When Grace had texted her to tell her brother was coming by, Joy had imagined slamming her door in his face and laughing maniacally at his shocked expression. Maybe after she’d tossed her water in his face, or stepped on his foot, or kicked him in the shins. Something completely immature yet wholly satisfying. Joy hadn’t kicked anyone in the shins since Marcus Terrell in fifth grade, and damn if she didn’t want to see the same look of shock on Adam’s face as Marcus’s.But all of her plans of shin-kicking went out the window when he’d shown up, looking delicious and apologetic. He’d even brought her wine. He’d seemed to be trying, and damn if she wasn’t easy for a man who tried to right his wrongs. Maybe that made her weak.As Adam kissed her, though, Joy couldn’t find it in herself to care.He kissed her like a man in a desert who just found an oasis, a man desperate for companionship, a man who wanted her more than any man had ever wanted her in the history of the universe. Joy had

Joy smiled as she finished the last paragraph of her story about River’s Bend. She planned to reintroduce the subject to Adam later that day, especially now that the vineyard was expanding into events. Mostly, though, she was giddy about everything else that had happened recently: Adam, sex, kissing, Adam, sex. Lots of sex. Adam had come over every night for the past week, and each time they slept together, it was unlike anything Joy could describe.The sex wasn’t hours-long or intense, acrobatic Tantric sex that you could base a series of erotica novels off of. It didn’t involve sex swings (although Joy had joked about getting one) or giant dildos or even anything other than oral and your traditional penis-vagina sex in various positions. But being so close to Adam, touching his body, his hands running down her body, the way he felt inside of her? She had a difficult time describing all of the various emotions that ran through her mind each time they had sex. And she was the writer.

Joy remained on a high that lasted for the rest of the week. She and Adam texted back and forth and saw each other as much as possible, although he was slammed with event planning at River’s Bend. Joy found herself writing even more than usual, her muse coming back in full force. If only she’d known that getting good sex would result in her most productive writing spree ever, she would’ve gone down to the vineyard and seduced Adam ages ago.She grinned at her laptop. She was practically beaming, and multiple people had commented on it. Grace, for one, who gave her sly glances and teased her as much as possible. Even Mike in the general store had asked what put the spring in her step. Unable to say that she was getting the best boning of her life, she’d replied that it was just Mike’s amazing array of produce that sent her into such a euphoric state.Typing away at her computer, Joy frowned when her phone sounded. And it rang…and rang. She let it go to voicemail, waiting for the sound

Joy realized quickly that Jeremy had no intention of leaving soon and that if it weren’t illegal, she would’ve strangled him by the end of the first day of his coming to Heron’s Landing.She’d cajoled, she’d asked, she’d ordered, she’d done everything she could to get him to leave. But if Jeremy were talented at anything at all, it was being stubborn. And he’d gotten it into his brain that if he just stuck things out, Joy would finally surrender and they could be together again.Not a very romantic thought, but there it was. He wanted her so exhausted that she’d capitulate and then they could somehow be happy again.The first day, when Jeremy had shown up at Trudy’s and Adam had stalked off, Joy had almost abandoned Jeremy in the middle of Main Street to go after Adam. But she knew Jeremy: he’d find her, and if he couldn’t find her, he’d make life hell for everyone else in Heron’s Landing.As she sat with him at Trudy’s and he ordered a hamburger in a snide voice, she wondered how

With October’s arrival came the most important part of the year for River’s Bend: harvest time. Adam had watched the grapes ripen into juicy, purple berries these two months. With the leaves changing to umber and scarlet, the grapes were ready to be picked.He walked among the rows of the vines, watching workers pluck the grapes by hand and tossing them into baskets and bins. Adam had a feeling they’d finish within a week, when normally it took twice as long, if not three times. He knew the harvest would be meager this year, with the excessive rain that had destroyed so many fragile buds in the spring. Bending down, he rifled through a basket, and he sighed when he saw how many of the grapes were unsuitable for wine-making.Adam already knew the projections, already knew how many grapes it took to make a bottle of wine, already knew that he’d be lucky to make it another year. He knew all of that, but he kept hoping against hope that they’d pull through.They had to. Because now the