“Good luck,” she said, making to rise again.

“Ginger,” he said. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“I know. I did my best. But that’s in the past, Mick. I have a man in my life and I don’t want you to ask for my help again.”

“Who is this man?” he asked.

“His name is Matt,” she said with a smile. “He’s a farmer.”

“Seriously? A farmer? Wow, I would’ve never seen that coming!”

“The smartest, sexiest man I’ve ever known.”

“Ever?” he asked.

She leaned toward him. “Ever.”

“But hey. We were happy once, weren’t we? I mean, I was happy and I thought you were happy. You loved me. You loved my music.”

“Uh-huh. And you loved you. It was very compact. I was almost superfluous. You always had very big dreams. They didn’t leave much room for anything or anybody else.”

He frowned. “What are you saying? That you loved who you thought I’d become?”

“Not really. But I think I might’ve loved who you thought you would become. And I was pretty young—it might’ve been the way you moved your hips when you sauntered on stage with all that confidence. In the end, it was very lonely. I wish you the best but I’m glad not to be in that relationship anymore. It really wasn’t good for either one of us. I’m going now. Don’t call my mother again—it gets everyone all riled up. My brothers want to beat you up and gee, if one of them broke your jaw, think how inconvenient...”

“Very funny,” he said. “You came, Ginger. Thanks for that. I think your ideas really helped.”

“Right,” she said. Strategy. Not hard work or sincerity or honesty, but strategy to get ahead faster, to make money more quickly, to be the top dog. Not to live a fulfilling life and also make good music.

“And Ginger,” he said, causing her to turn back to him. “I’m really sorry about the way things turned out. You were great. I’m sorry about your baby.”

Your baby.

It was tempting to correct him, remind him it was his baby. Except really, it wasn’t.

“I gotta remember that,” he said. “I’m creating relationships with the people I play for. I’m feeling the emotion. Like method acting, that’ll work.”

She just nodded once and left. When she got to the door of the café she turned to look at him and he was already on his cell phone. He was no doubt calling one of his many contacts to explain how he was now putting all his passion and energy into his music without worrying about fame...

* * *

It surprised Ginger how tired she was after a meeting with Mick that didn’t even last an hour. She was back in Thunder Point before five, just in time to help Grace bring in the sidewalk displays. It took quite a bit longer than usual because Grace was bristling with curiosity about Ginger’s meeting with Mick. Throughout the tale Grace let her indignation fly with comments like, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” and “Unbelievable!” and finally, “Man, you’re lucky you escaped!”

“True,” Ginger said. “Mick and I have nothing in common. But Grace, who knows—he might really take to fame and fortune. He’s pretty shallow. A lot of attention works for Mick.”

“He’ll never know,” Grace said. “Trust me. I’ve been in the trials where being first is everything. You know what? People think it’s luck. And they’re right. It’s down to luck after you’ve done everything humanly possible to sharpen your skill, after you’ve put in more work and time than anyone else, after you’ve established you have the greatest talent and sacrificed everything else for that one goal. Then it’s luck and timing. And then you’ll know if it makes you happy.”

“I already know it wouldn’t make me happy,” Ginger said.

“Didn’t for me, either. I’m happier in this little shop with my hottie schoolteacher than I ever was in competition. And that’s why there’s chocolate and vanilla. Because we all need different things.”

Ginger grabbed herself a to-go burger from the diner, opened a bottle of red wine and looked forward to an evening in her little hideaway—alone. After half a burger and one glass of wine, she just reclined on the couch and let her eyes close.

She awoke to the twittering of her phone and sat up with a start. Matt, she thought. He called every night even though he was so tired. It was pitch-black out. She grabbed for the phone and checked the time. It was so late for him to call; it was after ten. He must be exhausted.

“Matt,” she said, answering.

“Ginger, are you out this evening?”

“Huh? Out? No, I’m home. I fell asleep on the couch. I must’ve been—”

“I knocked. I called and I knocked.”

“You...?” It took her a second and then with a cry she jumped off the couch and ran to her back door, throwing it open. And then she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, God, it’s so late! It’s not the weekend! What are you doing here?”

“I stole a night,” he said, burying his face in her neck. “Let’s not talk too much. Let’s just make love.”

“Good idea. We’ve had enough talks for a while.”

“I need a shower,” he said. “Then I need you.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. It was getting too long and it made her smile. “Then let’s not waste a minute.”

In the end she shared his shower, helped dry him off while he dried her and then fell into bed with him. Oh, how she’d missed him! They hadn’t been together since Portland and even though they had talked, they had both needed this—love that was kind and happy and filled with tenderness. His touch was gentle yet fiery and she responded as though this man was made for her. He whispered words of love that brought tears to her eyes. As she lay satisfied in his arms, gently touching his stubbled cheeks, she whispered, “The grapes let you go?”

“For a little while. I’m going home to check on a few things at the farm, then right back to the vineyard. Another few days and our work with Sal will be done and we’ll start picking in the orchard. On the weekends, in most cases three-day weekends, our cousins will help. Dysart trucks will be parked on our land for three weeks, loaded with pears.”

“Can I come?”

“If you want to, if you feel up to it. It’s hard work.”

“But you have women helping?”

“A few sisters, sisters-in-law and quite a few teenagers who look at it as a way to earn extra money. The temperatures are dropping. Dad and I will stand watch, in case we have to put out smudge pots, but the forecast is good.”

“Will I be in the way? Tell the truth...”

“I’ll take care of you,” he said. “I’ll make sure you know what you’re doing, that you don’t feel awkward. Maybe you want to ask Peyton if she’s coming?”

“I will. I can’t believe you snuck away!”

He kissed her temple. “In a couple of days, when I leave the farm to go back to the vineyard, I’ll be back. I’d rather spend the night with you than some hairy-legged cousin who snores and farts in his sleep. The only problem is, I have to leave so early. Before sunrise.”