Page 41 of The Sweetness of Life

Strawberry Fig Jam

ZACH KISSED ME.

He kissed me.

And I kissed him back.

Since the second I closed the door last night, I have been in a Zach-induced fog. Oh my God. It’s easy to assume by his looks that he’s probably given his fair share of kisses, but that was by far, hands down, without comparison the best kiss of my life.

Over the last couple of days, the struggle has been real, and we’ve definitely been building up to that moment with stolen glances and crazy chemistry. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it quite a few times since that afternoon in the cellar, yet no amount of daydreaming could have prepared me for the feel and taste that is Zach Wolff.

I’ll never forget the moment his hesitation and uncertainty left, and his face—his gorgeous face—was stamped with undeterred determination. He’d finally decided to kiss me, I decided to overlook my rule about not mixing business with pleasure, and the butterflies in my stomach could have burst out with sweet anticipation.

The warmth and fullness of his lips, that corner kiss—which was a tease and a silent promise—made it seem as if fireworks were going off when he finally sealed us together. I surrendered to the onslaught of erratic flutters, nerves, and want. It was indescribable; nothing has ever come close.

When the kiss ended and Zach rested his forehead against mine, my hand slid out of his hair and down his neck. He might’ve been trying to show he was somewhat calm and collected, but his heartbeat thundered under my hand. Then, when his eyes finally met mine, they weren’t clear with excitement but rather clouded with unnamed emotions—good emotions, I can only hope.

As I stepped away, I fought so hard against wanting to smile and lean back in for another. It was that good. Still, even the next day, I’m wondering if a second kiss would be just as good as the first.

Wow.

My heart stutters and skips, squeezes and expands then fills with uncertain anxiety about what—if anything—will happen next.

The sound of laughter and men’s voices drift through the windows as I finish working on this morning’s recipe. After cooking it twice to make sure I had the correct measurements, I wrapped it up.

Michelle called earlier raving about all the food Zach took with him last night. She wanted to know what I was making today and when would I have more. I’m pleased that everything I’ve made so far has been a hit. I do think they all complement the white wines well.

Slipping my flip-flops onto my feet, I gather the dishes, load them onto the golf cart, and head for the manor.

As I zip along the path, the voices get louder as I round the turn and spot three guys plus Zach and Kyle tossing the football around.

Shirts off.

All of them.

Muscles everywhere.

Holy hotness.

Oh my heavens, I’ve won the lottery.

As they hear my approach, they turn, and the guy closest to me breaks out in a huge, welcoming smile.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” He walks over to me as I slow to a stop. Wiping the sweat off his face, he leans against the golf cart, and I smile back at his ease and apparent playfulness.

The stranger and I both glance to Zach, who has a deep frown on his lips that deepens as his eyes lock with mine.

“Hey.” I give him a small smile, and my stomach tightens as I wait for his response and let my eyes trail over his tan skin and defined muscles.

And wait.

No smile. No words. No nothing.

I don’t know what I thought today was going to be like or how he would react to seeing me after last night, but I didn’t expect this. For some reason, I thought we crossed into a different level of friendship, but apparently, we didn’t.

Embarrassment washes over me, forcing me to drop my gaze from him to the ground. A lump crawls up my throat and I swallow several times to push it down. How did I perceive last night so differently than he did? We had a great night—I know I didn’t make that up. When I gather enough determination to glance back at him, his scowl is back, and so is his other personality. My heart sinks at the realization that the best kiss of my life meant nothing to the person who gave it to me. I feel so stupid and desperately want to get out of here.

Taking a deep breath, I suck up my humiliation and turn to the stranger, who’s still leaning against the cart. His smile has dropped into a crooked grin, and unlike Dr. Jekyll over there, he seems friendly and happy.