Swiveling around in my desk chair, I grab a hot boiled peanut and eat it without tasting it. Michelle made them and brought a bowl in. She’s been making my favorite foods and snacks and bringing them to my office. I guess it’s her way of apologizing, but it could also be because I haven’t left my office much or that she misses Shelby, too.
We all do.
The sky is darkening again. We had near perfect weather the entire time Shelby was here, and ever since she left, it’s been one storm after another. Currently, Kyle and I are tracking a storm cell that’s coming more from the north than the west. It does seem fitting that the day she left, she took the sun with her, but we could do without the rain. Overcast, yes, it matches my mood and I welcome it, but for the sake of this year’s harvest—enough is enough.
The door creaks open, and Kyle walks in. Without saying anything to each other, he sits in his usual spot across from me, grabs a peanut, and we stare at each other.
I don’t think he knows what to do with me, either.
“How are the vines?” I ask him.
He glances toward the white board and looks at the overall rainfall so far this season. We’re almost to the halfway mark of what’s desired, and there’s still three months to go.
“They’re fine. Soil is fine, too. At least this is happening now and not six weeks from now.” He leans forward in his chair, tosses the shell, and grabs another peanut.
“Agreed.” It’s all I offer. I know I should care more, this is my livelihood and my reputation, but I can’t find it in me today.
Resting his forearms on my desk, he studies me as he sorts through what he wants to say next.
“After this rain moves through, let’s do a little crop thinning.” His voice is low and calm. “It’ll get you out of here and keep you busy.”
Busy.
My brows drop down, wrinkling my forehead, and irritation leaks into my bloodstream. Does he not think I’ve been busy doing shit this entire time?
“Are you handling me now?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Do I need to?” he fires back.
“No!”
Frustrated, I get up and start pacing around. I know I’m down. I know I could do more outside of my office, be more sociable toward my employees and our regular patrons, and I will, it’s just I’m disappointed with myself and confused by the loss of her.
How can one person alter me so drastically? I feel as if I’ve lost a part of myself. I ache for her, her laughter, smart wit, gracious heart and her shine. Why did I have to fall for her? Of all the girls who’ve crossed my path, why her?
Before her, my life was simple. It was me and the winery—the way I wanted it. And now, I don’t know.
Kyle’s expression wanes as he tracks me around the room. Sitting back in his chair, he crosses one ankle over his knee, and just waits patiently. He knows I’m having a hard time, even he feels the loss of her.
Sitting on the corner of my desk, I shake my head and stare at the floor.
“I keep asking myself, if I could go back and do the two weeks over again, would I do them differently? And I don’t think I would. From the night of the Feeding America event to the weeks that followed, I directed endless amounts of hate her way. I needed to be angry at someone, and she unknowingly became the target. I’ve been pissed off for so long, I didn’t even realize I was. The way Elaine ended things, and how that asshole critic and his shitty review left a taste so bad in my mouth I haven’t been able to see the forest for the trees. Then as fate would have it, she shows up at our door. I desperately wanted to be proven wrong. I wanted to believe she didn’t have that much power to influence the buying habits of so many, like that guy, but I wasn’t wrong. Her post affected us just like the four wilted grapes.”
“Yes, but it affected us for the better. There are always going to be articles, there will always be reviews. Some will be good and some will be bad, you’re never going to please everyone.”
“I know that, and I’m fine with it. I know who we are and how good our wines are, but this once, as we got closer to the end of the two weeks, I wanted to be wrong. I wanted to believe that she didn’t have the power to do what was done to us to someone else.”
“She’s not Elaine.”
“I know that.” My fingers grip the edge of the desk with tension.
“And she isn’t like that guy.”
“I know that too, but at the time, hearing what she said and seeing her with that guy, it felt too reminiscent of Elaine’s social climbing ways, and all critics were the same. Add in the fact that she works all the time, and it was the perfect storm.”
I release the desk and flex my hands. Hands that love the feel of her skin and hair.
“Then you should have stayed away from her. There’s a reason why people say you don’t mix business with pleasure.”
Pleasure I can handle. I think that’s been my track record for most of my adult life. What I felt with her, physically and emotionally, it went way beyond pleasure.
“You’re right. I should have stayed away, but I couldn’t. She . . . she’s just so . . .” I take a breath, trying to find the right words. “It was more than that, she was more than that, and you know it.”
He nods.
“I don’t think you were ever really testing her. The magazine hired her because of her knowledge in Southern foods and her popularity among foodies in the South. She wasn’t a random freelance hire. Look at her Instagram account, she has over a million followers. There was no way we weren’t going to have kickback from her post. This is why you set the plan in motion in the first place, are you forgetting that?”
“I haven’t forgotten, which is why I say I don’t think I would have done things differently. But what does that say about me? And I’m ashamed to admit I’ve looked at Starving for Southern and OBA’s Instagram pages way too much over the last few weeks. The amazing pictures of her food and the few shots of her at the restaurant, it makes me feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks, and I’m starving for it all.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
“Am I? Because the only thing I know is I am no better than or different from the critic from last fall. Because she is a critic and words are her profession, I lumped her in with the rest of them. For months, I’ve been asking anyone and everyone to hear my side of the story, how we served the wrong wine, but at no time did I offer her the same courtesy. It didn’t even occur to me to go on to her blog and read what she has to say about the places she’s reviewing. In my head, I made her out to be a blood-sucking dream killer, when in reality she is the opposite.”
Getting up, I move back around the desk and drop into my chair. There’s a football on the floor, so I begin rolling under my foot back and forth.
“Okay, I’m not going to disagree with you there, but you can be different than him. It isn’t too late.”
I stop rolling the ball and eye him questioningly. How? It certainly feels too late.
Turning my head, I find the spot where she parked her car on day one. The ache and heaviness in my chest continues to grow, and I’m starting to think that maybe I’m one of those people where no matter what I do, or what decision I make, it’s going to be the wrong one.
One after another, some small and some large, incidents keep happening. I didn’t mean for the mix up in the tasting to occur, but it did and sales suffered. I didn’t mean for my plan to be mistaken for some sinister plot, I was trying to focus on what was important—the business. And I certainly didn’t mean to break her trust and hurt her, when in the end all I wanted was to love her.
Love her.
Turning to Kyle, I tell him the thing I desperately wish I had told her.
“I am in love with her.”
“I know,” he says, giving me a small sympathetic smile. “I’ve known since the day she arrived. Michelle, too. I tried to ignore it, keep my head in the game, but I knew.”
“Not true. I hated her then.”
“No, you didn’t.” He actually laughs at me.
“Yeah, I did,” I say more sternly.
“Zach, you’re one of the most laid-back people I know. It doesn’t matter what the situation is, you are known for being the calm, sensible one. You always act on logic and never emotions. That is until you found her standing in the tasting room.”
Thinking back to the Feeding America event, when I first saw her I felt like I had been struck with an electric rod. A zap of sorts that burned. Suddenly, I felt as if I wasn’t just meeting Lexi’s friend, I was meeting someone who was going to be so much more. Maybe I loved her in that first moment, maybe I just didn’t know how to recognize it, maybe that’s why I was so irrationally mad, but I do agree with Kyle, I have never acted like that before.
“So, how do I fix it?” I ask, hoping he has some advice for me.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Grovel?”
“Grovel?” I chuckle. It occurs to me that this might be the first one in two weeks.
“Well, I happen to know when you want something bad enough you’re great at putting together a plan and executing it.” He grins and the tightness consuming me loosens a little.
“Yeah, you might be right.”
Spicy Hot Boiled Peanuts
Cool air bursts into the kitchen as Meg swings open the door from the dining room. It’s five fifteen in the morning, it’s still dark outside, and the ovens have been running for an hour already.
“Wow, you are up bright and early this morning,” she says cheerily as she wanders over to see what I’m working on.
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get in and get a head start. First batch of biscuits are done, and I’m working on a new cornbread recipe for brunch.”
“Yum! What’s in it?” she asks, sticking her finger in the bowl and then licking it clean.
“I’m thinking a coastal skillet with shrimp and spicy sausage.” Lately, we seem to be getting more tourists during the brunch hour, so I’ve been trying to make it more Southern authentic and less breakfast traditional.
“Sounds like coins in the bank to me.” She turns to grab the iced coffee out of the refrigerator. “Want some?” She waves the pitcher at me and I take in her outfit. It’s Saturday, so it’s going to be a long day, and she’s wearing skinny jeans and four inch heels. The girl is amazing, has legs to die for, and it dawns on me that I haven’t worn heels very much at all since I’ve been back.
Looking down, my converse sneakers have seen better days, and suddenly I hate the way I look. When did this happen? No makeup, simple clothes, hair just pulled into a knot—this isn’t me. I’ve always prided myself more on my appearance.
Meg waves the pitcher again looking for my answer.
“Sure, as if I haven’t already had two cups this morning.” She refills my glass and then makes one for herself before putting the pitcher away and pulling up a stool next to where I’m working. Her perfume floats my way, she smells nice, clean, and I’m pretty sure I don’t.
“You ready to talk about what happened yet?”
“Talk about what?” I play dumb and turn away so I don’t crumble under her all-knowing stare. I was motivated this morning to make this new dish, but even I know that’s a lie. I’ve been showing up before her, which never used to happen, and I’ve been cooking like a woman with an army to feed. It’s all been a not-so-subtle attempt to distract myself.
“Shelby, don’t act like I don’t know you, I do. You haven’t been sleeping well since you got back, and we’ve had more new recipes than ever. It’s been a month since you left. I’ve steered clear, hoping you’d work it out of your system and find some sort of decision, but that isn’t happening.”
“I’m well aware that it’s been a month.” Walking to the trash can, I pull off the plastic gloves from peeling the shrimp and toss them in. “It’s just that he threw me off balance and I feel like I’m still trying to find my footing. I swear it’s a never-ending case of vertigo.”
Reaching for my drink, I take a sip hoping to swallow down the emotions rising in me.
“I think you’re overreacting, and you’ve overreacted to the entire situation.”
I narrow my eyes at her, feeling a bit incredulous that she isn’t firmly on my side in this. She just looks at me as if she’s said the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.
“What?” She’s my best friend, she’s always on my side. I don’t understand why all of a sudden, she’s changing her tune. A few weeks ago, she wanted to burn down his winery, and now she’s changed her mind? “How can you say that? You know what happened, you know what he did, and you know what he said.”
“I understand that. But given a little time and some separation, I’ve realized this is different.”
“How is it different?” My throat aches, my voice cracks, and my heart races. I take another sip of the coffee.
“For starters, it’s been weeks and if it were really nothing, you would have moved past this. Also, if you weren’t so stubborn, you might be able to think about this a little more from his point of view, too. And . . . he is not your father.”
“S-s-stubborn!” I stutter, moving to set the coffee down. “His point of view!” I shake my head like she’s crazy. “Not my father!” I don’t even know where to go with this one. “Seriously, Meg, don’t patronize me!” I point to myself.
“I’m not.” She lowers her voice and holds up her hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is you’ve been so stuck on what you think he did, you’re missing what he actually did. You both were given the assignment, and he was doing what he needed to do to maximize the opportunity and help grow his business. Was he using you, yes, but it had nothing to do with you. It wasn’t meant to be personal, and his plan would have been the same no matter who they brought in. And I think if you’d step back and look at this on a broader scale, you’d realize you were doing the same to him.”
“What!” I yell and take a step away from her. I would never use someone. My entire life I’ve been vehemently against even the idea of it. She is wrong. So wrong.
“Shelby . . .” She crosses her legs and leans forward. “I talked to you on your third day there. You told me how much of an ass he was being, but instead of leaving, you chose to suck it up because this article—this opportunity—was worth it, no matter what. You made your own plan to stick it out, period. A plan that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with your goals. The only difference between you and him is that he talked about this with his friends, and if he hadn’t shown up to take you on the tour of the property, we would have formulated one, too.”
My head becomes cloudy, and I pause to sort through what she’s said.
“But he crossed the line.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at her. He made me believe there was something more, something real—he hurt me.
“Did he? What about you?” She picks her coffee up and stirs it with the straw, looking calm and composed. This infuriates me even more.
“That isn’t fair! I never hated him. He disliked me from the minute he saw me last fall, judged me for something that I wasn’t involved in, and then tricked me. He tricked me into liking him beyond a professional acquaintanceship.”
“I don’t know if he really ever tricked you. I think he was hopeful you’d write the post, but based on what you’ve told me, he wasn’t suggestive toward it, and if he had been, you could have said no.”
“That’s the thing, I probably wouldn’t have said no. Actually, I’m certain of it, and you know why? Because I thought we had become friends, more than friends, when all the while he was only pretending to be nice to me.”
The timer on the oven dings, and I grab the mitts off a hook on the wall so I can take the biscuits out and place the tray in the warmer. Meg is watching me, but everything inside me is screaming.
Returning the mitts, I turn to face her and her determined expression slips a little at the sight of me. Persistent in continuing this tal
k, she sits up straight.
“Okay, maybe at first, but anyone who spends any amount of time with you sees how amazing you are. Everyone adores you, Shelby. Is it so hard to believe that he might have had a change of heart? Seems to me, he was pretty taken with you by the end.”
“Doesn’t matter anymore.” I shake my head, and the grief I’ve felt over the finished label I stamped on us returns.
“Why not?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
“Because. No matter how we ended, I’ll never forget how we began.”
Knowing she’s not getting through to me, she frowns and then lets out a deep sigh.
“So, now what?” she asks.
“Now there’s nothing.” I move to sit back on the stool next to hers and look down at my hands in my lap. “I promised myself years ago that I wouldn’t let anyone, man or woman use me as a stepping stone to get themselves something greater, and that’s what he did.” I raise my eyes to hers. “That when I found someone, any successes we had would be because we worked independently or together. You know how important character is to me. Kindness, loyalty, honesty . . . Zach lied.”
“He also apologized to you, repeatedly. I know this all stems because of your father and your mother, but Zach is not your father. Your father never said he was sorry for what he did, just that he got caught.”
“Why are you pushing this so much?”
She leans over and places a hand on my knee. “Because I think he’s worth it. Don’t you?”
“You don’t even know him.”
A small smile lifts one side of her mouth, and in a mocking tone, she says, “No, but Lexi does.”
“You talked to Lexi about this!” I don’t know whether to be shocked or pissed.
“Of course, I did. He called her, and she called me. Seems I’m your gatekeeper since you won’t turn on your phone.” She glances at it over on the prep station.
“I don’t want to turn it on.” I’ve been using it as a clock, it’s been in airplane mode for almost two weeks now.
“Why? Are you afraid you’ll answer one of his many calls?”
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 27
