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Chapter 1
Chapter One: Homecoming
Claire Donovan stepped out of the rideshare and drew in the air she’d stored in memory—green, damp, touched with fruit. Walsh Vineyards stretched in tidy rows up the hillside, their leaves trembling under a white-bright sun. She’d pitched the feature on the town’s revival of small vineyards, but she hadn’t known which one her editor would assign.
The first person she saw was a man lifting a crate into the pickup. He turned when the tailgate slammed. Ethan.
Time did something strange, stretching and snapping back. He was broader, his face a careful map of years he hadn’t spent with her, but his eyes were the same deep hazel, steady and impossible to forget.
“Claire.” Her name came out rough. “You’re the New York reporter?”
“You’re… still here,” she said, and immediately wished she’d chosen different words.
“And you came back,” he countered, gaze flicking to her press badge. The corner of his mouth threatened a smile and then didn’t. “The grapes won’t wait for old times. Watch your step.”
She watched her step all afternoon—over irrigation lines, past crews lifting bins and laughing. The heat brought out the sweet-acid smell of ripening fruit. The vineyard felt both foreign and familiar—a language she once spoke fluently.
When her recorder clicked off, they stood between rows, the world dappled in green. The air went quiet except for insects and the far-off thunk of barrels.
“I’m covering Walsh for the feature,” Claire said. “I didn’t—no one told me.”
Ethan nodded. “We’ll manage.”
Somewhere behind the word we, old sparks leaped like sun off glass.
