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The road to Bellamy Vineyard stretched ahead, but my head was still on that ferry deck. I glanced at Vera in the passenger seat, and I felt like I hadn’t taken my eyes off her since she had taken that first shaky breath on the ferry. She had stayed glued to my side for the entire trip. I took no pleasure in her discomfort, but because I was a sick son of a bitch, desperate for her affection, I was mildly grateful for her motion sickness.

We’d barely spoken except for a brief moment when I pointed out a whale cresting to the surface in the distance. She peeked at it and smiled appreciatively before resting her head on my shoulder again. We didn’t talk after that—didn’t have to. Her presence was enough and grounded me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I could’ve stayed on that ferry twice as long if it meant keeping her near.

“You look better,” I declared as I turned down the road leading to the coastal vineyard.

Vera cleared her throat and fiddled with her watch. “I feel better. Thank you for taking care of me back there.”

“You don’t have to thank me for doing the bare minimum, Sugar.”

She sighed. “If only all men thought like you.”

“You don’t have to worry about any other man but me.”

She chuckled softly. “Bold assumption.”

“I don’t say anything I can’t back up,” I declared, pulling through the gates of Bellamy Vineyard.

“You talk a lot of shit, Sweet Hart. That’s why that player from the Titans tried punching your lights out,” she mumbled, staring out the window at the sprawling acres of trellised rows. My hand tightened around the steering wheel. She swiveled her head around and narrowed her eyes at me. “What did you do to that man to make him beat you down like that?”

I shrugged.

“No. Don’t do that. What happened on the ice that night was personal.”

I shrugged again. “Some men can’t handle a little chirping.”

It was a lot of fucking chirping, and I should be thanking my lucky stars I didn’t have to visit the team dentist afterward.

I parked in front of the office.

“Don’t get out.”

I stepped out of the Bronco and grabbed the umbrella in the backseat before coming around to open her door. The rain intensified, battering the umbrella in sharp pelts. The wind picked up too, sending rain slashing against us as I helped Vera out of the truck.

“It’s freezing,” she commented. I angled my body and wrapped an arm around her shoulder as I led her to the front office. “Just think positive thoughts.”

“Like what?” she asked. I could practically hear the grin in her voice.

I leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Like you and me in front of the fireplace with your puss—”

“Welcome to Bellamy Vineyards!” an employee cheerfully greeted us. The vulgarity died on my tongue, and my back went ramrod straight. As expected, Vera laughed at me, and briefly I considered ripping her patch off. “My name is Colin Batchelor. I’m the Vineyard Sales Manager. Mr. Myers, it’s a pleasure to meet you, and we’re thrilled you made the journey,” he said enthusiastically, reaching to shake my hand. We exchanged a firm handshake before I introduced Vera.

“Thank you for having us.” I motioned towards Vera. “This is Vera. She’s an expert when it comes to fermentation and yeast strains.”

Vera’s eyes widened in surprise, and Colin appeared intrigued.

“Is that so?” he asked, one eyebrow quirked.

“She’s a biochemistry major and has a special interest in brewing. She’s conducting a senior research project on using alternative grains to brew beer for consumers sensitive to sugar.”

Colin perked up. “That’s very impressive, Miss Vera. Where are you completing your studies?”

“Summit University.”

“A STEM student after my own heart. Have you secured placement for your internship?”

“I’m working on it,” she answered confidently.

“Good. Add Bellamy to your list. We could always use a fresh set of eyes and eager talent.”