Faking it with Damian Black Novel Chapter 62 – -MILLIE- I last visited Summerfields Acres in Clarke Bay on Dad’s birthday in November. Everywhere I looked, a thick blanket of snow was all I could see. The grape farm was nothing but an endless white field. During my entire visit, I was held up inside Dad’s place. Since fall was already knocking on our doors, the vineyard was busy. We drove between endless rolling hills lined with rows of ample grape vines. It was green here and there. The sunlight bouncing on the vineyard added fall colors to the already picturesque view. the s Dad’s huge figure looked childlike as he stood on the threshold of his humble abode. When I say humble, it was a 468 square meter villa with 10 bedrooms, a gathering hall, and a restaurant. And no, he doesn’t live in the villa. Dad was too minimalist to live in such a big house. He turned it into a bed–and–breakfast, hence the lines of cars parked in the parking lot. This was a busy season for the farm. Mom said there will be a wedding here tomorrow, that’s why Dad needed her here. “You made it,” Dad beamed as I slid out of the SUV’s backseat. He enveloped me in a warm embrace, lifting me off the ground and twirling around like he had done since I was a little girl. I would never tire of my parents‘ love, but they don’t know when to tone it down. My cheeks burned as we gathered attention from the guests mingling in the garden. His employees beamed at us with interest. “Dad!” I glared at Dad when he ruffled my hair, swatting his hand away. Wasn’t it enough that I wanted the ground to swallow me? He chuckled and turned to Mom, greeting her with a kiss on the mouth. I made a face. I guess I would never get used to seeing my parents kiss in front of me, ever. Instead of taking us to the restaurant, Dad prepared breakfast for three in his cabin a few yards behind the villa. One look at the cabin, and you’ll know Dad owned it. A chimney jutted out of the roof of the 3–bedroom log cabin. The deck in front, encompassed by a wooden railing, had three chairs around a makeshift fire pit. The smaller structure beside the cabin was his garage. He spends more time there than inside the house itself. This was the first thing he had built after buying the farm. He knew this was where he would grow old with Mom. Dad was your typical rough on the outside, mushy on the inside. Mom was one lucky girl. After breakfast, I made myself comfortable in my bedroom here and slept until late in the afternoon. ‘We’re at the winery,‘ Mom’s note beside the plate of honey–glazed chicken on the kitchen island said. After eating my late lunch, I went out looking for my parents. The winery was across the field. It’s easier if I use the motorcycle parked in Dad’s garage. If only I knew how to drive one. Halfway through the field, I stopped over to greet the farmers working on Dad’s vineyard about ten times. They have nothing but good words for my father. It surprised me how excited they were to meet me as well. The culture in this place was a big shift from Roslin City. Clarke Bay was a small town, and Dad, owning the largest vineyard and winery in this area, was kind of popular with the locals. Dad bought this place when it was on the brink of bankruptcy. People were surprised at how he made a dying business thrive. Along with the success of Summerfields Acres was the increase in employment opportunities for the people of Clarke Bay. I had just finished talking to Marius, the fifty–seven–year–old farmer who invited me for dinner so I could meet his son, when a horse jumped in front of me out of nowhere. I was startled. I fell on my a*s. “Hey, are you alright?” a guy came to my side, his warm hand gently gripping my elbow. “No,” I hissed. There was an ache in my butt. My tailbone landed on a huge rock. The pain vibrated through my entire spine. Looking up, I crawled away like a terrified lamb when the horse neighed, nudging me with its nose. “Easy,” the guy chuckled, standing to his full height and rubbing the horse’s nose. It groaned and nudged the guy’s hand as if asking for more. Mystery Guy gave it, smiling as he said. “You naughty boy, the horse answered with another groan. “Behave now. You scared the lady.” As though it understood what he said, it sighed and stomped its front foot, whipping its tail side to side, but stayed where it was. The guy turned to me then, offered his hand, and gently smiled down at me. He had dark skin, shoulder–length hair, and sharp brown eyes, wearing a sleeveless gray shirt, jeans, and leather farm boots. When I just stared at his hand, he tilted his head to the side. “Can you stand?” “I think so.” I put my hand in his; it was rough and calloused, and I allowed him to pull me up. When pain shot through my back, I bit the insides of my cheeks but kept a steady face. “Are you hurt?” concern laced his tone. “My butt hit that rock when I fell,” I said, looking down at the golf ball–sized rock on the dirt path. His brows knitted together. “I would love to rub the