When Love Finds Its Way Back (Cassienne and Dreston) novel Chapter 166

Chapter One Hundred And Sixty–Six: You’re Glowing.

Cassienne showered quickly, letting the hot water wash away the last traces of city tension. She changed into a light summer dress. A cream cotton with thin straps, soft and flowing, skimming her body without clinging. She tied her hair loosely back with a silk ribbon, letting a few strands fall free around her face.

Dreston changed into fitted dark jeans and a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The casual look made him seem younger, more relaxed, and less CEO, more man.

When they stepped out into the hallway together, the manor felt different. The air smelled of sun–warmed stone and distant roses.

Outside, Matteo had arranged the official harvest demonstration.

Ten estate workers stood in neat rows among the vines, each holding small curved shears and shallow wicker baskets. The sun was still high enough to warm their shoulders.

“This is an early selective harvest,” Matteo explained. “We don’t strip the vines. We pick only the ripest clusters–those with perfect color, perfect sugar levels. It requires attention, and patience.”

Garry handed each guest a pair of shears.

“Friendly competition,” he announced. “Couples versus couples. Most clean cuts, best quality selection

wins.”

Daisy smirked, already testing the weight of the shears in her hand.

“What do we win?”

“Bragging rights,” Garry said.

“And a private bottle of this year’s best reserve blend,” Matteo added quietly.

Daisy’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

They split into three sections of vineyard rows.

Cassienne moved carefully between the vines, inspecting each cluster with the same focus she brought

to code. She tilted a bunch toward the light, studying the color of the grapes.

“Not these,” she murmured. “this is too light. Sugar’s not there yet.”

Dreston watched her from a step behind, arms folded, smiling softly. “You’re analyzing grapes like

software.”

She glanced up, amused. “Precision applies everywhere.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping. “You’re beautiful when you focus.”

She cut a perfect cluster with a clean snip and dropped it into their shared basket.

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“Focus, Mr. Tremont.”

Further down the row, Daisy was moving faster and bold, almost impatient.

She snipped clusters quickly, dropping them in with a flourish.

Ray followed a pace behind, slower, more deliberate. “You’re rushing,” he said evenly.

She turned sharply, shears paused mid–air. “I’m winning.”

He closed the distance between them, reaching out to adjust her grip, gentle but firm, his fingers covering hers for a second.

“Winning doesn’t mean to be careless.”

Her breath caught at the sudden closeness. His hand lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

“Don’t micromanage me,” she said, but the words came out softer than she intended.

“Don’t fall.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull her hand away immediately.

Garry and Aurora were laughing at the far end of their row.

Aurora fumbled the first cut, the cluster tumbling to the ground.

“Why is this harder than it looks?” she muttered.

Garry stepped behind her, chest brushing her back as he guided her hand.

“Pressure here,” he said quietly. “Twist slightly.”

She felt his warmth, his breath against her ear.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“What isn’t?”

“You’re distracting me.”

“I’m helping.”

By late afternoon, baskets were full and heavy. Matteo inspected each one with quiet professionalism.

“To be fair,” he said diplomatically, “all three teams performed exceptionally well.”

Garry scoffed playfully.

“Choose.”

Matteo smiled.

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“Precision and quality–Mr. and Mrs. Tremont.”

Cassienne blinked at the title.

Mrs.

Dreston squeezed her hand gently under the basket handle. It was a silent reassurance.

Daisy groaned dramatically, tossing her shears into the grass.

“Rigged.”

Ray only smirked, eyes lingering on her flushed cheeks.

The winning grapes were carried off for a small pressing demonstration.

This time it was not playful chaos. It was traditional, and serious. They gathered around the old wooden

barrel station.

Shoes off again. Daisy stepped in first, grimacing at the cold squish of grape skins under her feet.

“Red wine,” Matteo explained. “We keep the skins during fermentation. That’s where the color and tannins come from.”

The grapes were poured around her ankles. Ray joined her without hesitation.

When she wobbled on the uneven mass, he caught her again. His hands firm on her waist. This time he didn’t release her immediately.

Their faces were closer than before, close enough she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

“You’re going to keep catching me?” she asked, voice quieter than usual.

“For as long as you need.”

She swallowed. “That sounds dangerous.”

He leaned in just a fraction, voice low enough that only she could hear.

“I’ve never been afraid of danger.”

For a single suspended second, the vineyard, the group, the world narrowed to the space between them.

Then Daisy stepped back first, breaking the moment with a small, breathless laugh.

“Let’s not get sentimental in grape juice.”

Ray chuckled lightly. Evening arrived slowly.

After showers and rest, they gathered in the barrel cellar for the official tasting session.

The cellar was cool and dimly lit, rows of oak barrels stacked in perfect symmetry. Candles flickered on

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long tasting tables, casting warm pools of light. A professional sommelier, older, silver–haired, calm authority, guided them.

“Swirl. Observe color. Inhale aroma before tasting. Let the wine speak first.”

They followed his guide.

Cassienne swirled her glass slowly, watching the legs trail down the sides. She closed her eyes for a

moment.

“Dark cherry,” she said softly. “A hint of smoke. Leather. And… something earthy.”

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