so.
He looked pleased. “The grapes have to freeze before we pick them, which means we have to leave them on the vine and hope a freeze is on the way before they rot. Then, of course, there’s not as much liquid after they freeze, so we make less wine. It’s a risky business, but good ice wine can sell for five times what a bottle of the Reisling brings.”
“That would make a great blog, updating people day by day on the state of the weather, the grapes, the work involved. Wine fanatics would hang on every word. They’d be standing in line for your wine when it was ready.”
“If I could just be two or three people at once, I could manage something like that.”
“I bet you like all the challenges.”
“It’s the darnedest thing. I do like challenges, always have. Take finding Eric’s baby quilts, for instance.”
Surprised at the nimble change of subject, she took another sip of her wine and waited.
“It’s the strangest thing, Jo, but I think I may have found them.”
“Really? You were in the Grants’ attic without me?”
“I’m still monitoring their roof for a possible leak.”
That surprised her, but she didn’t let on.
“Anyway, I went upstairs, and you won’t believe what I found.”
She raised a brow. “Won’t I?”
“The right box was there in front. Exactly where we looked that first day. Are you surprised?”
She set her plate on the table. “Not so much.”
“Well, I was. Really, really surprised. Stunned, in fact. Because...” He paused dramatically. “I had moved that box to the back row before you ever went up there in the first place.”
“Brody!”
He set his glass on the table. “Here’s the thing. I needed an excuse to be with you, or at least I thought I did. But a miracle happened. After we went through that first stack of boxes together, somebody moved that box right back to the front where we’d already looked.”
He had confessed. Now she had to, although he obviously knew the truth. “All right, after our first trip to the attic, Mrs. Grant told me where to find a house key and gave me a description of the box I was looking for. So I took out a couple of quilts and moved the box back to the front, so we wouldn’t find it when we were together. Of course I didn’t know that you—”
He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Jo, do we still need excuses to be together? Do we need more time talking about our views on art or literature, about your job or mine, more snowballs and ice skating? Because it’s all been great. We could be best friends, I guess, if we really worked at it.”
She went into his arms without hesitation, shifting so her face was close to his. “But we were never destined just to be friends, were we?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Brody, just tell me this isn’t about the season....” Her voice caught. “And it’s not just nostalgia for lost youth.”
“It’s about never being able to forget you,” he said, just before he kissed her.
He was right, there really was no more need for conversation. And there was certainly no need to invent ways to entertain each other. There was no need to move into the bedroom, either. The fire was warm, the pillows were soft, and their clothes slipped away as easily as their painful past.
Later, lying against him, skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart, Jo stirred a little. “If Santa Claus comes down this chimney tonight, he’s going to get a big surprise.”
Brody pulled her close again. “Not to worry. Santa knows he doesn’t have to come. I already have my Christmas present.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JO LOVED THE handcrafted bracelet Brody had given her for Christmas. One of his friends made jewelry, and the bracelet was a chain of sterling silver leaves and tiny amethyst beads arranged like clusters of grapes. It was now two days after Christmas, and she had only removed the bracelet to shower. In turn she was afraid Brody might wear the cashmere hoodie she had given him until high summer.
Because he was making sales calls to three distant restaurants that he hoped to interest in his wines, she was back at Hollymeade for the day. She had turned down an offer to accompany him and was taking the day to catch up with email. Like clockwork she had monthly cramps and a headache that she knew would subside in a day, and she was just as glad to be alone.
Now she nestled into a comfortable chair and remembered the one time in her life when her period hadn’t come the day it was expected. She had been a sophomore in college, and two weeks before she had visited Brody at Cornell for homecoming. He was graduating that year, and more than once the conversation had turned to their future. She was taking more than a full load at M.I.T., hoping to graduate early.
Brody was already fielding offers from vineyards in California and Washington State. With no experience, he wouldn’t make much money at first, but his intention was to gain experience while Jo finished school.
At some point the discussion had turned to having children. He wanted several, he’d said, and sooner rather than later so he had the energy to enjoy them. She had to finish school, of course, and settle into her career, but wouldn’t it be wonderful when they could be a real family?
Jo was less enthused. Since her father’s death she had been a mother to her own mother, and now she was anxious to become financially stable and independent. Having children sounded like another obstacle to both, but she was sure she and Brody would eventually come to a compromise.
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