Free Once Upon a Wine by Beth Kendrick Page B

him.
    He saw her expression changing, and his changed, too. Theygot dressed and he drove her home in silence. When they pulled up in front of the rental cottage, he gave her a slow, gentle, thorough kiss that she knew would have to last her forever.
    Because August was all they had left.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    The next afternoon, when she drove to the farm to count the rows with Ian, he led her to a corner of earth on the far end of the cornfield.
    The land had been cleared and cordoned off. Where yesterday there had been burgeoning stalks of corn, there were now tiny green sprouts, so new that Cammie couldn’t guess what they were going to be. She knelt down to examine the tender leaves with jagged edges and the tiny white flowers with yellow centers.
    â€œStrawberries,” Ian said when she glanced up at him. “I know you like them better than corn.”
    She did love strawberries—in pies, ice cream, cocktails, and fresh off the vine—but she hadn’t realized he’d noticed. She should have known better. Ian noticed everything, even if he didn’t remark on it.
    â€œI planted them this morning.” He knelt down next to her in the freshly turned dirt. “I think I got the depth right. You can still see the crown here. Look.” He pointed out the section of the plant where the leaves and stems met the roots. “That’s the sweet spot.”
    Cammie reached out and brushed one of the green leaves with her finger. “So, now what?”
    â€œNow we keep them alive.”
    Over the next few weeks, Cammie watered and weeded the berry plants before she went to work. She chased away birds and covered the plants with long strips of burlap when ladybugs threatened. Every day she checked for signs of progress.
    â€œWhen will the berries show up?” she asked Ian as August drew to a close.
    â€œNext year.”
    She blinked, confused. “What?”
    â€œRight now, the plants have to put all their energy into growing.” He produced a small, sharp knife. “We’ll prune the flowers this year.”
    She threw herself between the blade and the berries. “But they’re about to blossom!”
    He rolled his eyes at her theatrics. “If we cut them now, the fruit will be better next year. The plants will spread and we’ll have more. It’s all about delayed gratification. We have to wait until next spring.”
    She sighed. “But I won’t be here in the spring.”
    In the end, they compromised. Ian severed all the flowers on all the plants—except one. One plant was allowed to pursue its natural course, and at the end of the month, Cammie plucked a single red berry from the vine.
    â€œWow.” She offered the half-eaten fruit to Ian. “Taste this. Is it really this good, or do I just
think
it’s this good because I’ve been working on it every day for a month?”
    He tasted it, deliberating. “Does it matter?”
    She decided it didn’t and plucked another berry. “These can’t possibly get any better.”
    â€œYeah, they can,” he promised. “Just wait.”
    She hated to say these words because she knew it would ruin the moment. But she couldn’t lie—not to him and not to herself. “I can’t wait. I can’t stay.”
    â€œYou can—but you won’t.” He turned his whole body away from her.
    â€œI have to go, Ian. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t.” She waited for the tension in his back to soften, and when it didn’t, she rested her palm next to his shoulder blade. “You can visit me. Call me. Wait for me.” Her voice was high and light, and she knewthat she shouldn’t try to appease him like this. She shouldn’t explain or apologize, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
    He finally shifted his body so he was facing her. “How long do you expect me to