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 the 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.”
Those dinners were my favorite growing up. It was the only time my dad slowed down enough to sit and talk with us.
“That sounds really nice,” she responds, smiling along with him.
“It is. If you’re ever out this way when they’re back you should come, I’m sure she’d love to meet you,” he says.
Shelby glances at me, and when she doesn’t get a reaction out of me, she shrugs. Neither one of us has any interest in continuing this forced arrangement after she leaves. I think this might be the first thing that we both agree on, but in the meantime . . . stick to the plan.
“I think I’ll go with you tomorrow. What time were you thinking?” I ask her.
She blinks a few times and her forehead wrinkles a bit before a sly grin that I don’t understand flits across her face, “How about nine thirty?”
“Sure. I’ll be ready.” I return her grin with a cautious one and say, “I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.”
“I have some ideas already, but I need to see what’s available at the farmers’ market first. Lightning will strike and the creativity will rain down, I know it.”
Lightning.
There’s only one thing, well one place that comes to mind; I hesitate and think, why not.
“I want to show you something,” my voice trails off, as I almost regret asking, but the invite is out now. “Were you wanting to head to the cottage after this or are you good to go for a ride?”
She glances at Michelle, and the two of them trade a look of surprise and curiosity. “A ride sounds fun.” Her voice is cautious, so I give her a reassuring smile. This girl never backs down from a challenge.
Reaching over the bar, I grab the bottle of sauvignon blanc and two glasses. I can feel Kyle and Michelle looking at me suspiciously, and for some reason I suddenly feel guilty. I shouldn’t. They know what the plan is, and it’s not as if I’m trying to get under her dress, I just think she’ll like where I want to take her.
She follows close behind as I lead her out of the manor, the soft click of her heels on the floor keeping time with the muted thud of my work boots. I head toward the golf carts, and pack the bottle and glasses in a bag that’s hooked on the back of the closest one. She climbs into the passenger side and tucks the sides of her skirt under her legs.
The air is cool tonight, but not cold. The humidity has held off, and I think I’m going to time this perfectly. Five minutes later, we pull up to the cave. Again, Shelby follows me as I start walking up the dirt path in the opposite direction of the cave.
“Where are we going?” she calls out from behind me.
“You’ll see.” I smile to myself, eager to see her reaction.
The path isn’t too long, maybe a tenth of a mile or so, but it is uphill, and it suddenly occurs to me she isn’t wearing the best shoes for this.
“Are you doing okay?” I turn around and point to her shoes just as she wobbles. Reaching out I grab her hand to steady her, and she smiles at me in appreciation.
Damn smile. I’m not supposed to like it either, or her.
“I am, but I think I’ll take them off. I don’t want the heels to get ruined.” She doesn’t let go of my hand as she slips her shoes from her feet and then dangles them loosely from her fingertips. She shrinks a good four inches, and now I feel like I’m towering over her.
“All right, let’s go. It looks like the sun is going to set soon, and I want to see what it is you’re trying to show me,” she says, pulling on my hand. Leave it to this girl to hike up a hill barefoot in a dress. I shake my head at her and at myself for finding her charming.
Side by side, we finish the trail and step out onto a rock overhang that gives us a spectacular view of the winery as well as a few others. I’m still holding her hand, and she’s still holding mine. I don’t know why, I just know I’m not ready to let it go.
“Wow, it’s so beautiful.” The wonder in her voice wraps around us along with the wind leaving its mark on my skin. I’m elated by the inspired and awestruck look on her face. Her hand tightens around mine, and I watch as she breathes in the earthy clean smell of the air. I want to respond that it is, but deep down, I know I wouldn’t be talking about the view in front of us.
For some reason, up here, by ourselves and away from the world, it feels different, she suddenly feels different. It’s like she’s someone else, or maybe it’s just me.
“My father first brought me here on my tenth birthday. I was so proud that he wanted to spend time with me to show me something he loved. He said until then, he thought I was too young and worried that I would fall over the edge, but at ten, he trusted me. I’ve never forgotten that day, and I don’t know why I just told you that, but this is my favorite spot. I’ve come here a lot over the years.”
“Are you close with your parents?” she asks.
“More so with my mother. My father, he ah, he worked a lot. How about you?”
“No, I’m not,” she whispers, and then closes the subject. “Thank you for bringing me,” she mumbles, her gaze still enchanted by the view.
I watch her face as she stares out toward the horizon. The sun is about to dip down below the peaks of the hills and everything around us is bathed in a golden light.
“I wasn’t sure if I was going to or not,” I confess, wondering if I should keep this tidbit to myself.
“Why not?” She turns to look at me and our eyes meet.
“Because . . . I’ve never brought anyone here before, it’s my place.” My eyes scan her face, and I hate how my stomach tightens. Why is it that when we’re in front of other people I want to strangle her, but when we’re alone, I forget what she does and who she is, and I kind of enjoy her company?
“Really?” Her eyebrows rise in question. If I would have brought someone, it would have been Elaine, but she was always way more interested in our city life than coming here to the farm.
“Nope. But when you mentioned lightning, I thought of it. In the summer, on the horizon there’s a lot of heat lightning. I’ve always liked to watch the storms off in the distance.”
“Sounds beautiful and I love it here.” She breaks eye contact and nods toward the bag I brought. “What’s in there? Did you pack us a snack?”
“No.” I chuckle. “The golf cart we took is mine. The bag stays on the back and holds things that occasionally I need.”
Letting go of her hand, I put the bag down and pull out a blanket.
“You need a blanket?” She watches me as I throw it out for us to sit on.
“You’d be surprised how much time I spend up here.” I gesture for her to sit, and she moves onto the blanket.
“What do you do up here?” She looks at me as I sit next to her, stretch out my legs, cross them at the ankle, and lean back onto my hands.
“Think.”
After the last injury, I knew my football career was done. I woke up in the hospital to the familiar sounds of the machines, and I kept my eyes shut to allow the reality of my situation to sink in. It was there in that bed that I brought myself here and stayed. Even after I got home, I came up here, pitched a tent, and grieved for the loss of something I loved.
Sensing I need a topic change, Shelby reaches over and pulls the wine and two glasses out of the bag. She pours for us and hands one to me.
“What do you think of this sauvignon blanc?” I ask her as she takes a sip.
“I like it. I think it’s tart, green apple tart.” She holds the glass up and looks at the wine. The sun reflecting through it gives it more of a golden color, and then she smiles at me before taking another sip.
“I wasn’t sure what to expect from the person the magazine was sending. They mentioned a chef, but not whether that person would be versed in wines or not. You don’t know a lot about wine, do you?”
“No, but I know enough,” she says, lowering her glass. “Also, my palate is refined enough to be able to denote the different flavors and nuances, and I greatly appreciate the work that goes into each bottle.”
Shifting, she crosses her legs and folds them under the skirt of her dress. I like watching her, maybe a little too much.
“So, which of your wines is your favorite?” she asks me.
“By taste, or in general?” I get asked this question a lot, but this is the first time I’ve asked someone to clarify.
She tilts her head as she mulls over my question. “I guess in general, which is kind of broad, so maybe favorite grape.”
This answer is easy.
“It would have to be the cabernet. The grape has thick skin, so it’s durable to most of the elements and can be grown pretty much anywhere. I appreciate strength in all things.”
“You said that earlier, too, about the pinot gris.” I think back to our conversation and she’s right.
“I’m not a fan of weakness.” And that’s when it dawns on me that Shelby isn’t weak. She’s strong, independent, and has her shit together. She isn’t relying on anyone to make her dreams come true, she’s doing it on her own. A fissure of admiration disrupts the shell of usual dislike I have for this girl, and I’m not sure I like it.
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up here. Do you have any siblings?” Her attention is again fixed on the horizon as she asks.
“Nope, it’s just me, and it was amazing.” It really was. Most assume that because I am an only child I was bored often or lonely, but that was never the case. I loved it here.
Silence settles over us as we gaze out at the sun, watching it slowly sink and disappear behind the hills. Above us, the sprinkling of the stars begins to emerge as the orange glow of daylight fades.
“Can we stay here a little bit longer?” she whispers, scooting a little closer to me until her thigh lightly presses against mine. I don’t even think she realizes how close we are, and I should shift away from her, but I don’t.
“Sure.”
I don’t have it in me to tell her no.