She was hauling crates of grapes when he appeared at the edge of the vineyard, sleeves rolled, eyes steady. “You’re back,” he said, not surprised - just noticing. She nodded, brushing hair from her face. “Just for the harvest.” He stepped closer, the sun casting long shadows between them. “The vines missed you.” She smirked. “The vines don’t gossip.” He tilted his head. “No. But people do.” A pause. Then she said, “Let them.” He smiled - just barely. “Good.”
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