“When are you going to see Jeremy?” he asked.

“Gosh. Is it really any of your business? Oh, wait, I forgot. You’re Jeremy’s guard dog.” She was going to see Jeremy; it wasn’t her fault he was in Boston for a conference.

Levi leaned in close, and she could smell his shampoo, feel the warmth from his cheek, and an odd tension coiled in her stomach. “Grow up, Faith,” he whispered.

The man. Was. Suchapainintheass.

Then she went to talk to Julianne about the library courtyard and tried not to feel Levi’s eyes on her back.

* * *

ON HIS FIRST TOUR, Levi found that war was all it promised to be, at times stupefyingly dull...days on end of doing nothing more interesting or challenging than cleaning your gun. Then you’d be coming back to camp and a kid who’d taken food from you the day before might throw a grenade at your Humvee. Once, a car loaded with explosives detonated just outside camp, killing three soldiers, including one who’d won fifty bucks off Levi the night before.

But there were good things, too. Levi liked the structure, liked his fellow soldiers, liked the feeling that as screwed up as war always was, maybe they were doing something important. His unit was the 10th Mountain from Fort Drum, and they were the guys who got shit done. Sometimes it was best not to think about what those things were, but he was a soldier, a link in the chain of command, and he did his job. After his tour ended, he signed up for another. Made sergeant, then staff sergeant. Re-upped again and sent the bonus home to his mom.

Then one day, while on patrol in some horrible little town where people lived in shacks and everyone seemed to stare at them with dead eyes, a bullet sang right past his head, shattering rock. Another crack, and before Levi could even turn around, Scotty Stokes, a private who’d just joined their unit, crumpled to the ground. Levi grabbed him by the back of his vest and dragged him to shallow cover. They were cut off from the rest of the patrol, and the kid was bleeding badly from the leg, maybe an artery. Levi tourniqueted the kid’s leg as best he could. Returned fire, killing one of the gunmen, then hefted the kid over his shoulder and made a run for it, praying that neither of them would be hit.

They made it. The medic thought Scotty would lose his leg, but some badass ortho with a great pair of hands managed to save it. Scotty would set off metal detectors for the rest of his life, but he’d walk on the legs God gave him. And Levi got a Silver Star, though to him, it seemed more like dumb luck than any real forethought or skill. Lots of training, maybe. His mom and Sarah were proud, though. The Lyons, too, acted as if he’d saved the world. They had Mom and Sarah up for dinner, and all four of them Skyped with him, and that was pretty great.

From the time Levi had left on that Greyhound until he came back to Manningsport, Jeremy stayed in touch. Sent him emails all the time, Skyped once in a while, always smiling, always able to tell him something funny. Stuff about college, football, dorm life. Those little glimpses were almost hard to picture—Levi had never been to Boston, couldn’t imagine playing in a stadium that huge. When Levi described the desert sand storms, Jeremy sent him really excellent ski goggles and six boxes of Visine. Elaine and Ted sent him candy and organic potato chips, and of course Mom and Sarah sent him stuff constantly. Sarah’s report cards, Mom’s long, worried letters.

Everyone emailed pictures, but Jeremy went a step further and had them developed. Levi tacked them up next to his bunk—a picture of Sarah at Christmas, since the Lyons had had them over for dinner; the dense clusters of grapes hanging from the vines in the fall; the hills covered in snow in December, the water of the lake black and deep.

Home.

And when a car came screaming up to your outpost or you braced for the IED to blow you into chunks, when bullets streaked through the night air, home was the only thing that kept your shit together. On the days when the temperature hit a hundred and thirty and his gun was so hot he had to wear gloves to hold it, when his water was the same temperature as McDonald’s coffee and his mouth felt like leather from being so dry, those pictures were little pieces of paradise.

Faith’s name, which had been mentioned fairly often at first, stopped appearing after Jeremy graduated and started med school (he’d turned down the NFL, for crying out loud). There was some mention of one of Jeremy’s fellow medical students, a guy named Steve, and Levi wondered if maybe there was something there. Honestly, though he didn’t give it much thought. If his friend had come out of the closet, Levi would hear about it when Jeremy wanted him to.

Finally, five years after he’d first gone to Afghanistan, Levi got a leave long enough to go back. He’d seen his mom and Sarah twice since shipping out, once on a long weekend in New York City, once when he surprised them with a trip to Disney World. But this time, he wanted to go home. He popped in on Sarah at school in one of those tear-soaked CNN moments, endured an impromptu assembly in which the principal told him how proud they were (despite having given him a record number of detentions not so long ago). His mom made his favorite dinner—meat loaf and mashed potatoes, then wept happily all the way through it.

And finally, Levi called Jeremy; it was October, and Jeremy was home for the weekend from Johns Hopkins. “Hey, bud, wanna grab a beer?” he asked, then grinned as his friend cussed him out for not giving him more notice.

A few hours later, Levi was slightly drunk from all the beers bought for him. Connor O’Rourke had done a round on the house, and everyone had toasted Levi. He’d been hugged by every woman in the place and practically leg-humped by Sheila Varkas (total freak, that one), was repeatedly thanked for his service, had his back pounded and his hand shaken and was told how proud the town was. It was...nice. It was great, actually. The kid from the trailer park turned American hero and all that.

And then, finally, he and Jeremy got to sit down and talk.

“So how are you really, buddy?” Jeremy asked, his eyes as kind as ever.

Levi watched a drop of condensation slip down the side of his bottle. “Doing okay,” he answered, not looking up.

Jeremy was quiet for a minute. “Do you need anything?”

A good night’s sleep. War had definitely taken that away. A brain bleach to get some of the more horrific images out of his head. “No,” he said. “But thanks for all those packages and stuff. Especially the pictures.”

Jeremy leaned forward. “Well, listen. I don’t know what it’s like, I’m just some dumb-ass med student studying bowel disease.” Levi gave a half smile. “But if you ever need anything, or want to unload or whatever, I’m here. And I’ll be here the whole time, and when you get back, too. Okay? You’re my best friend. You know that.”

Levi gave a nod, peeled a shard from the label. Maybe there would be a day when he told Jeremy some of the things he’d seen...and done. It wasn’t today, though. He looked up at Jeremy and nodded again. “Thanks.”

Jeremy sat back in the booth and smiled, that broad easy grin that Levi remembered from football huddles, when Jeremy would tell them just how they were going to shock and awe their opponents by coming from behind and stealing the win. “So. Any way you can get a few days off next June?”

Levi shrugged. “It’s possible. Why?”

“I need you to be my best man. June eighth. Faith and I are getting married.”

Levi didn’t blink. “Holy crap.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy grinned sheepishly. “She said yes. I was a nervous wreck, but she said yes.”

Yeah, right. Faith Holland had probably been planning their wedding since the day she’d met Jeremy.

His buddy was blathering on about who’d be in the bridal party, and Levi suddenly held up his hand. “Jeremy,” he said. “Just one second, okay?”

“Sure.”

To ask or not to ask. That was the question. Levi glanced around. O’Rourke’s was almost empty; two people at the bar, two more at a table. Connor was behind the bar, tallying up receipts.

“What is it?” Jeremy asked.

“You’re getting married,” Levi stated for clarification.

He nodded. Levi didn’t say anything, just looked. Maybe lifted an eyebrow. Jeremy swallowed, then forced a grin. “Yeah. So?” He wiped his forehead, suddenly sweaty, and that was clue enough. If he was this nervous, then maybe he was just waiting for someone to bring it up.

“I guess I was always under the impression that you were...” Levi waited, hoping Jeremy would supply the word.

“I was what?”

Shit. Levi took a deep breath and held it. “That you were gay, Jeremy,” he said very, very quietly.

Jeremy’s face didn’t change for a long second. Then he took a deep breath. “No! Uh...I don’t think so. I mean, everyone has...thoughts. But just because...” He looked away. “No. I’m not. I’m not gay.” His voice was hollow.

Levi didn’t say anything—what do you say, after all? “It would be okay if you were.”

Jeremy looked back at him, and something crossed his face. The truth, maybe. Then he shook his head a little. His eyebrows drew together, and he looked at the table. “I love Faith.”

Right. Jeremy certainly was wrapped around Princess Super-Cute’s little finger. Levi looked at his friend, who’d been so loyal and decent and constant. He exhaled, nodding. “Okay. My bad.”

Again, that thing flickered through Jeremy’s eyes, but he put on his game face and smiled. “Well, whatever. If you’d be my best man, that’d be great.”

“Sure. If I can get the time, I’m in.”

“Excellent! Faith will be thrilled.”

Probably not. “Is she around?”

“No, sorry to say. She and her sisters went to the city to shop for wedding gowns and all that. Girls’ weekend. Anyway, my parents are giving us the house after the wedding; they’re ditching me for San Diego, but it’s all good. Can’t see that Faith would want her in-laws around all the time, you know?” Jeremy kept talking, firmly back in the role of doting fiancé.

Levi told himself it wasn’t any of his business. If Jeremy wanted to marry Faith, he could. But, hell, you had to wonder. How Jeremy could marry a woman he didn’t know how to kiss.

You had to wonder how Faith could not know.

You said your piece; now shut up, his brain told him. Be a good friend. Be a good best man.

He almost pulled it off.

CHAPTER NINE

FAITH STOOD AT THE TOP of Rose Ridge and looked down through the woods. Once, this area had been fields, and Faith’s ancestors had grazed cows up here. In the hundred years since, maple and oak trees had taken over, as well as ferns and moss. Today, a cold front had moved through, bringing heavy-bellied clouds over the lake and a chilly wind. Rain couldn’t be far off.

Down below, she could see Ned driving the grape harvester down in the Tom’s Woods chardonnay vines, could catch the hum of the engine when the breeze stopped. There was a certain smell to late summer; the air was so sweet with the scent of grapes, but there was a hint of melancholy in the air, too, as the leaves prepared to die their beautiful deaths and the earth prepared for winter.

As she did each time she came home, Faith wondered how she’d ever left. San Francisco seemed like a distant dream life compared to this.

Blue Heron was to the Hollands what Tara was to Scarlett O’Hara. You were from here, and here defined you more than you knew. History and family were as much a part of the soil as the dirt itself, and every Holland felt the bond right into their bone marrow.

As the youngest of the four Holland kids, Faith often felt like there wasn’t a place for her in the family business. Jack was the wine-making, chemistry genius, could talk for hours about yeast and sugar fermentation till people begged him to stop. Pru was the farmer, tromping through the fields, strong as a linebacker. Honor...well, everyone knew Honor ran the world. Her sister barely stopped working to breathe; every issue came to her, whether it was restocking the gift shop, going on sales calls with their distributors or doing a charity event. She handled all the marketing and sales for the vineyard and did her job beautifully.

And then there was Faith, the child who hadn’t had a place waiting for her, the only one who hadn’t focused her education around viniculture. There were only so many people who could run the roost before they started eating their young.

She’d played up here as a child, sat in the old stone barn and pretended it was her house. Had tea parties with imaginary friends, made fairy houses and lay in the grass, sheltered by the rocks, staring up into the blue sky, wondering how she could tame a hawk or fawn. It was so magical to her then, she could just about hear the soft footfalls of a unicorn or hobbit. Of all the places on their land, the vines and the fields, the woods and the falls, this had been the most special to Faith.

And now, finally, she could contribute to the family business. It felt good. Just because she was the youngest didn’t mean that this place wasn’t part of her soul.

Blue nudged her hand and dropped his tennis ball. “Again?” Faith asked. He didn’t answer, just stared at her, willing her to throw the ball. “You got it, big guy,” she said, hurling the ball into the woods.

Faith had spent the morning at the library, taking photos of the courtyard off the children’s wing, measuring, taking notes. It was a sweet little space, and she intended to make it great. Flowering trees (she was already shmoozing the nursery for donations), a winding path, a water installment, because she loved the sound of gushing water (who didn’t?). And then, for the centerpiece, something really special, though she didn’t know just what yet. She had to spend a little time there first and feel the mojo before she decided. One of her clients in San Francisco used to laugh at her for lying down on the ground of any given project, but, hey, he kept hiring her for more jobs, so clearly it worked.