Chapter 6

6

E lle stood at her kitchen window, drying the last lunch dish when the purr of a car engine caught her attention. The sleek vehicle curved into her driveway, sunlight glinting off its polished surface. Her breath caught as Harper stepped out.

The actress moved with natural grace, her long dark hair catching the afternoon light. She wore faded jeans that hugged her curves and a simple tank top under an open flannel shirt. The casual outfit somehow made her even more striking than her red carpet photos.

Elle’s hand trembled slightly as she set down the dish towel. “Get it together,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve already met her twice.”

But something felt different now. Maybe it was seeing Harper in the warm summer light, or the way she moved with such easy confidence.

Elle watched Harper approach her front door through the window. Her fingers raked through her hair as memories of last night’s internet search flooded back. Awards show clips, red carpet interviews, that powerful Oscar acceptance speech about Lena Matthews.

The reality of who Harper was hit Elle with fresh impact. Not just some actress taking a break, but an Oscar winner at the height of her career. The kind of person who graced magazine covers and commanded rooms full of Hollywood elite.

The doorbell chimed, and Elle made her way to the front door, trying to shake off this new awareness. It was ridiculous. Harper was still the same person who she’d shared a glass of wine with the other evening, who’d shared genuine vulnerability about her father’s vineyard.

And yet... Elle couldn’t quite forget the image of Harper in that white dress, clutching her Oscar, commanding the attention of millions. The contrast between that woman and the one standing on her porch in worn jeans was striking.

Elle reached for the door handle, her usual confidence wavering. She’d texted Harper this morning offering to show her around, expecting maybe a response later in the week. Instead, Harper had immediately asked if today worked. Now here she was, and Elle’s usual self-assurance had vanished.

Elle took a steadying breath before opening the door. “Harper, hi.” She managed to keep her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.

“Hey. Thanks for doing this.” Harper’s smile lit up her face. “For taking time out of your day.”

“Of course.” Elle grabbed the keys to her truck. “Will we start the tour?”

She couldn’t understand why she felt so off-balance. They’d already spent time together at Harper’s vineyard. Yet something had shifted, leaving Elle feeling strangely nervous around this woman she’d been perfectly comfortable with just days ago.

“Let’s go,” Harper said, and Elle locked the door behind her, willing herself to get it together as she hopped into her truck and Harper opened the passenger’s door.

Elle reversed and drove down the windy road that led to her vineyard.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Elle said softly, following Harper’s gaze out across the rows of grapevines and the backdrop of rolling hills.

“It’s even more breathtaking than I remembered.”

Elle felt a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as they approached the main buildings, Elle glanced sideways at Harper, who was taking it all in.

“Welcome to Cherry Lane Vineyards,” Elle announced, pulling the truck to a stop in front of the tasting room. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour,” she said as they got out of the truck.

Elle guided Harper through the vineyards, indicating the various types of grapes and detailing her eco-friendly cultivation methods. Harper listened intently, her gaze never wavering from Elle’s face.

The tasting room’s heavy oak door creaked open to reveal polished wooden counters and walls lined with bottles, each one carefully positioned to catch the light just so. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting a warm glow across the hand-crafted furniture Elle had commissioned from local artisans years ago. The familiar scent of oak and wine welcomed them.

“This is beautiful,” Harper said, running her fingers along the smooth counter.

“Wait until you see the rest.” Elle led her through to the processing area, where steel tanks stretched toward the ceiling. The space held the lingering scent of last season’s harvest - notes of fermented fruit and oak.

Elle watched Harper, entranced by the way the actress seemed to absorb every detail. The easy rapport they’d developed at Harper’s vineyard still lingered, and Elle’s nerves finally settled.

Elle cleared her throat, breaking the spell. “Shall we try a few wines?”

“I’d love to.”

Elle led Harper back to the tasting room, gesturing for her to take a seat at the polished oak bar. She moved behind the counter, selecting a few bottles from the racks.

She handed a glass to Harper, their fingers brushing briefly. Elle felt a spark of electricity at the contact, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

She poured a deep red into the next set of glasses. “This is our Pinot Noir. It’s my personal favorite. We use grapes from the oldest block of the vineyard.”

Harper took a sip, closing her eyes as she savored it. “Wow. That’s incredible. The complexity, the depth of flavor...”

Elle found herself staring at Harper’s lips, stained a deeper red by the wine. She quickly looked away, focusing on pouring the next sample.

They worked their way through the lineup, Harper offering insightful comments on each one. Elle was impressed by her palate. For someone who claimed not to know much about wine, she had a keen sense of the nuances in each glass.

Elle reached beneath the counter and pulled out an old brass key. “I have one last thing to show you.” She gestured toward a heavy wooden door at the far end of the tasting room. “Our wine cellar.”

The key turned with a satisfying click, and Elle pushed open the door to reveal worn stone steps descending into darkness. She flipped a switch, and warm light flooded the stairwell.

“Watch your step,” Elle said, leading the way down. The temperature dropped as they descended, the air growing cool and thick with the scent of aged wood and earth. Their footsteps echoed against the stone walls.

The cellar air wrapped around them - cool, dense, earthy. Shadows danced across the curved ceiling as Elle switched on another light, revealing rows of bottles sleeping in their wooden racks.

A handful of dusty bulbs cast pools of amber light between the shadows, barely illuminating the labels on the bottles. The cellar opened up before them - rows of wooden racks stretched into the shadows. Some labels had faded with age, their dates barely visible in the dim light.

“This is where we keep our library wines,” Elle explained, moving deeper into the cellar.

Harper stepped closer, her shoulder brushing against Elle’s as she leaned in to examine the labels. Elle’s breath caught at the contact, and she forced herself to focus on the wine rather than the warmth radiating from Harper’s proximity.

“The cellar’s my favorite place,” Elle admitted softly. “It holds so much history, so many stories. Each bottle represents a specific year, a specific harvest.” She turned to face Harper, finding herself caught in those warm brown eyes. “Every vintage tells its own tale.”

The air felt charged between them. Harper’s gaze held hers, and Elle found herself aware of how close they were standing in the intimate space of the cellar.

Elle led Harper through a narrow archway into one of the smaller storage rooms. Ancient stones curved overhead in a low ceiling, and the space felt more confined than the main cellar. Bottles lined the walls in neat rows, their labels barely visible in the dim light from the single bulb overhead.

“These are some special reserves we...” Elle’s voice trailed off as she noticed Harper’s breathing had changed. The actress had gone very still, her eyes fixed on a point on the wall, but not really seeing it. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow movements.

The change was subtle at first, but as Elle watched, Harper’s hand crept up to her throat, fingers splaying across her collarbone. Her other hand pressed against the stone wall, as if seeking support.

A bead of sweat traced down Harper’s temple despite the cellar’s cool temperature. The confident, engaging woman from moments ago had vanished, replaced by someone fighting for control. Harper’s lips parted slightly, trying to draw in more air in the confined space.

Elle recognized the signs - she’d seen similar reactions in visitors who discovered their claustrophobia in the cellar’s tight quarters. The way Harper’s gaze darted to the archway, how her fingers trembled against the wall, the slight sway in her stance - all pointed to rising panic.

“Harper?” Elle kept her voice soft, gentle. She noticed Harper’s knuckles had gone white where they pressed against the stone. The actress’s breathing grew more labored, each inhale shorter than the last.

The single bulb cast harsh shadows across Harper’s face, highlighting the fear that had crept into her expression.

Harper must be claustrophobic, and the small room was triggering a panic attack.