I don’t respond because she’s right, and I hate it. I want to talk to him, I do, but I don’t know what’s left to say.
“Shel, you like him. A lot. This is the first guy I have ever seen you like. Nobody can fake anything for two weeks. Whatever you saw in him—whatever you found so alluring and wonderful—that’s who he is. Hearts speak to hearts, regardless of what comes out of the mouth. What he gave of himself to you and vice versa, there’s no pretending, only genuine truth.”
Hearts speak to hearts.
Oh, for cryin’ out loud, she’s right again. His did speak to mine. I know it did, and that’s why this has been so confusing.
“Food for thought,” she says. “Maybe you should take one of his calls and hear what he has to say.” Her eyebrows rise in challenge and then with her coffee in hand she slips out of the kitchen, leaving me to sort through this mess.
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 my experience at Wolff Winery. I wrote and scheduled several blog posts for the release of the magazine. I created new menus for summer and fall 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 that 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, which 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, wasn’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 her 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 that I’m not welcome here.
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, which smells salty like the sea, to try to calm my nerves. 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 into a knot 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 had been on any playoff game day. As the three of us stand there, I’m locked on to 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 had been hopeful she might be a little happy to see me.
Sucking up 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 any type of 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-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 is 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.”
I’m not past begging. Can she hear the desperation? Does she see it blanketed all over me? I hope so, because I need this resolved between us. I need her.
A light flips on in the back of the restaurant and pushes the shadows off her face. She pinches her lips together, looks off to the side, and lets her bag slide off her shoulder and down to the ground. Tension I didn’t know I was holding falls with it.
“Okay, well here I am. Talk.” There’s fire under her words and skin, I can feel the heat, and I welcome it.
“Why wouldn’t you call me back?”
Her face falls a little, but her eyes lift to find mine. “You know why.” She stuffs her thumbs in her pockets and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
“That isn’t good enough.” I lean toward her a little and her back straightens.
“Well, it has to be. I don’t even understand what you want to talk about in the first place.”
“Well, for starters,” I say a little calmer and softer, “I never got to thank you for the blog post.”
Her mouth falls open, and her brows pull down. “You’re joking? You hate critics, remember?”
“No, I’m not joking, and it turns out I don’t hate all critics.” My mouth twitches, giving her a glimpse of a grin.
She hears the implication between my words, and her cheeks flush.
“That morning after you left, I locked myself in my apartment and stared at my phone while it buzzed. Plenty of people have written posts about us over the years, but it doesn’t mean the same as when it comes from someone who you admire and care for. I was nervous to read it, and I don’t know why. But when I finally opened it, I felt a
pride like I haven’t felt in a long time. Go ahead, take away the business it’s brought us, none of that even compares to what your words meant to me. Thank you, Shelby.”
“You care for me?” she asks, full of doubt.
“Yes, very much so. I’m sorry you feel the need to clarify that.” I’m reminded again that she isn’t just mad at us for the plan. She also thinks that everything that happened between us was part of said plan. I hate that.
She walks over to the window, leans back against it, and stares at me. “I really do like your wines,” she says hesitantly, giving me a small smile.
“Anytime you want some, all you have to do is text me and I’ll ship it up. Or, if you’ll let me, I’ll bring it in person.”
She thinks about my offer and chews on the inside of her lip while her gaze drops to my feet. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but she isn’t shooting daggers at me, so I’ll take it.
I also take it as an invitation to lean against the window next to her. She doesn’t move away. Instead, she tilts her head, looks over to meet my eyes, and takes in a deep breath. “Was it real for you? Did I make it all up in my head?”
“It was real. Very unexpected, but so real.” Running my hand through my hair and across my neck, I think about how there are so many things I want to say to her. “Before you left, you told me I won, but you were wrong.” My eyes drift over her face and return to her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes. “Don’t you see, I lost. I lost the one person who has come to mean so much to me.”
As my words sink in, she lets out a long exhale and shakes her head. “I don’t know, I mean, how is that even possible? I was only there for two weeks, and most of that time you spent hating me.”
“That isn’t true, and you know it,” I say, matter-of-factly.
“Do I?” Her spark makes an appearance.
“Yes.” I lean down into her space to get my point across.
Her gaze scans over my face, and her lips tip down into a frown before she slowly reaches up and lightly runs her fingers across my cheekbone and down the stubble of my jaw.
My eyes momentarily drift shut at the contact, and my face tingles in her wake. Yes, I know I look terrible, and no, I didn’t shave, but feeling her touch and this tiny flicker of concern she has for me tells me I did the right thing by coming here.
Realizing what she’s done, she yanks her hand back and her expression shifts to a scowl. Pushing away from the window, she walks a few paces down the sidewalk and then back. Her heels click loudly and she squeezes the bun on top of her head before stopping in front of me.
“Zach,” she starts, gesturing with her hands. “All of this, it’s so hard for me. I don’t just feel humiliated—I feel betrayed, too. It’s one thing to embarrass myself, I’ve done that plenty of times in my lifetime, but I opened myself up to you. I bared it all, literally and figuratively. I never had anything to hide. Do I wish I had kept my cards closer? Maybe. But I don’t regret my actions. What you see is what you get. But all of you . . . you sucked me in so I would grow to care for each of you, and then I come to find out all of you were conniving against me and lying. Who does that?”
“It wasn’t a lie.” I shake my head, pushing off the window to stand closer to her.
“But it was.” She throws her hands out before they drop.
“Tell me, what can I do or say to you to make you believe differently?” I reach for her, but she steps away.
“There’s nothing you can say, and even if there was, I don’t know if I have it in me to go there again. Can’t we call a spade a spade? We had fun, we finished the assignment, it’s time we both move on.”
“See, that’s the thing. I don’t want to move on . . . at least, not without you.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Two weeks, Zach. It was only two weeks.”
“Who cares! Two weeks, two months, two years . . . whatever. When you know, you know. And I know I want you.” My eyes bore into hers, no hesitation, no doubt.
“Why?”
Do I or don’t I lay it all out there? Something tells me no. Keep it honest, keep it real, but keep it simple.
“I remember having a conversation once with my mother. It’s one of those conversations that really shouldn’t have stuck with me, but it did. I think I was thirteen at the time, and we were collecting honey from the bees when she said, ‘One day, when you least expect it, you’ll get stung, and there’s no turning back.’ I don’t find it a coincidence that she loves bees, you love bees, your name is Shel-bee, and here I am floundering because I’ve been stung so hard it hurts. It hurts to be with you, it hurts to be without you.”
“Zach—”
“No, let me finish. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve ached so bad that I don’t know what to do with myself. Shelby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about our plan sooner, because it did cross my mind to, and I’m sorry I waited so long to come here. I’m just sorry. Sorry for everything. Tell me, how can I make this right? Us right?”
The door opens, and we both turn to look at Meg. Her eyes skip between the two of us as she tries to assess the situation.
“Is he staying?” she asks Shelby.
Shelby turns to look at me, as I run my hand over my head again, waiting.
“No,” I tell them.
“Are you sure, there’s plenty of work around here that needs to be done.” Meg smirks.
“I have to get back. They didn’t know I was leaving, but . . .” My eyes trail back to Shelby. “I needed to see you. It’s been too long.”
“Okay, be right back then.” Meg slips inside, leaving us alone on the sidewalk once again.
She isn’t going to give me an answer, and she isn’t going to tell me what to do. Taking a deep breath, I push away my frustration and bring up the last thing I wanted to talk about.
“Next weekend is the wrap-up party. I can’t imagine that you won’t come, but I hadn’t heard if you were. I really hope that you do. The wines are an afterthought to the work you did for the assignment. This party is really for you.”
“I disagree.” She pushes a few fallen hairs off her face. “The wines are the showcase, the food is the afterthought.”
“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.” I give her a small smile, and her eyes soften. Her beautiful blue eyes.
The door flies open. “Here.” Meg hands me a large to-go cup and a bag. “Our iced coffee is to die for, and I packed you some orange blossom madeleines.”
Orange blossom, just like their restaurant.
“Thank you, Meg. I appreciate it.” The emotion is thick in my voice, which I’m sure they both notice.
She gives me a small smile, turns around, and goes back inside.
The darkness of the night has shifted to more of a midnight blue, sunrise is on its way, but where Shelby’s standing with the light of the street and the restaurant, I can see her perfectly. I take another mental picture, hoping—no, praying that this isn’t the last time I’m going to see her.
“Shelby—”
“They offered me the job,” she says quickly, cutting me off.
My heart skips a beat and pain weaves through every part of me. I had forgotten about the job she interviewed for in New York City and every little bit of hope I had been clinging to snatches free. It’s not that I’m not up for long distance, because I am, but the five hours we have now is nothing compared to the sixteen between here and there. Looking at the ground, I need a moment to pull myself together, recognizing the distance already growing between us. This is her dream. This is what she wanted. I need to move past myself and give her what she needs.
Finding her eyes, I smile and see her let out the breath she was holding. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Silence falls between us. I guess there’s nothing else to be said. How do I compete with her goals and dreams? It’s not like I can ask her to stay. Hell, I can’t even get her
to answer my phone call.
Needing some type of connection with her before I go, and before this ends, I step forward and cup her cheek in my hand. She gasps, but that doesn’t stop me from leaning down and kissing the corner of her mouth. God, do I miss her mouth.
Her hand wraps around my wrist as I drop my forehead to hers, but she doesn’t pull me off. Can she feel my heartbeat? Can she feel how fast it’s beating for her?
“Zach,” she whispers, my name on her lips almost causing me to shake.
“I know, and I’m going, I just—”
Not wanting this to be goodbye, and being afraid that it is, I pull her body against mine and drop my head down beside hers. She stiffens in surprise, but my arms wrap around her, holding her tight. I need to soak in the feel of her curves and the smell of her hair and skin. I need this moment as much as I need my next breath, after all, this is why I came, right?
When I find the strength to step back, I slide my free hand down her arm to her fingers. Tangling them together, we both watch as I run my thumb over the inside of her wrist and across her palm. The rise and fall of her chest picks up, but I can’t tell if it’s because she likes me touching her or if she’s repulsed by it.
I second-guess leaving here and not telling her exactly how I feel, after all, what do I have to lose, but I don’t. There isn’t really any one thing holding me back, but here in the dark as she’s heading into work, after the silence of the last month and knowing she’s moving, this isn’t the time or the place. Instead, before I turn, let her hand go, and walk away, I say the other three words that constantly consume me . . .
“I miss you.”
Orange Blossom Madeline Cookies
It’s been six weeks since we finished the assignment and almost two since Zach came to Charleston. I know most—like Meg and Lexi—thought I was being irrational over this entire situation, but I needed the time. I needed to pack away over a decade of determination and stubbornness that I had allowed to take over, I needed to let go of the misconceptions I had about the role of a partner, and I needed to get myself together enough so I could swallow my pride and face him. And you know why?
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 28
