“After my parents left, Kyle and I decided to launch the wine club membership. I told you about it before.” She nods. “Once it was kicked off, more and more locals in the area joined, and after a few months, we started brainstorming with ideas that would make returning each month fun.”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
“We did, too. So, what we came up with first was for our regulars to do a blind taste test. We bought some off the shelf mass-produced table wines and scrubbed off the label. During the tasting, we put up three glasses, and if the patron can guess which wine is not ours, they get to pick out two dessert truffles. The wine is so different from ours, people never guessed wrong.”
“When you say different, you really mean bad, don’t you?”
“Yeah, basic table wine is never really good, but it’s done on purpose. We don’t look to compare, we just want it to be fun.
“So, it was a busy night, Michelle and I were behind the bar, and I’m not sure how it happened, but there was a guy and girl who came in, had one glass of wine between the two of them, and left. They couldn’t have been there longer than ten minutes. As I was clearing the glasses, I noticed the color of the wine and realized we’d given them the bad wine. It was a stupid error and one we couldn’t fix because they left. Forty-eight hours later, I received a call from my father telling me about the review. Seems the magazine editor thought he deserved notification first, instead of me, and that set off a chain of bad events. This was the night before the Feeding America event. The review went live two weeks later, and I quote, ‘How Mr. Wolff can with good conscious serve this wine to the general public, I’ll never know. All it took was one taste, one horrible taste, to know I didn’t need another.’”
“I read that review,” she says sheepishly.
“My father reached out to the guy to explain what had happened, but the damage had been done. Our local business was still thriving, but the traffic flow from vacationers significantly dropped off. This last year our sales were the worst they’ve been in over a decade.”
Unexpected things happen in business all the time. That’s reality. Not every year can be perfect, and I don’t expect every year to have high profitability. Still, that year was my first year—the year I wanted to prove to my family, myself, hell the world, that I wasn’t just a football player. And now, explaining the article, I suddenly find that I care what she thinks, too.
“I take it your father wasn’t too pleased.” Her tone is softer, as if she knows she’s broaching a subject she shouldn’t.
“You could say that.” Uncomfortableness is rolling off me, and I hate that she can see it. Feeling the need to cut the connection between us, I move over to the window. I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. It is what it is, and I’ve spent the last seven months doing what needs to be done to repair the damage and move on.
“Zach.” Warm hands land on my shoulders and lightly run down my arms, causing a slow burn to spread out of my chest. Her hands slip under my arms, wrap around my stomach, and she hugs me from behind.
The heat of her body presses against mine, and I let out a deep sigh. I know it’s a stupid thought, but other than Kyle slapping me on the shoulder and telling me that we’ll get through this, I haven’t had anyone stop and have a moment with me. Not that I necessarily need a moment, and I certainly don’t need a “therapy type session” where I unload how shitty it’s been dealing with all of this, but I’m surprised how freeing it feels. And of all the people to give this to me, it’s her, this girl who I was a complete asshole to, mistrusted, and now she’s hugging me because she understands how hard this has been. I don’t deserve this from her, but I realize my need to share just a little bit of the frustration I’ve felt outweighs the other ten-fold.
“Shelby,” I whisper, her name sliding through me like a balm as it soothes places I didn’t know were sore. Her arms loosen a little, and I turn to face her. Large blue eyes find mine and in this moment they feel like complete solace.
Her hands drop to my waist, and my stomach muscles clench at the contact. I love her hands on me and can’t resist running my fingers up her arm to her shoulders.
Reaching the neckline of her shirt, I slip underneath it and push the sleeve off her shoulder, exposing just enough skin to make my mouth water. My fingers thread through her hair on the back of her head and her eyes flutter shut.
Damn, I love her skin, too.
Needing to taste her, my lips fall on the dip just above her collarbone. A barely audible sound rolls through her throat as she tips her head to the side to give me more access. I tighten my grip, locking her in place and link the fingers of my free hand through hers.
Needing to savor every inch of this girl, I kiss up her neck, over her jaw, and linger just at her lips. She leans further into my chest as she tries to get closer.
“You are so beautiful,” I mumble against her lips. Her eyelashes sweep against my skin as she lowers them and her fingers curl in the fabric of my shirt.
Sliding my lips across hers, I kiss the corner of her mouth. She lets out a sigh, and I inhale it as my own with every nerve ending standing and waiting with great anticipation of my next move. This girl lights me up like no one has before. I don’t understand it, but I’m embracing it.
“Why do I like kissing you so much?” Her voice vibrates against me, and I kiss her again instead of answering. The feeling is very mutual.
Warmth. Cinnamon rolls. Coffee. Delicious.
The flavor of her mouth reminds me of a lazy Saturday morning, and I want to fall into bed with her and get lost under the sheets. I want to sink every part of me into every part of her and stay there indefinitely. From my fingers into the smoothness of her skin, my mouth into the familiar warmth of hers, and I want to bury myself so deep into her there’s no beginning and there’s no end. I want to make her mine. All. Mine. And I want to do it now.
“Wanna go tour the upstairs?” My hand releases hers, slides across her hip, over her ass, and I pull her against me.
“Yes.” Her voice is a whisper, but there’s no hesitation. She’s with me one hundred percent.
The door whips open and Kyle strides in. “So, I just got off the phone with—” Shelby squeals and jumps away from me.
Kyle freezes.
“Ah, sorry.” He looks from me to her and then back to me, but he never retreats the way he came.
“No worries,” I grind out, hoping he’ll catch on to my tone and leave, but he doesn’t.
Silence falls around the three of us, and it’s Shelby who breaks it.
“Okay, right, I’ll just go now.” She sputters the words out as she runs her hands down her shirt and shorts to smooth them out. Her eyes flick to mine as she walks past Kyle, and a small smile tips the corner of her mouth.
Following her, I stop in the doorway and reach to hook my fingers over top the doorframe. Leaning forward, I take in the sight of her in my hallway and her long legs with those high-heeled shoes. It takes everything in me not to follow her and stay here with him.
“Hey, Shelby,” I call out just before she reaches the west wing door.
“Yeah?” She spins around and walks backward.
My heart stutters at how impossibly beautiful she is.
I need more time with her.
This is a new feeling for me, one that I’m not ready to put any great thought into, I just know I need more. More of her.
“I’m really looking forward to seeing you later.”
Overnight Cinnamon Rolls
It’s just after five thirty when I lift the lid of the old cast iron Dutch oven I found in a cabinet and release the steam along with the delicious scent of chicken and herbs. Michelle had asked me to surprise her with a traditional Southern dish, which of course is chicken and dumplings. This was the first dish I taught myself how to make from old recorded Paula Dean show, and although I’ve tweaked the recipe some over the years to make it my own, it’s still one of my favorites.
All afternoon the time has ticked by as slow as molasses, and I can’t wait for six to get here. I didn’t expect to run into Zach this morning, but from the moment I left him standing in his office, I’ve missed him. Knowing that I’m leaving in a few days makes me apprehensive; I’d like to spend as much time with him as I can, which makes me more annoyed that we got interrupted earlier in his office.
It was actually surprising to see how many framed football articles, awards, and photos of him in football gear were around the room. I’m sure some were left behind by his father, but the space spoke to his years of love and dedication to football as much as it did for the winery.
I had never known anyone who played football on the level he did. Yes, Lexi’s brother played in college, but the NFL is different. So many dream of making it to the professional level, but only the best of the best do. I know an injury ended his career, but didn’t know what happened. When I searched him, I scrolled through the images and scanned article titles without opening any of them.
Putting the lid back on the pot, I pour myself a glass of wine, grab my laptop, and narrow the search to “Zach Wolff”, “football”, and “injury”. Thousands of results pop up on the screen. I know all of these articles about him are public knowledge, but in a way, I feel like I’m eavesdropping into his life. It’s like reading someone’s diary and learning about their past without asking them first.
Clicking over to the images, I take in every detail of him in his football prime. When I looked him up last week, I hated the sight of him, but now, these photos get my blood pumping in an entirely different way. It’s like a chronicle of his life from college through his time in the NFL. Practices, game days, draft day, events, they’re all there for people to view.
In most of the photos, his look is serious, severe, but in the few of him smiling, it’s breathtaking.
Flipping through the images, I stop on one of him on the field being loaded onto a stretcher. My breath catches because the scene looks frightening, and I imagine it’s every player’s worst fear. There are at least fifteen people around him, and the ambulance is parked next to him on the field. The fans in the background are standing, and every face is frozen in horror.
What happened to you?
Switching back to the web, the title to the third listing reads: Crazy collision results in a career-ending concussion for Tampa’s defensive linebacker Zachary Wolff.
My stomach starts to ache as I scan the article, and even though I know he’s alive and well, it doesn’t stop the anxiety from sneaking in and swirling through me. I knew he stopped playing because of an injury, but after reading this, the cause of the constant headaches make sense.
Hovering over the link, I debate on watching the YouTube clip or not. Seeing someone you care for get hurt is hard enough, but knowing that it’s going to be life changing makes it that much more excruciating. Feeling the need to understand him more, I click play. The entire clip is only twenty-five seconds, but that’s all it takes.
The quarterback lines up for Seattle, he calls the play, and then steps back to fire the ball. The players set into motion, each doing their part, and Zach takes off after an opposing player running down the sideline. Right before he reaches him a second player from Seattle dives through the air to tackle him, grabbing one foot causing him to trip just as the other turns to catch the ball. As the opposing player comes down the momentum of Zach and the other player becomes detrimental. A helmet-to-helmet crash which results in both players being flat on their back.
As the instant replay fires up on the Jumbotron, the gasp that comes from the sixty-thousand stadium is so loud, it’s as if they could have sucked the air right out. The Skycam is almost directly over the tackle, making everyone feel as if they were a part of it. The crack of their heads is so loud it echoes through my computer speakers.
Tears swell in my eyes, and my heart races as I hit play and watch it again. I want it to last longer so I can keep watching. What happens next? Does the other player get up? Is there any movement from Zach at all? Not knowing has left me panicky, and I close my eyes to try to block the computer and calm down. At least he turned out all right . . . mostly.
Two knocks hit the front door and then it flies open. Zach strolls in, kicks the door shut behind him, and smiles when he sees me. Relief washes over me, and I let out a sigh. Running my eyes over the length of him, I look for anything that might be wrong, but he looks fine.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, the smile dropping from his face. I don’t say anything, and his attention shifts from me to the computer screen in front of me. He tenses.
“Why are you watching this?” His eyes still on the screen, his voice deep and laced with emotion.
“I thought it would be fun to look you up on the Internet, I didn’t know I’d be finding something like this.” My voice is quiet, and I’m certain he hears the guilt in it. Guilt because I invaded his privacy and guilt because one glance at the screen and he’s reliving this horrible moment in his mind.
“Well, now you know.” Slowly, he reaches past me and closes the lid of my laptop. His crystal blue eyes find mine, grief lingering on the edges.
“Not really, will you tell me?” I scoot over and pat the spot on the couch next to me, but he doesn’t sit, he just shrugs.
“Not much to tell, but sure . . . later. Kyle and Michelle aren’t far behind me and should be here soon.”
“Okay.”
He moves into the kitchen, steps around the island, and puts down a couple bottles of wine and a lavender plant.
“What’s the plant for?” I pull it in front of me and breathe in the calming fresh scent.
“It’s for you. I know you want to take some lavender home, so this is my way of giving you flowers tonight.”
“Wow, Mr. Wolff, I’m impressed. Thank you.”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gives me a small smile.
I’m pretty sure Zach will always have this air of confident authority surrounding him, he can’t help it, it’s who he is. Then, there are these scattered moments where he cuts pieces of honey out of a bee house and brings me a flowering plant that shows another side to him. It’s the loyal and thoughtful side that I’m certain only those close to him see. It’s a side of him that’s so different from the one he originally gave me, that in many ways I feel like I’m with someone else.
Moving over to the pot he lifts the lid and peeks inside. “Whatever you are cooking smells amazing.”
“Thanks, it should be ready in another thirty minutes. How about you help me put out some appetizers?”
He returns the lid and throws me a crooked grin. “If by put out you mean ‘eat it all’, then yes, I’d love to help you.”
Laughing, he reaches for me and wraps me up in his arms. Without heels on, my head slides right under his chin—the perfect fit.
“I’m glad you came a few minutes early,” I murmur into his shirt while inhaling fresh laundry and the outdoors.
“Me, too.” His arms tighten around me. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and when I tilt my head back to look at him. He smiles and my heart trips over itself as his blue eyes sparkle at me adoringly. Lowering his head, he kisses the corner of my mouth with his warm lips. It’s such a simple move, but it feels so right.
Another knock comes from the door, and both of us turn to look at it. Zach lets out a sigh and brushes his lips against my forehead before he releases me.
I give my plate a tiny nudge away from me and lean back in my chair. The meal turned out to be perfect, and I couldn’t have asked for a better night.
Originally, I planned for us to eat at the kitchen table, but once we opened the French doors to the back patio, there was no way we could stay inside. The sun had lowered behind the western side of the cottage leaving us shaded and under the most gorgeous clear sky. There wasn’t a trace of humidity in the air, just the scent of the vines that surround us.
“Shelby, hats off to you. This was one of the best meals I’ve had in so long,” Kyle says as he stretches his legs out and rubs his hand over his stomach.
“I agree.” Michelle nods at Kyle and then turns back to me. “When I asked you to make a classic, this hit the spot, all the way down to the pole beans.”
I glance at the now empty dish that had held the pole beans and then lean forward and whisper excitedly.
“This little garden back here has surprised me more than once. I can’t believe you actually have pole beans growing back here. I felt like I struck gold when I saw them last week.”
Zach grins at me after taking another sip of his wine. “Only seems appropriate we have beans that grow on a vine versus a bush, don’t you agree?”
“I do, and I couldn’t have said it better. I grew up eating slow-cooked pole beans, so that’s why I made them tonight.” I also baked cornbread. That dish is empty as well.
Crossing my legs, my foot bumps into the back of Zach’s calf under the table, and he reaches for it to hold it in place. He doesn’t outwardly acknowledge that I’m touching him, but his fingers trace over the arch of my foot and the anklebone. Tingles race up my leg, and I love it.
“Michelle, I hate to break it to you, but your job responsibilities are going to be expanding when she leaves.” Kyle shoots her a mischievous grin.
My heart sinks and Zach’s fingers stop their slow circle. Not once have we mentioned my leaving.
“What do you mean?” She shifts in her chair to face him, and he crosses his arms over his chest.
“You’re going to have to cook more,” he says, matter-of-factly.
Zach and I both laugh, but Michelle glares at him as if he’s lost his mind.
“It’s funny, I have no idea what we ate before you got here,” Zach says to me as he releases my foot, leans back, and stretches his arm until it rests across the back of my chair. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by the two of them, and a blush creeps up into my cheeks. Zach lightly pulls my hair and winks at me.
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 19
