Page 93 of The Sweetness of Life

I know I’m going to have to talk to him eventually. I can’t avoid him forever.

“And stop working so much! It isn’t good for you,” she yells from the front of the restaurant.

“Hello, pot meet kettle!” I yell back.

I have been working a lot. I finished the assignment and e-mailed off the pairings, complete with recipes and a description of my experience at Wolff Winery. I wrote and scheduled several blog posts for the release of the magazine. I created new summer and fall menus for the restaurant. Also, I’ve steered clear of anyone and everyone who’s come my way.

Feeling suddenly exhausted in a way I didn’t know was possible, my eyes slide over to the boxes of honey Lexi sent. As much as Zach and I talked about bees, and as much as he knows I love honey, I’m surprised he never mentioned the meaning behind his mother’s love of the honey bee symbol. It’s funny, too, because once he said it, I started remembering all the different places I saw them: throughout the cottage, in the barn, on the wine labels—everywhere. Not once was there a wolf head, only bees.

Bees.

How disappointing that I’ll never be able to look at bees or honey again and not think of him. He’s tainted one of my favorite things, something I’m still trying to come to terms with, and he’s also made me fear their sting even more.

Southern Coastal Cornbread Skillet

I’M TRYING TO remember the last time I was in Charleston, and I can’t. It’s been years, and I don’t know why. I’ve always liked this city, the people, the food, the culture, and the architecture. It suits Shelby perfectly, and I can see why she ended up here.

Last night, I reached my breaking point. It’s been a little over a month since I’ve seen her, and I understand her being angry, but at what point does that subside enough for us to have a conversation? What we had—or at least what I thought we had—isn’t something you just walk away from and never look back.

So, I got out of bed and drove half of the night to get here before she and her friend Meg get started for the day. I don’t know why I’m here . . . I just know I need to see her.

I’m sitting leaning back against the front door to OBA when laughter floats down the sidewalk, and a surge of adrenaline spikes through me. I’d know that laughter anywhere, but as much as I want—need to see her, there’s still a very strong possibility I’m not welcome here.

Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply to try to calm my nerves, and the air smells salty like the sea. Knowing it’s now or never, I open my eyes, stand, and step off the stoop. Through the darkness, I find her, and my heart takes off galloping in my chest.

Shelby’s hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a T-shirt, skin-tight pants, and heels. It’s just like her to be walking down the sidewalk at five in the morning in high heels.

Damn, she is so beautiful.

The moment she spots me, her steps falter and she reaches for her friend’s arm.

“Zach,” she whispers, and the two of them come to a stop several feet away.

I’m assuming the woman standing next to Shelby is Meg, which makes me more nervous than I ever was on any playoff game day. As the three of us stand there, I’m locked onto Shelby, and her mouth dips down into a small frown.

My heart sinks a tiny bit. I knew that frown was coming, but there was a part of me that was hopeful she might be a little happy to see me.

Sucking it up and remembering my manners, I tear my eyes off Shelby and look at her friend. “Hi, you must be Meg,” I say, taking a step forward and holding my hand out.

Meg is tiny. She has dark hair, light eyes, and I think if she possessed a superpower it would be laser vision. She would burn me to the ground and sweep away the ashes. Glancing down at my hand, her intimidating stare comes back to mine, and she raises one eyebrow in a you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me gesture.

“Okay.” I chuckle, clearing my throat and feeling slightly awkward. Her refusal to shake my hand reminds me of the Feeding America event where I did the same to Shelby. Man, I was a dick.

Meg shifts, shoots me a heavily weighted glare, and types in a code on her phone. The front door beeps twice, and she pushes it open before turning and giving me a warning look. I dismiss it since I’ve already decided I don’t give a damn what her friend thinks of me.

“I’ll make us some coffee.” She swipes her finger around in a circle to let me know I’m included before settling on Shelby. “If you need me, holler,” is all she says before the door slams behind her.

Even after she moves inside, I can still feel her stare through the window as I look to Shelby. Her eyes are full of caution, and I desperately want to remove the skepticism.

“Hey,” I offer, trying to break the ice. My emotions are going haywire with want, yelling at me to grab her and kiss her when logically, I know I should drop to my knees and beg for her to tell me we can get past this.

Taking a few steps closer, she stops in front of me and takes a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans to keep from reaching out to her.

“Why?” she asks, the shock mixed with confusion clear in her tone as she shakes her head.

“Because you won’t answer my calls or texts, and I don’t know your home address. Lexi wouldn’t give it to me. OBA was the only way I knew how to find you. I want to talk to you. I need to talk to you, Shelby . . . please.”