Page 27 of The Sweetness of Life

“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 out the wine and two glasses. 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.” That’s when it dawns on me: 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’m 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, a sprinkling 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.

Southern Chicken Salad

ZACH IS STANDING in the doorway looking at his phone when I pull up to the manor. Like the day I arrived, he’s wearing another winery T-shirt with a pair of jeans, flip-flops, a baseball hat, and a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses. He looks good . . . too good.

He hears the car, and his head pops up to watch me pull around the circular driveway. With that confident swagger of his, he strolls down the stairs, over to my car, and climbs in.

Just him being in my space causes my heart rate to pick up, and I’m surrounded by the smell of him: warm sun, sage, and something earthy that’s manly and completely him.

“Hey,” he says, turning and stretching his arm out across the back of my seat. His fingers graze the hair on the back of my neck and goose bumps break out across my skin, causing an involuntary shiver. He notices but doesn’t say anything, and even though his sunglasses block his eyes, I can feel them as they take in my every detail, right down to the blush burning my cheeks. For someone who’s just accommodating me, he sure seems to look at me a lot.

“Hey,” I reply, not knowing what else to say. I’m tongue-tied by his presence, and after how sweet he was last night, I’m having a hard time trying to remind myself why I shouldn’t like him or really even care. I’m here for the assignment and the exposure it’s going to bring me.

Focus, Shelby. Focus.

He clears his throat and turns to look straight out the windshield as I take off down the driveway.