“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 through 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.
I think about who my people are, and although I have Lexi, it’s Meg who fits that role. She’s my family and I didn’t realize how lonely I was until the moment I met her.
“So, how do you know it’s lavender honey?” I glance back to the bee boxes.
“I just do. Bees will travel up to six miles for nectar, and if you look at the lavender bushes all around the property, they are healthy with honey bees.”
“Ha, yes, I did feel like I was competing with the bees for my clippings this morning.”
His grin stretches, tipping up one side of his mouth. “Another way to tell is the color. Wildflower honey is typically darker because the nectar is taken from a wide variety of flowers, and the color can change based on what’s blooming that year. Lavender honey is called a ‘single flower’ honey, it’s lighter, and year after year the color doesn’t really change.”
Zach steps from the golf cart and rounds to the back before grabbing a duffel bag that’s been sitting in the back. Unzipping the bag, he pulls out equipment needed to harvest honey, and understanding dawns on me what he’s about to do. Running his hand through his hair, he pushes it off his face, and then picks up a white bee jumpsuit that has an attached hood veil.
“Have you ever been stung?” I’m a little nervous for him. I get that he knows what he’s doing, but still . . . bees hurt.
He steps into it, slides his arms through the sleeves, and zips it up.
“Plenty of times.” He laughs. “The trick is to scrape off the stinger, if you try to grab it you’ll actually insert more venom into your body, and that is not good. Did you know that the venom has a banana like scent to it? Bees hate bananas, it’s like their cue for attack. In fact, if you plan to come out here, don’t eat a banana first, you’re asking for trouble.”
My face blanches. “Noted. No bananas.”
Pulling the veil over his head, he smiles at me as he slips on a pair of long gloves.
“Don’t they get angry when you take the honey?” I glance over, and suddenly, I don’t feel like there are hundreds of bees. I feel like there are thousands. My heart rate picks up in concern for him.
“Nah, these bees are nice. I’m going to smoke them first so I can get to the honey, but you still can’t be quick or jerky around them, you have to move slowly and calmly, otherwise you’ll excite them. In general, I’ve never seen them be aggressive. If anything, I think they are grateful for all of the lavender. Unlike other lavender farms, we don’t cut it all down for commercial use, we leave a lot wild just for them. Don’t get me wrong, as I kid I was terrified of them, but I would lay over there under those trees and watch my mom work with them.”
I look toward where he’s pointing and find several apple trees that have had their lower branches cut off.
“Hang tight, I’ll be, right back.” He grabs some equipment, turns to walk off, and then spins back around grinning at me. “Pun intended.”
I grin with him. Who is this funny guy and what happened to the scowling ass I met back at the Feeding America event?
Zach puffs the smoker and aims it at and around each beehive before setting it on the ground. I watch in fascination as he pulls the lid to the one closest to me and uses a large flat scraping device to cut me off a piece of the honeycomb and drop it into a bowl. After putting the lid back on, he grabs the smoker and starts walking toward me, smiling from ear to ear. If I hadn’t had been falling for him before, the moment he hands me the bowl of beautiful golden honey would have done it for me.
“See, not that hard, and not one sting.” He smiles as he strips off the gear.
“Well done, Mr. Wolff, and I have the perfect idea of snack to make with this, are you hungry?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” he says climbing in next to me.
Turning on the golf cart, he zips us back through the trees and heads for the cottage.
“I can’t believe you just whipped this up,” Zach says before taking another bite of his salad topped with grilled prosciutto wrapped peaches and a honey mustard vinaigrette. Most of lunch, we sat in silence as he devoured the food on his plate. His face was one of contented bliss.
“It really wasn’t that hard, I only used one pan.” I tease him. Just like the night he came over for the red wine tasting, we’re back to sitting next to each other at the kitchen island.
“I know, but who thinks like this?” He looks at the grill pan behind me on the stove and then down to his salad.
“You should come to Charleston and taste the stuff Meg and I come up with. She’s brilliant when it comes to perfecting the recipes.” I tear off a piece of bread and smear some homemade honey butter on it.
His brows raise as his eyes collide with mine, and his chewing slows.
Cheese and crackers! I just invited him to Charleston!
I wasn’t even thinking. The conversation has been so easy with him today that I’m talking to him as I would one of my friends. Yes, we slept together. Yes, he apologized for being a jerk. Yes, we have had an amazing morning together. But friends at the end of this? I’m not so sure.
Feeling a bit awkward, I drop my eyes from his and move to reach for my glass, but his hand grabs mine. His thumb gently swipes across the inside of my arm, and I freeze, knowing he’s trying to get me to look at him, which I eventually do.
“Well, I happen to be a fan of your cooking.” He gives me a reassuring smile, and my heart clenches at his willingness to smooth the awkwardness I’d created.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
The compliment was heartfelt, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t agree or disagree to visiting us in Charleston. Last night while we were sitting on the cliff edge, a part of me wondered if we would see each other after I went back to Charleston, if I even wanted us to, and well, I guess I got my answer. I know this is just an assignment and hook-ups happen all the time, but despite his split personalities, I do like him.
Hopping out of my chair, I scoop up the plates and then drop them into the sink. Zach moves over to the couch and settles in.
Brushing away the unwanted discomfiture, I change the conversation. “How did your winery get picked for this assignment?” I move to sit in the chair adjacent to the couch. He shifts and leans in my direction.
“I think there are several reasons. The main one being, one of the editors visited and loved our wines. Plus, we use only grapes that are grown here on the farm, a lot of wineries outsource, so that keeps us local and Southern for their special farm to table issue. Our property is beautiful, one of the larger ones in the area, and we keep it ‘visitor ready’ year-round. We also offer more in the way of private events, and open the manor and the cottage to overnight visitors.”
There’s pride in his voice as he talks about his winery. It’s easy to see that running this place isn’t something he does because it belonged to his family. He genuinely loves it.
“That makes sense to me. I love it here.” I look around the quaint cottage and then out the French doors. Rows of grapevines bump up against the porch garden, and it’s so pretty.
“And our wines are exceptional.” He grins, pointing to my glass.
“Yes, they are.” I raise it to him and then take a sip. His eyes fall to my mouth the same way they did two nights ago, and a heat swirls and burns from my chest through my legs.
“When do your parents get back?” I set the glass on the coffee table in front of us.
“August first. They will have officially been gone for one year.” He leans forward, picks up my glass, and takes a sip. Why do I love it so much when he does this?
“That’s a long time.” I know he grew up here and worked the vineyard since he was a kid, but it’s still kind of crazy to me that they just up and left right after he took over.
He puts the glass down, leans back, and props his right ankle on his left knee. “Went by quicker than you would think.”
“Okay, my turn. Since you took me out and shared something with me today, and it’s kind of relevant, I have one for you. Growing up, my nickname was Bee.”
His brows raise. “Really?”
“Yep. Get it? Shel-bee. Not sure who first started calling me that, maybe my parents always planned for it to be my nickname, but I dropped it when my parents divorced.” My father was the one who called me Bee the most. Just thinking about him has my back straightening and my fingers curling into fists.
Zach tilts his head as he studies me. “Sorry to hear about your parents, but that’s a great nickname.” He gives me a lopsided smile, effectively melting away most of my tension.
“It happens.” I shrug.
“Still, divorce sucks.” He lets out a breath and then runs his hand over his face and through his hair.
“Yes, it does.” Or maybe it doesn’t. Somewhere along the way, I started to believe that the actual divorce wasn’t so much a big deal—just two people breaking up—it was everything that went along with it. Those things don’t just happen, they ruin and destroy.
Out of nowhere, the brightness in his eyes dulls and shadows dip into his skin under his eyes. He drops his head forward and rubs the back of his neck.
“You just got a headache?” It comes across as a question, but I meant it more as a statement.
“Yeah, that’s how quick they can set in.” He lets out a sigh, stands and looks at me while shaking his head. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I need to go.”
I stand with him.
“I understand.” I don’t think there was anything in the food that could have triggered it, maybe he is dehydrated after his run.
“Thank you for lunch, Shelby. It was delicious,” he says, pulling me against him before dropping his forehead into the crook of my neck. It’s the same position he put himself in when we were in Asheville. Only this time, I don’t feel awkward.
“Should I drive you back up?”
“No, thanks though. I’ll be fine with the golf cart. It’s only a few minutes.” His arms slide fully around me, and warmth and sage washes over me as he hugs me tight.
“Dinner tomorrow night?” I ask him, suddenly sad that I won’t see him until then.
“Yes, that sounds great. I’ll bring the wine,” he mumbles against my skin before shifting to brush his lips against to corner of mine. It’s silly how cherished that one little move makes me feel.
Returning his forehead to rest against mine, I feel him squeeze his eyes shut as the muscles in his face contract and there’s a slight shake to his head.
“All right, go. Get out of here,” I push him away playfully and toward the door, feeling the loss of him immediately. “Thank you for sharing the bees with me.”
He stops and turns to look at me. His eyes lock onto mine and an emotion passes through them. He blinks several times, nods his head, and then he’s gone.