The morning after the storm, the air was crisp, scrubbed clean by hours of rain. The hills shimmered in a saturated green, and the vine leaves glistened as though they had been polished by hand. Bianca stepped out onto the porch with a cup of hot tea and looked at the rows of vines: wounded, but alive.

For the first time, she saw not only the decay, but the possibility.

She spent the day making calculations, leafing through old viticulture manuals her mother had kept in the library, wondering if it was madness to think of bringing everything back to life. The answer came in the form of a simple thought: maybe this is what I need something to rebuild, along with myself.

In the afternoon, she went to Leonardo's winery.

She found him bent over an oak barrel, checking the new wine.
"I've decided," she said without preamble. "I want to restore the vineyard. And I want you to help me."

Leonardo looked up, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"It's not light work. Or quick."

"I'm not afraid of work." Bianca crossed her arms, stubborn. "But I can't do it alone."

He studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether she truly meant it. Then he nodded.
"Then we start tomorrow."

The first weeks were hard. Dawn in the fields, hands caked with soil, the sun warming the skin until it burned. Leonardo taught her how to prune the vines without harming the plant, to tie the new shoots with strands of raffia, to recognize the exact point to cut. His voice was low and patient, his hands strong but precise.

Between breaks, they shared sandwiches and cool water under the great holm oak at the edge of the field. Sometimes they talked about anything and everything, other times they sat in silence, listening to the cicadas' song.

Fatigue had a curious effect: it lowered defenses. Laughter came more easily, smiles lingered longer.

One evening, after an especially long day, Leonardo suggested they have dinner outside right there, among the vines. He brought out a wooden table, two chairs, a basket of bread, cheeses, freshly picked tomatoes, and a bottle of his wine. The sky blushed with shades of pink and orange, and the air was sweet, heavy with the scent of grass and grapes.

"I can't remember the last time I had dinner under the stars," Bianca said, watching the sky darken slowly.

"I can," he replied with a faint smile. "But this is the first time I truly care about who I'm with."

Bianca blushed slightly, lowering her gaze to the glass in her hand. The wine was soft, enveloping, and gave her a warmth that didn't come only from the alcohol.

They talked until the moon was high. When they rose to clear the table, Leonardo stepped closer, taking the plate from her hands. Their eyes met just inches apart.

The kiss was slow, almost hesitant at first, as though they were both afraid of breaking something fragile. Then it deepened, and Bianca felt his hands graze her face with a tenderness that contrasted with the strength she had seen in the fields.

When they parted, their breathing was short, but neither spoke. There was no need: that night, among the vines and under the same sky, something had changed.

Under the sky of Val d'Orcia

Clayton Nightwhisper - All rights reserved©