This just might work.

We finish at nine, under the lights from the tractor and there’s a roar of relief when the last row is completed. We did get some rain, not enough to slow us down, but no hail. The grapes are still being hauled into the warehouse to be weighed and crushed. My uncle Franz is in charge of this part, and he’s bustling around, in his element.

The rest of us make our tired way back to the house, where there’s a fire blazing on the patio and the grills are lit. Opa is there to welcome each of us with a hug and a word of praise, though I get a kiss on my cheek as well. I’d be exhausted if I wasn’t so aware of Jake’s presence.

The food, as always, is abundant and delicious. There are burgers and schnitzels and sausages, sauerkraut and crusty buns, two kinds of homemade soup and a spicy chili. There are huge bowls of salads: Caesar, warm potato salad, cole slaw and beet salad, as well as an array of Mrs. O’Neill’s homemade relishes and dill pickles. There’s a keg of beer already open, iced tea, lemonade and wine, of course, from our own stores. We have workers from Jamaica this year, so there’s jerk chicken with rice and peas. I have no idea where Mrs. O’Neill got plantain to fry but it’s fabulous and disappears fast. There are bottles of Red Stripe beer on ice, too.