My favorite mornings were those we spent alone among the vines. We worked side by side in the cold, but she never once complained about the temperature. Sometimes she brought a thermos of hot chocolate, and we’d share it as we moved along the rows. She grew more confident with the shears, and while she worked, I’d make her repeat back to me the lessons she’d learned.

“We want to look for straight, clean wood starting low on the trunk,” she’d say. “We need to think three years ahead.”

“You know, you’re going to be better than me at this pretty soon,” I teased her.

“Hardly,” she said, laughing. “But thank you.”

Her offer on the new house had been accepted, and as we worked, she described it in more detail—a refurbished nineteenth-century farmhouse with four bedrooms, three baths, beautiful pine floors, a wood-burning fireplace, a big old gray barn, and her favorite, a weathered white picket fence. “It needs some updating,” she said, “especially in the kitchen and baths, but the bones of the house are strong and beautiful.”

“That’s all that matters,” I told her.

“Oh, I wanted to ask you where you found that bathtub at your house. I’d like to order one for the master bath.”

“Sure. I’ll get you the name of the site,” I said, trying not to picture her in the bathtub at my house. It was a struggle whenever I was with her to keep my hands to myself, but after that first day, I refrained from even hugging her. One, I wanted her to know I respected her boundaries, and two, knowing the way I felt about her, I was sure one thing would lead to another. If I hugged her, I’d want to kiss her. If I kissed her, I’d want to touch her. If I touched her, I’d want to get her naked.

I’d want to hear those sounds she made. I’d want to feel her hands on my skin and her tongue in my mouth and her warm, soft body arching beneath mine as I made her come again and again . . .

So no hugs.

But the hours we spent together were the best parts of my day. I loved getting to know her better, hearing about her childhood at Cloverleigh Farms, learning about her sisters as kids—who got in the most trouble (Chloe), who was the most spoiled (baby Frannie), who got the best grades (Meg).

“What about April?” I asked. “What was her thing?”

“April was always the caretaker,” Sylvia said. “So good with kids, always had the best babysitting jobs, always the first to jump up and help out someone in need. She really loves making people happy—that’s why I think she’s so good at weddings. She bends over backward to make sure brides get exactly what they want and takes care of every little detail.”