Chapter 4 A Freshman's Past

The vineyard woke with mist clinging to the leaves like secrets. The early morning sun diffused gently through the veil, casting the Tuscan hills in a glow of soft amber. Lexi stood on the farmhouse porch, wrapped in her grandfather's wool shawl, sipping coffee that was already going cold. Her eyes, however, weren't on the vines. They followed the figure walking toward the barn-Étienne.

He moved with that graceful economy she was beginning to recognize. Nothing was wasted-not his time, not his gestures, not his words. And yet, something about him hinted at tension always held just beneath the surface, like a violin string too tightly wound.

Lexi had questions.

---

She found him mid-morning in the cellar, checking barrels, his sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with flour-fine lees. He greeted her with a nod, his expression unreadable.

"Busy?" she asked, voice light.

"Always," he replied, then glanced at her. "But not too busy for the heiress."

Lexi rolled her eyes. "You make it sound like a title I didn't earn."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he topped off a barrel, scribbled a note in his logbook, and said finally, "You're earning it more than most would bother."

She leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. "What about you?"

His brows lifted.

"Why are you here, Étienne? Not just at the vineyard-but in Italy?"

He hesitated.

"I don't mean to pry," Lexi added. "But you clearly know everything about me. My past, my family, my learning curve. I know barely anything about you."

He wiped his hands on a towel, then gestured toward the staircase. "Walk with me."

---

They walked the vineyard paths in silence for a few minutes. A light breeze stirred the leaves. Birds chirped in the olive trees flanking the property.

"My father ran a vineyard outside Bordeaux," he said eventually. "His father before him. Generations of winemakers. The land was in our blood."

Lexi nodded. "Sounds familiar."

Étienne's jaw tensed. "Until it wasn't. My older brother, Luc, was the chosen one. Groomed to take over. I was... different. Interested in the science more than the tradition. I left to study oenology in Lyon. When I returned, I wanted to modernize things. They didn't see it as innovation. They saw it as betrayal."

He paused beside a weathered bench beneath a cypress tree. Sat down.

"I argued. Fought. Eventually, I left for Burgundy. Then Spain. Then California."

Lexi joined him, sitting cross-legged. "And then here."

He gave a small smile. "Your grandfather found me in a lecture I was giving in Milan. He stayed afterward, asked difficult questions. I liked that. He invited me here for a summer. That was six years ago."

She watched him carefully. "You never went back?"

Étienne shook his head. "Luc died in an accident. Two years ago. My father begged me to return. But it was too late. I couldn't walk back into a home that never accepted me."

Lexi touched his hand lightly. "You lost him."

He nodded, looking out over the hills. "I lost all of it."

Silence settled between them, comfortable this time.

---

Flashback:

Lexi stood in her grandfather's study at sixteen, facing a college counselor on the phone. Her mother wanted her to go into finance. Something safe. Predictable. Giovanni had listened quietly, then said, "Let her decide. She's not a stock to be managed. She's a wine to be nurtured."

She had chosen journalism.

And promptly burned out by twenty-eight.

---

Later that day, they walked the rows of vines side by side, discussing pruning strategies and the unexpected early ripening in one section. The work was grounding, pulling them back into rhythm.

But the story hung between them.

"You loved your brother?" Lexi asked gently.

Étienne's voice was quieter now. "More than anything. He was the sun I orbited. Losing him... unraveled everything."

Lexi reached for a low branch and clipped it, fingers steady. "I think sometimes people assume we're built for the roles we're born into. But maybe we grow into different shapes."

He looked at her, a long, evaluating glance. "Like vines trained on different trellises."

She smiled. "Exactly."

---

That evening, the workers hosted a dinner outside under string lights. Long wooden tables overflowed with bread, olives, roasted vegetables, wild boar, and homemade pasta. There was laughter, music, and too much wine.

Lexi sat beside Étienne, their shoulders occasionally brushing. Across the table, Marta's granddaughter tried teaching Lexi an old love song. Lexi's Italian was clumsy, but the girl clapped anyway.

"I've never felt so... out of place and at home all at once," Lexi whispered.

Étienne refilled her glass. "You belong more than you know."

When the music slowed, someone offered a dance. Étienne stood, held out his hand. She hesitated, then took it.

They danced slowly, unsurely, the Tuscan night wrapping around them like silk.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"For what?"

"For telling me your story."

He didn't answer, but his eyes spoke volumes.

---

Flashback:

Giovanni once told her, "A man who shares his wounds is a man who trusts you to hold them."

That night, Étienne had given her something fragile. And she hadn't dropped it.

---

They didn't kiss. Not yet. But the promise lingered in the air, heady and waiting.

When she returned to the farmhouse, Lexi opened her journal.

*"Today I learned that not all roots run in straight lines. Some curl away. Some break. Some reach for new soil. But they still grow."

"I think Étienne's past still lives in him like sediment in wine-cloudy, but vital. Maybe that's why I want to understand him so badly."

"Maybe because I need someone to understand me too."

"P.S. Tomorrow we test the sugar levels. He promised to let me use the refractometer first. That has to count as flirting."*

She paused and drew a small heart in the margin.

Inside the farmhouse, the shadows lengthened. But something had shifted.

Something had started to bloom

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