“What is it?” I ask, doing exactly what he did. Bursts of flavors such as cherries, black currants, and a smokiness like found in a cigar box fill my mouth.
“It’s an eighty/twenty cabernet merlot blend. It’s been aging for about eighteen months.”
“It’s delicious. When will it be done?” I ask, taking another sip.
“We’ll pull it sometime within the next month or two, bottle it, and allow it to age a little more. We’ve been sitting on this one, and I’m excited because I think it will be well received.” He sniffs it again and rolls it around in the glass, watching as the wine rolls down the sides. “This one will be better once it’s decanted.”
“Well, I think it’s good now. Can I have some more?” I hold out my now empty glass to him.
His lips quirk, and he takes it to top it off.
When he hands it back to me, our fingers barely graze, the contact is warm and unexpected. Pulling my hand away too fast, I spill the wine, but I’m too surprised by the small flicker of interest the brief graze of skin against skin ignited to apologize. Zach, however, takes a step back and gives me a curious but guarded look.
Did he feel that?
Every muscle in me tightens, and I silently beg him to touch me again, only that would be really bad. Other than the last hour, which has left me incredibly confused, he’s been terrible to me. He isn’t the guy for me, not even to have a little fun with, no matter how hot he is, so I douse my inner flame with a mixture of reality and a large gulp of wine. It burns a little going down and seconds pass as we stare at each other.
His lips drop to a scowl. Yep, he felt it.
Here we go.
Nice Zach is gone and mean Zach is back as he moves a little farther away and shoves his hand into his pocket. Just when I think I’m about to get a snide comment about my clumsiness or be chided for my lack of manners, he shrugs and smiles.
“So, this is it,” he says on an exhale as his eyes move away from me and sweep around the room.
“It really is quite impressive,” I mumble, trying not to poke the bear. As I walk back to the entrance to the cave, I finish my glass of wine and copy him by setting it in a used glass rack where there are a few others.
Zach, who has been walking two steps ahead of me, clears his throat. “All of the magazine crew, except for the photographer, left this morning. If you decide you want to go check out the bottling in the barn, text him, and he can go with you. Those shots might be nice, this down here, we like to keep to ourselves.”
“I understand,” I say, as he turns to face me.
“And when you decide to taste the wines we stock at the manor, Michelle knows to give him a call so he can come and take a few photos of you then, too.”
“Yikes! Thanks for telling me. I’d hate for him to show up after I’ve been for a run or after I’d cooked all day.” I briefly glance down at my outfit and then at his. Both hands are now stuffed in his pockets, and they’re dragging his jeans down his hips. A chill runs through me from the temperature of the room, and I have an insane urge to slide my hands under the bottom of his T-shirt to feel the warmth of his skin around his waist.
“No worries.” His voice brings my eyes back to his. The light in the cave is already muted, but because of his hat and the shadow it casts across his face, I have no indication of what he’s really thinking or feeling. “Might be best to spread out the tasting over three separate nights, too: whites, reds, and sparklings.”
“Sounds good to me. It’ll give me a day or two in between each tasting to play around with corresponding food pairings as well.” I start walking toward the exit, and he follows.
“Well, if the food tastes anything like what you made this morning, let me know. I’d be happy to taste test it for you.” His voice is all business but casual.
“Okay.” I give him a small smile as he flips off the light.
My eyes squint against the brightness of the sun, and I pull down the sun hat and take in the fresh air. The day turned out to be beautiful and right this moment, I’m happy that he brought me here versus Michelle. I’m still not too sure about this “let’s start over” Zach. I feel like I’ve witnessed firsthand a true Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but I’m going to take what I can get and continue taking this one day at a time.
Frittata
All day today, I’ve thought about Shelby. What’s she doing? Is she slaying someone’s dream? Is she working on the twenty-five recommendations article? Is she cooking more delicious food? Did she wander around the estate? Has she tried more of our wines? Did she really enjoy the tour of the cave? Mainly, my thoughts revolve around wondering what she’s wearing. Yep, stupid, I know, but I can’t help myself.
When I showed up to the cottage yesterday, I expected her to be dressed casually. I didn’t realize she would wear it so well, especially in those little shorts. From pants on day one, to a dress on day two, to those shorts on day three, I swear every time I see this girl, she’s showing more skin than the last time, purposely trying to drive me crazy. Then, she put on those damn boots. Boots that made her look adorable when we all know it’s a ruse because she’s really just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I mean who wears fancy rain boots when it isn’t raining?
Kyle asked me how our time went together yesterday, and all I had to tell him was, “fine.” He regarded me skeptically, as if he were expecting me to say more, but really once I got her to retract her claws at the cottage, the day moved along smooth enough. She didn’t say anything that made me want to leave her in the middle of the vineyard by herself, and I appreciated how much she wanted to know about my family and the winery. None of yesterday changes how I ultimately feel about her, but finishing out the two weeks may not be so bad after all. If I stick to the plan, that is.
When Kyle and I walk into the tasting room, I find her sitting at the back bar talking to Michelle, who’s standing across from her. They’re leaning toward each other as if they’ve known each other for years instead of days. This should make me happy, but it does the opposite, causing me to glower. I understand the expression keep your friends close and your enemies closer, but having her fit in and get along so well with my staff is messing with my head. Together, Kyle and I make our way over to them, acknowledging a few regulars on our way.
Michelle and Shelby are still laughing—hard, like to the point of tears. I glance over to Kyle, and he winks at me. He’s thinking what I’m thinking and this is his way of letting me know he and Michelle had that talk.
Michelle looks up, spots Kyle, and the smile on her face gets impossibly bigger. I smirk at him as he tightens his facial features to keep from responding. Poor guy, it’s easy to see that he wants to.
At Michelle’s reaction, Shelby turns on her stool to see who she’s looking at, and I’m met with sparkling blue eyes. Her smile drops a little and her eyes turn wary, but her overall disposition is welcoming, so I know I did something right yesterday.
Sucking in a deep breath, my eyes fall to the bare skin of her arms and legs. She’s wearing a red sundress and another pair of impossible shoes. If she were anyone else, I’d say she’s a welcome sight for my tired eyes, but really she’s just another problem in my long list of them.
“What are you two looking at?” Kyle asks, taking a seat in front of Michelle and to the right of Shelby.
“Funny movie clips on YouTube.” She grins at him.
“Why?” I ask as I take the seat to the left of Shelby. All three of them turn to look at me. That came out a little harsher than intended.
“Why not?” Michelle answers, shooting me a “cool it” look. “Turns out Shelby and I both have a love for dry humor.” She smiles at Shelby and then holds out her phone. “Take Napoleon Dynamite for example.” She hits play, and there’s the dude with the curly hair walking out of his house and toward the pasture.
“Tina, you fat lard. Come and get some DINNER . . .” The llama grunts at him as he holds out a spoon and says, “Tina, eat. Food. Eat some FOOD!�
�� Then he flings the casserole on the ground.
Both girls squeal with laughter, and I find myself chuckling with them. Damn, that really is a funny movie.
“How’d it go? All fixed?” Michelle asks, her look bouncing between the two of us.
“Yeah, we think so,” Kyle answers before leaning over the bar to grab a basket of crackers. “We just need to watch the pH levels over the next couple of days and add some more nutrients to the soil.”
Kyle’s voice fades as my eyes lock on Shelby’s. Slowly, hers drop as she takes in my appearance. I know we’re filthy, but I don’t care, and I prop a dusty work boot on the footrest of her stool.
In front of her are four glasses, three for the current white flight—although they aren’t tasting glasses, they’re full size—and one for Michelle. In front of me, there are three empty tasting glasses.
“Who was sitting here?” I turn and ask her.
“The photographer.”
“Right.” An unwanted and unexpected wave of jealousy courses through me. It never occurred to me he would spend time with her. He should be taking the photos, not drinking the wine and laughing with her.
Wait.
Why do I care who drinks wine with her?
I don’t.
“What were you doing?” she asks me, following my gaze to the wine glasses. “I thought you might join us.” She pushes the photographer’s away and then slides one of hers in front of me.
“We had a problem with the draining tiles at the bottom of the hill.” I pick up the glass and take a sip. It’s cold, familiar, and tastes exceptional.
“What happened to them?” She shifts in her seat, uncrosses her legs, and then crosses them again so she’s angled in my direction. The skirt of her dress slides up her thigh a little. That’s it; that’s all I needed. After seeing her in the shorts yesterday and this dress today, I’m not just drawn to her legs, I’m officially obsessed with them. I clear my throat to answer her.
“Well, it’s been a pretty wet spring so far. There was some erosion around a few of the joints, extra sediment build-up, that kind of stuff. We fixed it, but the soil was too wet for the vine roots, which is what he meant about having to rebalance the soil.”
She picks up the glass of wine in front of her, which is the sauvignon blanc. I can tell based on the color, or I should say lack of color, it’s so light and gives off a pale yellow tint. She brings it to her mouth, and I sit enraptured as her glossy lips touch the rim of the glass. She takes a sip and my stomach tightens with an unwanted desire. A very unwanted desire.
“So, you actually do work around here?” Her voice pulls me away from her mouth, and I cringe inwardly at being caught. She’s still smirking at me when her words sink in. Isn’t that just like a true critic? Someone who makes general assumptions and doesn’t care to know the truth. My irritation over loving her legs quickly shifts to an overall irritation with her.
“I’m sorry, did you suddenly forget whose name is on that bottle of wine you’re drinking?”
Her playful face falls and then goes blank, shutting me out. She blinks at me a few times and then sets the glass back. “I was just kidding.” Her voice is soft but her eyes narrow slightly. “No need to be so sensitive about everything all the time.” She tilts her head to the side. “Oh, wait. Are your true colors coming back out?” With that, she rolls her eyes and turns her body away from me and back toward Michelle. Michelle frowns and just noticeably shakes her head.
Kyle, who can see I’m about to lose my shit, holds out his hands behind her back so she can’t see, and subtly tells me to calm down. He’s right. I’m angry over a comment that, if it had come from anyone else, I would have laughed at.
Taking in a deep breath, I run my hand across the back of my neck and decide I have to let it go. I did provoke her, which is something I need to stop doing. Remember the plan I chant to myself.
“Here, earlier I made these for y’all.” Michelle reaches into a cooler and pulls two chicken salad sandwiches wrapped in plastic and places them on the bar before pouring two glasses of sweet tea. My stomach growls as I unwrap mine.
“Ah, you’re the best. Thank you,” Kyle mumbles as he dives in. She smiles at him and they share a somewhat intimate look. I don’t know why I never thought about the two of them together before. It makes complete sense.
Next to me, Shelby picks up her glass.
“So, what do you think?” I point to the wine in her hand, trying to diffuse the tension between us.
She licks her lips and takes another slow sip while watching me. It’s incredibly seductive, and my mind wanders to what else she could do with those lips, until she giggles. My eyes snap away from her mouth and back to my plate. Damn, she did that on purpose.
“I think it’s delicious. I prefer drier wines and this hits the spot.” She looks at the glass, twirls the stem between her fingers, and then sets it back on the bar.
“Do you have a preference over red or white?” I ask between bites of the sandwich.
“Nope. I’m not picky. I’ll drink whatever is offered.”
Yes. And then you’ll voice your opinion about it to anyone that will listen if you don’t like it. Anger pushes its way up under my skin, and I breathe through my nose to try to calm down.
Keep the conversation going, Zach.
Make her feel welcome.
Remember the plan.
“What did you do today?” I ask her before a gulp of the sweet tea.
“I went over to the barn and helped the guys with the bottling.” Her expression is tentative, and she’s waiting to see if I’m going to have a retort to her wandering around the property today.
“Really, what did they have you do?” It seems as if I’m not the only one who likes to get my hands dirty. I finish the sandwich and push the plate away.
“Well, there really wasn’t much for me to do. The equipment does most of it, but they answered some questions I had, and they let me help crate the bottles once they were labeled.
Kyle bumps my shoulder and hands me his phone.
“Sorry, just a second,” I tell her and angle the phone so she can’t see the screen.
“No worries, I get it . . . duty calls.” She turns to Michelle and they start talking about someone called Fat Amy.
I flash them a smile and then look at the screen. On it is the winery’s Instagram account, and under the profile of Starving for Southern, there’s a photo of our bottles lined up on the assembly line out in the barn. My heart contracts sharply in my chest when I look at the fifty-two thousand likes under the photo, and see under the illuminated heart over seven thousand new followers. And that was after just one post. My eyes meet Kyle’s, and we share a knowing look. The plan is already working.
I hand him his phone and turn back to Shelby with a smile, suddenly feeling a fresh sense of purpose with this girl. “Are there any questions I can answer for you?”
“No, I think I have a good grasp on the operation around here. Michelle did tell me about your wine club, I think it’s a great idea.”
“Ah, the wine club . . .” I glance to Michelle, who gives me a sympathetic smile.
Shortly after taking over the winery, we implemented the wine club and sales went up. Being in the club means that once a month patrons can come in, do a full tasting for two, and leave with two bottles of wine. We automatically charge them on the first of each month for those two bottles, and it doesn’t matter when they make it in, they’ll be waiting for them. The locals love it. We are also partnered with a bakery in town to add some finger foods to the mix.
“A lot of smaller family-run wineries have adopted a club. We’ve had some good and bad experiences with it. More good than not.” I smile at her because I don’t want to plant any negative thoughts in her mind.
“How many members does it have?” She finishes the sauvignon blanc and picks up the next glass.
“Close to eighty,” I say, proudly.
“That’s great! I love th
e idea that you’re guaranteed monthly sales.”
“Us, too.”
Michelle leans over and tosses a few frozen grapes in Shelby’s glass before filling it. The grapes help keep the wine cold without diluting it. She turns the bottle my way, but I hold my hand out, covering the top. It’s been a really long day in the sun and I don’t need any excuse for one of my headaches to kick in.
“Water, please.”
She nods and pulls out a fresh cold bottle.
“You tasted all the whites tonight?” I ask, turning back to Shelby.
“I did.”
Just to see if she’s been paying attention, I ask her, “Which one are you drinking now?”
She brings it to her face, smells it, and then sips it. Her eyes sparkle at me, she knows.
“The pinot gris.”
“Correct.” I grin at her.
“What’s the difference between pinot gris and pinot grigio?” she asks.
“The gris is more full-bodied, spicier, less floral, and has great durability when it comes to being stored in the cellar. I appreciate wines that age well and hold their own.”
“I can imagine having a weak wine with a short life span is not ideal.”
“No, not really. It creates more of sense of urgency to get it sold.”
“I see.” She nods her head in understanding.
“So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Kyle asks her, as I unscrew the water cap and guzzle it.
“I think I’m going to run out, get some food, and start planning the pairings for the other whites. Come up with a few different possibilities.” She turns to Michelle to include her in the conversation. “I made a frittata yesterday morning and Zach approved, so match made. Do either of you have any favorite dishes that come to mind?”
“Oh, I know. Zach’s mother makes the best fried chicken.” Kyle smiles at me. “When she isn’t away vacationing, she cooks a giant Sunday dinner for the staff, and we all sit together and eat.”
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 8