“No, that sounds nice.” She smiles, unguarded and pure. “I’d like that.”
We go sit on the veranda while she drinks her coffee and eats a croissant. I take the time to recalibrate myself, get a handle on things again. When she’s ready, we leave through the back door.
The morning air carries a damp chill off the Gironde, laced with sodden earth and the faint, lingering sweetness of grapes that have long since been harvested. Rae walks beside me, barefoot still, her sandals dangling from her fingers.
The vineyard stretches out before us in orderly rows. This time of year, with the harvest long past, the colors have faded and the vines have surrendered their leaves. Bare, scraggly branches jut out and mist weaves around the clustered roots.
“It’s breathtaking,” Rae says softly.
I watch he
