“Had?” Nadia asked, raising one eyebrow while she toyed with a toothpick from the cheese board. “I think I can see where this is going.”
“Me too,” Elena added.
“Please tell me she left him, kept the villa, and started making ceramics with the hot shop owner,” Eve said. She popped a pecorino bite into her mouth and pointed lightly at Tori with a grin. “Because if this turns into a story about Jimfindinghimself in Positano, I’m going to need another glass.” Harper caught the moment Eve laughed at her own joke.
Megan touched her finger to her lips. “Shh,” she teased, and everyone laughed.
Harper waited for Megan to tip her head back in laughter, sunlight threading through the pergola above her to splinter her face, before she clicked the shutter again. And Tori waited too, somewhat impatiently, for the laughter to die down before continuing with the story. Even Harper was invested.
Tori continued. “Well, they would visit every summer for a few months. Last year, Jim had to go back to the States earlyfor some meeting, and well, you know, my cousin was lonely. She stumbled into the little ceramic studio and met Tony.”
“Did Tony sweep her off her feet?” Nadia asked, biting into a cracker, which was the moment Harper took to snap a photo.
“He didn’t just sweep her off her feet,” Tori replied. “He practically proposed on sight. Anyway, she filed for divorce. The prenup was ruthless; she basically lost everything. Now she lives with Tony in the small apartment above the studio.”
“That’s bold,” Mara chimed in from the far end of the table. She had soft brown eyes and a halo of sunlit curls. She was swirling her Aglianico so intensely, it was a miracle no wine spilled. “I hope she’s happy.”
Harper hoped so too. It sounded like she’d had to give up a lot to finally be happy, and that had to hurt. But sometimes pain was a necessary evil.
She lifted her camera and clicked Elena sniffing her Falanghina with her eyes closed. Then she got a shot of Jamie peeling wax from a provola wedge, and Megan brushing a curl from her cheeks as a breeze hit. She was able to capture Mara leaning toward Megan with her eyes on Megan’s cleavage that looked far too daring in her peach-colored linen dress.
It wasn’t until the sun was on the other side of the pergola that Harper lowered her camera and spotted a young server leaving the terrace with a tray of leftover pecorino bites and an empty wine bottle. Perfect. Harper slipped away from the terrace and intercepted him before he headed toward the main house.
“Quick question,” she said, lowering her voice just slightly. In her years of experience, people were more inclined to listen if it sounded like you had a secret to tell. “Any chance you’ve got an extra bottle of wine hiding somewhere?” She angled her head toward his tray. “And maybe a little wedge of pecorino? Maybe some fig-and-honey crackers?”
The waiter blinked. Then blinked again. Harper could almost hear his brain overheating. “Is this for the production?” he finally asked.
“Absolutely,” Harper lied.
Two minutes later, she walked away with one bottle of chilled white wine, a bucket of ice, two tiny plates stacked with pecorino and soft mozzarella dusted in paprika, fig and honey crackers, and an entire ramekin of olives.
She carried the loot toward the back edge of the vineyard where a narrow dirt path slipped downhill between rows of vines heavy with deep violet grapes. There was a small clearing where a massive olive tree leaned over a grassy pocket between two vineyard rows. It was hidden from the tasting deck, shaded enough to sit in, and extremely romantic. Harper spread everything out on the plates and dusted her hands before speed-walking back up the slope to the production tent. Now, all she needed was to get Elise to the picnic spot, which should be relatively easy. The hard part was getting her to stay there.
Back at the production tent, Elise stood staring at the screen with a ramrod posture and headset on. She wasn’t blinking, which Harper knew was nothing to fret about. Elise had the ability to go without basic human functions when she slipped into professional mode. Harper had once watched her go the entire day without peeing when they shot a camel riding segment in Swakopmund. And this was after drinking a few glasses of water.
Harper took a deep breath and readied herself right before she burst into the tent with exactly the right amount of panic. “Elise,” she panted. “There’s an emergency. You need to come quickly.”
Elise tore off the headset so fast that a strand of hair got stuck to the piece, but instead of waiting to detangle itgently, she yanked a few strands of hair out of her head. Harper inwardly flinched but kept up the façade.
“What happened?” Elise asked. “Did someone get hurt?”
“Worse,” Harper said, dead serious. “You need to come. Now.” She only hoped the on-site doctor, Maurine, wouldn’t come running as well.
“Show me where,” Elise said, already stepping past the gigantic screen.
Harper snagged Elise’s elbow and hauled her down the winding dirt path. She didn’t say where she was going, and Elise didn’t ask. Despite the panic, it seemed Elise still refused chitchat. Which, frankly, was fine with Harper. She was too busy concentrating on what they were going to do when they got there. Or how to keep Elise from running away. Would getting a rope and tying Elise to the olive tree be too much?
Harper let go of Elise when they rounded the last row of vines. “Don’t be mad,” she said, throwing an arm out to the picnic. “I just want us to spend five civilized minutes together, and this is the only thing I could come up with.”
Elise’s eyes widened, and her jaw practically hit the ground. “You brought me out here for this? What the hell, Harper?” she spat with her hands on her hips.
Chapter Eight
Elise wasn’t sure what annoyed her more: the audacity of Harper dragging her out here, the sheer ridiculousness of the picnic blanket, the wine, the cheese, or the fact that she’d even let herself be lured here like a fool.
She pivoted on her heel, ready to stomp her way back up the vineyard path and give Stanley a very important call, since this was basically all his fault. But then Harper’s hand shot out and brushed against Elise’s wrist and that was all it took for another memory to slam into her head uninvited and terribly vivid: Harper reaching for her hand as they crawled over a rocky outcrop, her thumb brushing along the edge of Elise’s wrist, the thousands of goosebumps that broke out over her entire body and then the view; the orange-red granite rocks of Spitzkoppe that stretched long across the desert floor while the sun had melted behind the peaks in a slow, syrupy gold.
“Come on,” Harper said, her voice low and husky, which had the ability to shoot straight through Elise’s layers of fat and muscle and into her stomach like a bullet. “You have to stay. Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Maybe ten.”