I had no idea how long I’d been sitting there, not responding, but I noticed that her plate was clean and sitting on the coffee table in front of us. She had a glass of water in her hand and was drinking it.

“That I don’t understand why our dads still hate each other. They don’t have to, you know? It’s all a choice, and they choose to stay mad. They choose to continue this feud for no reason other than, what? Pride? Ego?”

Julia’s head nodded in what I could only assume was agreement. “I’ve thought about that a lot before. I think, for my dad at least, it is some twisted version of loyalty and familial obligation. His dad raised him the same way he keeps trying to raise me”—she tucked her feet up under her body—“to hate you all implicitly without questioning why.”

“But you keep questioning,” I said with a proud grin.

“Always have.”

“That’s my girl,” I said without thinking, and she choked on her water, coughing and smacking at her chest. “Sorry,” I said, feeling like a jerk for making her choke but not for my words. “I didn’t mean,” I fumbled. “I’m just proud as shit, is all.”

The coughing stopped, and I felt it the moment her walls went flying back up around her. Every crack I’d made in her armor immediately fused back together, and I was shut out again. I longed to rewind the clock a mere thirty seconds, so I could stop myself from ruining the moment.

She cleared her throat, her hazel eyes glassy from choking before she took a deep breath. “First of all, I’m not your girl. Second, why are you so proud?”

I knew it—walls. “I think it’s a big deal that you question your dad instead of just accepting what he tells you. That’s all I meant. I like knowing that your mind isn’t swayed by the thoughts of others. No matter who they are. That’s a hard thing to do. And it’s a respectable quality to have.”

She put up a single finger. “Before you give me too much credit … I might do a lot of questioning, but I don’t do a lot of standing up for it.” Her hand moved to her mouth, and she played with her lips, her eyes tightening as she formulated the rest of her thoughts. I could practically see the wheels spinning. “You see, I don’t agree with my dad at all on this subject, but I’m scared to death to call him out on it.”

“You really think he would take the winery from you?”

How was I ever going to get inside her heart if she felt like she’d lose everything because of it?