Chapter 22: Write Back Either Way

Cillian's POV

I took her out onto the terrace behind the dinner hall, where nobody would hear.

The sea was gray and gold below us, and the wind had picked up.

On the bluff, a hundred yards off, Mara sat on her bench with her back to the glass.

Willa leaned on the rail.

"You were at the wall the whole time," she said.

"Yes."

"I looked for you after each one."

"I know. I saw."

I had meant to say something clever.

I had been trying to find it for an hour.

What came out was the truth.

"The east block starts its last pick at dawn," I said. "Four tons, two days."

"I know. You told me at breakfast."

"After that the season's over, and the vines go quiet until March."

"I'm saying it because after that, nothing is left to hold you at the Ridge.

"No harvest, no wedding, no reason to be in my cottage but me."

She turned and looked at me.

"I wrote you a letter once," I said. "I offered you a job.

"Then I stood at a mailbox for five years."

"Cillian."

"Let me get through it. I'm better at it when I do it fast."

She nodded.

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