He wouldn’t be doing that. Truth be told, J.P. didn’t even really enjoy drinking wine. What he did enjoy, however, was sitting with Nora in this new space of vulnerability. Learning about her. Sharing about himself. Connecting in a way he never thought they could.
“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” she asked out of the blue, apparently not content with the surface talk either. He was grateful their conversation had shifted back into deeper territory. He wanted to stay there a little longer.
“I wasn’t married the first time,” J.P. clarified. He lowered his wineglass from his mouth to his lap and cradled it between his palms.
“Right.” She nodded, remembering. “Engaged. Do you think that’s something you still want?”
“In all honesty, I just want to find a person who is satisfied with who I am—right here, right now—and not looking for an upgrade.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like too much to ask.”
“One would think.” He tried his best to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but it was there, just like the acidic tang of the pinot noir in his glass. He swallowed deeply. “But I get that I have a lot of work to do when it comes to my people skills.”
Her mouth curved into a coquettish smile he could only read as agreement.
“I’m just…I’m not all that great at communicating,” he confessed in a rush.
“You’re doing a good job right now.”
“This is different.”
A lock of hair fell across her eyes as her head angled inquisitively. She lifted a slender finger to slide it back into place behind her ear. “How so?”
“Well, you’ve gotten me drunk, for starters.” He wobbled the glass toward her, the opaque legs painting the crystal.
“J.P. Weatherford, I am positive you are not that much of a lightweight.”
There was a wicked grin on his face when he answered, “I’m not. I don’t even feel remotely buzzed. It was a sorry attempt at a joke. See? Not good at communicating.”
“You’re doing just fine,” she assured, that smirk morphing into a genuine smile wrapped in encouragement. “I think I want to get married someday,” she offered freely. Her eyes found something in the distance and locked on. He wasn’t sure if it was to avoid making eye contact, but he tried not to read it that way. “I mean, IknowI want to get married someday. I want the big, full family I never had growing up.”
She had mentioned something in passing the other day about not having a mom. J.P. hadn’t wanted to press her on it. It wasn’t any of his business. But now—the way she uttered it like a heartfelt confession—he wondered if it was okay to ask.
He still didn’t have the courage, and thankfully, she took over for him.
“I loved being raised by my grandmother, don’t get me wrong. She’s all the family I’ve ever known. But…I don’t know.” She sighed out a long breath. “I have a lot of love to give, and right now, it just feels like there’s no place for it. Like it’s all bound up inside of me. I give some of it away, I guess. I’ve got my best friends. And my bees.”
J.P. laughed tenderly at that. She sure did love those bees.
“But I want more,” she said, almost pleading. “Is that selfish of me? To not be content with what I already have?”
“There’s nothing selfish about wanting someone to love…Wanting someone who loves you back.” His voice was dry, raspy with an emotion that caught him off guard. There was a thick lump in his throat that he spoke around when he said, “It’s hopeful.”
“Well, I don’t have a lot of hope that I’m going to find that person in Harmony Ridge,” she said before tossing her head back to drain the last of her wine. “The bachelor population is woefully low in these parts.”
If her words felt like a sucker punch before, this was like a hard shove that knocked his brain off balance. Had she not been hinting at him—at something forming between them—for the last hour? Had he been reading everything entirely wrong?
“There are bachelors,” he said, but not convincingly. “There’s Pastor Blakely. Those sermons…”
“Could put a girl to sleep.”
An open-mouthed smile burst onto J.P.’s face. “Oh, come on. He’s a catch.”
“I’m not saying he isn’t. But I can’t imagine going out on a dinner date with my pastor. I think I’d feel the need to take communion when the waiter brought out the bread basket and wine list. Too much pressure to be perfect.”
“I think that’s the exact opposite of what Pastor Blakely preaches every Sunday,” J.P. said. “No one is perfect, nor are they expected to be. That’s where grace comes in.”
“Something I haven’t been great about giving you.”
