Page 20 of The Sweetness of Life

“What do you mean?” I look at my feet and then back at him.

His eyebrows furrow into a scowl. “Nothing. Let’s go,” he says while walking past me and out the door.

I follow him, and that’s when I spot the truck. “You drive a white truck?” This strikes me as funny, and I giggle. White is supposed to be for the good guys, black for the assholes.

“Yeah, why?” He’s curt, and his tone annoys me once again.

“No reason . . . just seems like black would be more your color.” I shrug.

He shoots me a disapproving glare but doesn’t rebut my comment. Instead, he pulls a pair of aviator sunglasses out of a pocket in the driver’s side door and slips them on.

“We’ll take the golf cart,” he grumbles through his teeth as he storms off.

Maybe that olive branch resembles more of a short twig, and now I’m second-guessing whether I should go with him today.

“Stop overthinking this, Shelby. You’re gonna like what I have to show you.” He seems a little subdued and his mood shift confuses me. He pats the seat next to him and gestures for me to climb in.

I sit as far away from him as possible. He notices my positioning and his hands grip the steering wheel. “Hang on,” he grumbles, and without looking at me, he puts the cart in drive.

We begin to weave our way up and down the rows of vines. With one hand holding my hat in place, I let my fingers brush against the vine leaves as we fly past. I don’t think he’s ignoring me, and I have to admit it’s nice he hasn’t yelled at me, but I don’t get it.

“What’s wrong with you today?” I blurt out.

“What do you mean?” He glances at me.

“Seriously? All right, fine. You’ve all but told me you hated me, so why the change of heart? Why are you being nice? It goes against your character.”

The golf cart comes to a stop, and he angles his body to face me. “I am a nice person.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, and he lets out a sigh.

“Look, I’ll admit I haven’t been the most hospitable, but that’s on me—not you. I know the last few days have been a bit uncomfortable, so, for lack of a better expression, how about we start over?”

Start over?

“I don’t understand.” I blink at him, wishing I could see his eyes through his dark sunglasses.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Shelby. I want you to enjoy your time here, not only because of the project but also because this winery is my most favorite place on the earth.”

His words stretch between us, and while I love what he said, I still don’t understand why he disliked me so much from the moment he met me. I guess I could ask him, but what good would it do? Plus, I don’t really care as long as he can be civil for the next eleven days.

Letting out a strained breath, he tears his gaze from mine and eases down on the gas pedal. The cart slowly begins to roll forward and then takes off.

Well at least he’s finally admitted he’s the problem here. I guess that’s as good of an apology as I’m going to get, so I’ll take it.

“Okay.” My voice comes out slightly uneasy.

“Okay?” His eyebrows rise above the sunglasses and push near the brim of his hat.

I nod my head and leave it at that as we continue to ride away from the cottage.

Sweeping left, he takes us to the bottom of the hill and pauses so I can look up over the vineyard.

“My great-great-grandfather was a Hungarian immigrant. He was brought over to the States around the turn of the century to help establish a large vineyard in northern Georgia and to make wine. During prohibition, most of the wineries were abandoned by their owners, including this one. They told him if he stayed, the land was his. Having nowhere to go, his friends decided to join him and farm the land for fresh peaches and pecans. Within a few years, they became one of the largest distributers up the East Coast. Secretly, they still made the wine, maturing the soil and the vines through the generations, and by the seventies, commercial wine production was back in business, and so were we.”

“Wow, your family’s been here a long time.” I peer out and admire the beautiful layout of the farm. Rows and rows of manicured vines sweep and roll with the rise and fall of the hillside, surrounded by peach, apple, and pecan trees. With the manor up at the top of the hill and a large barn off to the right, the vision before me is postcard-worthy. It’s breathtaking.

“We have.” His voice is a little softer, and the love and respect he feels for not only his family but also the farm is evident.