“I haven’t been out recently, and I needed to get it in,” I say as I pass him and head for the stairs to go up to my side of the manor.
“Right,” he draws out.
Stopping halfway up the flight, I turn and look at him. His expression is mixed with concern and annoyance. I understand why, I could royally screw this up for us, but this thing between her and me has nothing to do with the assignment. Therefore, none of it is his business.
“Don’t you have some work to do?” I know I sound like a dick, but I have enough of my own shit going on in my head without having to listen to him.
“Sure do, boss.” He scowls at me as he stalks off.
Taking the steps two at a time, I slam my bedroom door behind me, walk straight for the shower, and blast the water as hot as I can stand it.
I can’t lie to myself and say that I never wanted it to happen, because deep down I did . . . and I knew it would. I think what I’m confused about is the lingering sensation of how good it felt, how good she felt, and how right it felt. I thought that if I had her, this crazy pull and want for her would subside. But, nope, five minutes after we were done, I was ready to go again. Still, even the next day, here I am, craving her even more.
Why couldn’t I have stuck to the plan? That was all I needed to do. For two weeks. Piece of cake, but no, I couldn’t even control myself for fourteen damn days. Now, I’ve hurt her feelings, and I don’t know how to fix this.
Hot water pours down, relaxing my muscles, and the heat reminds me of the warmth from her body, her skin under my fingers, and the sound of her voice as she quietly pleaded for more.
Instead of finding some clarity, I’m flooded with memories, which add to my inability to focus, so I flip the water to cold to wash it away.
Why is this so hard? She’s a girl. A girl who I kind of like, well maybe more than a little like, but I’m still not sure of at the same time. The only thing worse than hating her, would be falling in love with her.
Letting out a sigh, I think about the mountain of work I’ve let build up, and I find I’m pissed off. Pissed off at this situation, pissed off at her, and pissed off at myself.
I’m also pissed because there’s no way I’ll ever be able to walk by that table in the cellar and not think of her.
As I swallow a mouthful of scotch, I welcome the burn as it slides down my throat. It’s almost distracting enough to calm the war inside my head. Almost.
“So, what’s happening between you and Shelby?” James asks as he deals the next round of cards.
All afternoon, the guys and I have been playing poker in the library, and I’ve caught both Kyle and James randomly staring at me. I know the topic of Shelby is the elephant in the room, but I can’t explain anything to them when I don’t know myself. I haven’t talked to her today, nor do I plan to. I have no idea what she did when she left me last night or what she’s been doing since. I am pretty sure I’m the last person she wants to hear from, and this adds another layer to how I feel like shit for the way things ended. I’m not even sure what to say. “I’m sorry,” doesn’t seem strong enough . . . I don’t know. I’m not ready.
“Nothing.” I lie, refilling my glass.
“Come on, who do you think you’re talking to?” he says, condescendingly. “I’ve known you for years, and I’ve never seen you so sour. This girl is under your skin, and you can’t stand it.”
The guys fall silent, and I glance over to Kyle, who’s watching me. I know he agrees with James.
“She’s here to do the assignment, and that’s it. There’s nothing going on, and she leaves in a few days.” The topic of her makes me uncomfortable, and I want it to end.
“Well, I happen to think she’s awesome. Gorgeous, too,” he says, leaning back in his chair and throwing his arms behind his head.
“She’s a she-devil,” I mumble to myself, staring at my cards but not really looking at them.
“A what?” he asks.
“Never mind. Look, if you’re worried about some unspoken bro-code, stop. She’s all yours. I’m not interested.” Another lie.
“Whatever you say,” he drawls out and then grabs a praline, inhaling it in one bite.
All four of them start chuckling. I’ve officially heard enough.
Throwing down my cards, I push my chair back. “Today was a long day. I’m beat and I’m gonna turn in.” I look at each of them.
“All right.” James says around a mouthful of food as he stands and holds out his hand. “We’re going to head out before the sun is up tomorrow, thanks for letting us crash for a few days.” Guilt slips in a little as I clap him on the back. I know I’m being a bit of dick, I just can’t deal.
“Anytime, man, you know it’s always good to see you. Tell Lexi she better get her ass up here soon.” He grins at me, and I move around the table to give Bryan and Jack a handshake and a back slap, too.
“Goes both ways,” he says. “Feel free to get your ass down there to check on my sister.” He pins me with a look of seriousness, and I return it. I know how much she means to him, and I’ll always look out for her.
“I will, don’t you worry. Just take care of yourself and come home soon.”
“Always.” He chuckles, winking at me.
Walking back into the tasting room, I put the scotch behind the bar where I keep a secret stash and set my glass in the sink. Michelle is watching me. Everyone is watching me. I wish they’d cut it out.
Needing some space to breathe, I decide to head to the cliff. When I pull up, the golf cart that I gave Shelby to use is already parked under the tree, and the irritation I was already feeling intensifies.
What is she doing here?
Not willing to let her have my spot, I climb out and hike the trail. At the top, I find her sitting near the edge with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her hair is blowing in the breeze, and even though her back is to me, she looks small and vulnerable. The anger I felt at her intrusion dissolves, and another emotion slips in. One I’m not ready to think about or recognize.
“Did you follow me?” She doesn’t even turn around when she says it, but there is an edge to her tone.
“What? No.” I retort as I take a seat next to her.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Shelby, you really need to get over yourself. This is my spot, remember? I showed it to you.”
“Right.” She drops her chin to her knees and stares out straight in front of her.
Leaning back on my elbows, I kick my legs out and cross them at the ankle. The sun has already set and there’s only the remainder of the faint glow behind the western hills.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask her.
“Thinking,” she answers quietly.
A breeze blows and her hair swirls around her head. I should ask her what she’s thinking about, but something holds me back. Sitting next to her is an empty sauvignon blanc bottle and an empty glass, and I know this is my fault.
“About what?” I ask tentatively.
“About how I broke my rules and I’m trying to reconcile with myself.”
I’m not sure what she means by rules, but I’m pretty certain they pertain to me.
“How much have you had to drink?”
Her eyes shift down to the bottle. “Not too much, but it was really good.”
“‘Was’ being the operative word there.” I tease her, but she frowns at the insinuation and turns to look at me.
“Do you regret what happened last night?” she asks, straight to the point.
“Of course not,” I answer honestly. Regret definitely wouldn’t be the word I’d use. Hell, it doesn’t even come close to making the list, but what do make the list are: confusion, guilt, adoration. “I’m sorry that you left feeling like I did.”
Biting the bottom of her lip, she wrinkles her forehead in thought. I’m not sure if she believes me or not, and not that I would blame her if she didn’t, but I think she wants to.
“I don’t unders
tand you . . . at all.” She exhales, sounding defeated.
When she spots the bottle of cabernet I’m holding, she takes it from my hands, pulls the cork, pours herself a very full glass and hands the bottle back.
“I know you don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, tell me what your problem is.” She pauses to take a sip of her wine and then continues without looking at me. “I don’t understand what I did to make you not like me.”
“Come on, you’re being ridiculous. You know I like you.”
“Do you?” The expression on her face is sad, and she looks so disappointed.
“Shelby, I said this before, and I’ll say it again.” Using my finger, I guide her chin so she sees me, the real me. “It’s on me, not you.” I nod my head once, hoping she’ll agree with me.
“It isn’t nice. Just make up your mind already. Either we’re friends or we’re not. Either you want me or you don’t. This back and forth with your split personalities is giving me whiplash, and it makes me not trust you.”
“You shouldn’t trust me,” I whisper.
She looks at me funnily, pulls her chin away, and then takes another sip of wine.
“But why not? I keep asking myself this. You haven’t lied to me. In fact, I think you’ve been pretty up front with how you feel about me.”
I shake my head at her, wishing I could change the conversation.
“I thought you were a player, and maybe you are, which is fine. I’m a big girl and I can handle it. Just tell me, are you playing me, Zach? Is this a game to you? Am I a game?”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question? Part of me wonders if this has anything to do with me, but I can’t look past my own feelings to even ask her about hers. Her words have shot arrows into me and a heavily weighted guilt slips in. No, I haven’t flat out lied to her. I did, however, start this whole “relationship” with her on a rouse. Have I been playing her? In a way, I have been, but that game ended the second I pushed her up against the cottage door. Now, even more so after last night, it’s all very real to me.
“No, Shelby. This is not a game to me. Nothing about what’s happened between you and me is a game.” I may have set up the plan strategically like a game, but when it comes to this winery and the success of it, I take everything seriously. My plan was for her to like the winery and write a good review. Not once did tricking her into sleeping with me come into play.
“Good, because I would hate to leave here hating you, Zach, especially when I just started liking you.” She peeks over and gives me a small smile.
She likes me.
I never thought that she didn’t, but hearing her say it loosens a knot that had been twisting tighter and tighter inside my chest all day.
Pushing away our career choices, pushing away the insecurities and guilt, pushing away our differences and the plan, it’s here and now with her by my side that I decide I’m in.
Let the chips fall where they may.
Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I pull her close and tuck her in next to me. She lets out a contented sigh and lays her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickles my face, and somewhere in the depth of me, the word “mine” sneaks in. I squeeze her tighter.
Calm settles over me as I come to this decision, and for the first time since she arrived, I let myself acknowledge how right she feels—how right we feel. The rational part of me says, “What are you doing?” But the part of me that feels connected to her? It says, “Consequences be damned.” And besides, the plan worked. She loves the winery, she loves the wines—I can’t see her saying anything bad about us, and she’ll never know about it.
Pralines
“Hey.”
I turn to see Zach slowing from a run to a walk as he comes up the driveway to the front of the cottage.
Pushing my sun hat back, I squint from the brightness of the mid-morning to see his face. There’s a small smile that almost borders on shy. Timidness is not a trait I thought I’d ever see in him, but there it is. But then again, after the way he behaved the other night, approaching me with caution is probably in his best interest.
“How’re you feeling today?” he asks, sucking in deep breaths, resting his hands on his hips.
The sun is shining off the dampness of his skin, causing it to glisten and my mouth to go dry. “Not too bad. Drank some juice, ate some toast, fixed me right up.” I smile back as I stand and brush the dirt off me.
Last night, something shifted. I don’t know what, but I know it did. The usual tension he carries around me slipped away when he wrapped his arm around me, making it feel as if a blanket of calmness descended upon us.
“Thanks for bringing me home, I’m sure I would have eventually found my way . . . but you know how it is.” Warmth spreads up my cheeks as I think about how he’d held my hand again on the ride back and the kiss he left me with at my front door. His lips are addictive, I’m going to miss them when I’m gone.
“I do.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and the muscles from his biceps to his trapezius tighten and bulge. His clothes are clinging nicely to him, which makes me want to peel them off and run my hands over his skin.
Waving a finger up and down his body, my smile turns into a laugh. “I see you’re faring well this morning.”
He looks down at his shirt, runs a hand across his chest, the other through his damp hair, and then looks back at me with an amused expression and vivid, clear eyes.
“Years of practice and strangely, I have a high tolerance for wine.” He grins. It’s nice to see him smiling and not scowling.
“I guess so.” The light brushing of a hundred wings stir deep inside me at the possibility of having a great day with him today.
“What are you doing?” He looks at my gloved hands, the bush clippings, and at the basket sitting next to my feet.
“There are so many lavender bushes all around the property. I’m stealing some to take home with me in a few days, but don’t tell the owner.” I bat my eyelashes at him and he chuckles.
“What are you going to do with it?” he picks up the basket, pushes a few pieces around, and then rubs his fingers together before smelling them.
“Oh, I’m going to do all kinds of things: dry and hang some for decoration, make a satchel, tea bags, ice cream. I have big plans.”
He looks around the cottage at the bushes lined up one after another. “Well, there’s plenty here, so take as much as you want. The owner will never notice. From what I hear, he rarely comes down here anyway.” He winks at me.
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” My smile widens at his playfulness just as a breeze blows, lifting my hat. Grabbing a hold of it, I laugh.
“Let’s go. I have a surprise for you,” Zach says, taking the clippers from my hand and then removing my gloves for me. He sets them by the front door and then turns to make sure I’m following, which I am.
Taking my hand, he leads me around the cottage to the parked golf cart. We climb in and off we go. Squealing, I grab my hat and move it to my lap.
“Why do you always drive these things like they’re on fire?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His eyes cut my way. They’re mischievous, and one side of his mouth tips up. Stretching an arm across the back of the seat, his hand falls under my ponytail and on my neck. Warm fingers squeeze me gently, and I relish in the feel of him touching me.
“So, where are we going?”
“You’ll see. I’m pretty sure you’ve seen most of the winery already, but this is something that we keep just for us.”
“Oh, a secret place.” I grin.
“You could say that.” He smiles, and my heart squeezes at his handsome face.
It takes us ten minutes to reach the far northwestern corner of the property. The sun is warm, and the wind that whips by us as we head down the hill feels pleasant and welcome. I’m comfortable sitting here next to him, so comfortable a pang of sadness hits me at the thought of leaving in a few days. When we pull t
hrough several rows of apple, peach, and pecan trees, I spot the six bee houses, the sadness melts away, forgotten.
“You have an apiary?” I gasp as I take in the large cedar boxes that have hundreds of bees swarming around them.
“We do. And although I’m sure there’s a bit of a mixture of some wildflower nectar in them, they are primarily filled with lavender honey.”
“Lavender,” I say on an exhale. “I love honey,” I say more to myself, but Zach chuckles next to me.
“I know you do. You told me repeatedly the day we went to Asheville.”
He’s smiling and studying my very pleased reaction to this impromptu visit.
“After we opened OBA, Lexi bought a few hives for the orange trees on her property, but I haven’t been down to see them yet.”
“I know that, too.” He shifts in his seat so he’s angled toward me and then props his foot on the miniature dashboard. “She called and talked to my mother after she set up shop.”
My eyebrows shoot straight up. “These bees are your mothers?”
He nods his head. “My mother loves these bees. She’s had these hives for as long as I can remember. She harvests the honey herself three times a season and has made quite a little business of it. Tourists who’ve come in for a tasting and had a sample of the honey reach out to her year-round, requesting to purchase a jar.”
“That’s amazing. Where does she jar the honey?” Along with the lavender, I need to take some of this home, too.
“There’s a separate kitchen in the back of the warehouse where we bottle wine. My father built it for her years ago.” A look of pride graces his face. It’s easy to see how much he loves his parents. He’s lucky. Such a different childhood than my own.
I picture the barn when we walked through it, but nothing comes to mind. “Oh, I didn’t notice it.”
“I know. I didn’t show it to you.” He teases me, pulling on my ponytail.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. My parents are my people. I’ve learned over the years, the less I talk about them, the more they are mine. If I keep them out of the press, I get to keep them all to myself. It makes our relationship feel like it’s more. It’s mine, and the things that are most important to me, I don’t like to share.” His last few words slow as he looks at me.
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 17