Page 80 of The Vines Between Us
Hugo raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at his lips. "That sounds serious."
"It is." I reached for his hand, threading our fingers together. "I've been thinking about us. About the future. About what we're building here—not just with the vineyards, but with each other."
"And?" His voice was soft, encouraging.
"And I'm not proposing," I said, watching his expression shift to confusion. "Not exactly. Not yet. I'm proposing that we discuss the possibility of someday discussing a proposal."
Hugo blinked, then laughed, color rising in his cheeks. "Alexandre Moreau, that's the most convoluted non-proposal I've ever heard."
"Well," I said, suddenly feeling vulnerable, "I didn't want topush too far, too fast. This is all still new to me—being open, talking about feelings, about home, about belonging."
He pulled me closer, resting his forehead against mine. "You're not pushing. I've been thinking about it too."
"You have?"
"Of course I have," he whispered. "So what exactly are you saying?"
The question hung between us, and for once, I didn't hesitate.
"I'm saying I want it all," I told him simply. "The vineyards, the Alliance, the future we're creating. But mostly, I want you. Not someday. Not eventually. Now and always."
Hugo's smile was radiant. "Well then," he said, "perhaps we should discuss that proposal sooner rather than later."
"Perhaps we should," I agreed, sealing the promise with a kiss.
Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The vines stood sentinel, rows stretching into the gathering dusk, heavy with fruit nearly ready for harvest. In two weeks, we would celebrate not just a successful growing season but a community saved, a heritage preserved, a future secured.
And whatever challenges came—VitaVine, climate change, market fluctuations—we would face them together, rooted in this land we both loved, drawing strength from each other and from the legacy our grandfathers had left us.
I was home, at last and forever.
