Kyle and Michelle are waiting for me in my office when I walk in. They’re both glued to an iPad, and I know they’re looking at Shelby’s blog. Both of them look up and watch in silence as I move around the desk and drop down in my chair. It creaks as I lean back and run my hand over my face and through my hair, which is still wet from my recent shower.
“Did you see the post?” Kyle asks, excitement radiating off him. If only I shared that same excitement, but I don’t.
“I did, and I’m taking both of you saw it as well.”
Smiles split across their faces. They are so happy they’re damn near bursting, and more than anything, I wish they would take their giddiness, grab their stuff, and leave me alone.
I woke this morning to my phone constantly buzzing on the nightstand. Shelby, who had been wrapped in my arms and snuggled against me, had mumbled at some point for me to make it stop, but I just glared at the small black device. I didn’t have to look at the texts, I knew, and the knowledge was a boulder that rolled onto my chest and settled in the pit of my stomach.
Eventually, I cracked and grabbed it to silence it, but I ended up scrolling through the activity. Her post had gone viral and had been shared on dozens of industry sites, from top ten places to visit in Georgia to wedding destinations. I had hundreds of notifications waiting for me, and it was only nine in the morning. Feeling guilty and trapped inside myself, I kissed her goodbye and let her know I would see her later.
“I was walking the property this morning when Dan radioed over that the phone was ringing nonstop in the barn with people wanting to know our hours. So, on a hunch, I checked, and sure enough, there it was. I’ve already shared it across all our social media platforms,” Kyle says, flipping between several tabs on the iPad to show me the activity and shares we’ve had on each one. Looking at these numbers after only a few hours, I understand his enthusiasm. I mean, this is outstanding for the winery, but I can’t embrace the excitement like they are.
I feel uneasy, and my conscious is loud, lecturing me that this wasn’t a clean win.
I nod my head at him and thank him for being proactive. It was the right business thing to do.
“Online orders have picked up over the last couple of hours, too,” Michelle says quietly. Her eyes have softened as she studies me, and her infectious spirit starts to wane as she reads my mood.
“Why aren’t you happier about this?” Kyle leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and scrutinizing my lack of enthusiasm.
I shrug and turn away from the pair of them. From here, I can see the hill off in the distance with the underground cellar. My mind wanders to the overhang and the night Shelby and I watched the sunset. She asked me, “Are you playing me Zach? Is this a game to you? Am I a game?” I told her I wasn’t, that it wasn’t, but I also told her not to trust me.
Kyle lets out a sigh before pushing to his feet and pacing the room. Every minute or so he looks over at me in frustration, and I can’t say I blame him.
“This is crazy. You do realize this, right? So crazy that one person can cause such a ripple.” He glances over to Michelle, obviously wanting her to back him up. She doesn’t.
“It is crazy. It’ll be interesting to see if this is a one-day blast or if there will be a trickledown effect over the summer,” I tell them.
“My money’s on the trickledown, which will lead into the best season’s sales yet.” He stops in front of the white board, reads over the data we’ve collected so far, and then moves back to his seat.
Trickledown through the summer would be amazing.
Shelby’s following is much larger than I anticipated. It’s easy to see now why the magazine hired her two years in a row. Also, based on some of the remarks I saw on shared posts, her opinion is highly respected in the Southern foodie industry. Shelby is not just a chef from Charleston, she’s big time, and I’m so proud of her. She’s built this Starving for Southern image for herself, and she’s right, it’s time for her to make herself known.
“Did you know she had written it?” Michelle asks.
“Yes. She told me yesterday, but she didn’t say when she was scheduling to post it. Honestly, I thought it would be closer to or after the release of the regional issue. That maybe it would coincide and she’d link it to the online interviews and posts following her stay here. I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m glad she posted it sooner rather than later. Quarter two numbers are going to go up, and so will quarter three with summer travelers to the area.”
“Yeah. Dad already sent me a text, too.” I glance at my cell phone. I turned it off before my shower and I haven’t turned it back on.
“Of course, he did. His time zone is hours ahead of us, and you know he can’t help himself. He may have retired, but he can’t shut it off.” Kyle grins.
I chuckle, and finally, both Kyle and Michelle relax a little bit.
“I’m going to print the post and have her sign it tomorrow before she leaves,” Michelle adds.
“I think that’s a great idea, Michelle.” I nod, and she relaxes farther back into her chair.
“Dude, why aren’t you more excited about this? I’m trying to wrap my brain around this sullen behavior of yours, but it isn’t working. This isn’t you.” He waves his hand up and down in front of me, frowning. “You plan, you execute, and you win. Your general personality is more animated than this, and you’re freaking me out. This is the break we’ve been looking for, working for, and waiting for . . . for months.”
“I reckon so, and I am excited. It’s been a long two weeks, and I’m tired. Twinges of a headache are trying to move in, and I’m staying calm.”
“Well, one more interview, a few pictures, and this is over. She’ll go back to Charleston, and things will get back to normal for us.”
Over.
Only, I don’t want it to be, and I don’t know what to do or how to approach the subject with her.
“Yep, one more interview,” I say to pacify him, but deep inside it feels more like a finality that causes the dull pressure behind my eyes to throb.
Shit. I rub the back of my neck and open my drawer for some medicine. The stress of this situation along with a lack of sleep is catching up to me and, getting a migraine is the last thing I need.
“Well, I have to say, I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to pull this off with as much as you dislike her, but you turned on the charm, and she played right into it. She never saw it coming.”
“I don’t dislike her, and I don’t know if that’s exactly how it happened.” I pop two pills in my mouth and reach for the sweet tea sitting on my desk.
I hate that this is how he’s summarized my relationship with Shelby. Not that we have one, or maybe we could, I don’t know. I still need to sit and discuss this with her, both of us have been avoiding the conversation so we didn’t ruin the time we have left. But hearing him so nonchalantly talk about her this way makes me feel like shit.
“It is! Zach, we talked about this the day after she got here, last week. Remember: strategy, game plan, execution. Win her over, get the post, and get more business.”
My stomach turns sour, and I want to yell at him and tell him not to remind me. She’s going to think I used her. And I did.
I hate this. Yes, it started out as a game, but it stopped being that days ago—for all of us. Although, it was never a game to her. She thought I was real, that we were real.
And we were. No, we are.
Everything about this is real. Every touch, every kiss, every glance; it all means something to me.
I should tell her. She wrote the post because she genuinely loves it here. I want to be able to share the success with her without feeling guilty over something that doesn’t matter anymore.
The door to my office, which was half closed, slowly opens and all three of us turn to see Shelby in the doorway. Her arms are wrapped around her stomach and she’s looking at me with eyes filled with hurt and accusations of betrayal.
No.
No. No. No. No.
Heat flushes straight up my back and into my face. I should stand, move to her, something, but I can’t, I’m frozen to the seat. Not one of us is breathing, and I swear I can hear her heart breaking from across the room. Or wait, maybe that’s mine.
“Did I hear that right?” she asks in a shaky voice, the sound slashing its way straight through my shoulder to my solar plexus. “You made a plan to have me fall for you so I’d write a blog post about your winery? You tricked me and lied to me for sales?”
My fingers curl into the fabric of my jeans, my blood starts torpedoing through my veins, and my heartbeat pushes harder behind my eyes. Hearing her say it like this, it doesn’t matter if I come clean or not about the plan, it sounds wrong. I don’t know how to answer her, so I don’t.
“Yes.” The single word comes from Michelle, and my head whips in her direction. Shock flooding me as my jaw drops open.
“Michelle, no!” I jump up, but her eyes never drift my way, they stay on Shelby. I understand they’ve become friends and Michelle did the right thing by telling her, but it could have been explained better. I should have been the one to admit to it. I just needed more time to figure out what to say.
“I see,” Shelby mumbles after a stalled pause, and I look back to find her staring at the floor, her chest heaving.
“Shelby, please, I can explain.” No three words have ever been uttered more when it comes to being busted, caught, and they are pathetic. Her eyes flash to mine, there are a thousand emotions swimming in them. The one that grabs me and squeezes the most is disappointment.
Holding up one hand, she shakes her head just as my mouth opens. I’m not sure what I can say to make this better, but begging is a good start. Her chin trembles, her eyes glaze over, and my heart splinters into an infinite number of pieces.
Slowly, she drags her eyes away from mine and looks over to Michelle, Kyle, and then around my office. It’s as if she’s seeing us for the first time, and her lips press together. Tears float in her eyes but don’t fall as she raises her head higher and nods in understanding. She thinks this was all for business . . . and nothing more.
My heart aches, my chest aches, my head aches, and my hands desperately want to reach out and grab her. But I don’t. I can’t. Instead, I watch her fingertips find her lips. I don’t know if she’s trying to physically stop the small quiver there or if she doesn’t even know she’s done it.
Dropping her hand, she lets out a sigh and takes a step back out of the doorway. The light shifts, revealing just how pale her face is as she straightens her shoulders and turns cold, indifferent eyes back to me.
I’ve hurt this girl, this beautiful, kind, funny, wickedly talented girl, and I know the damage is irreparable. This one look, this one definitive look, it says it all . . .
I’ve lost her.