Page 72 of The Sweetness of Life

Kyle’s watched us closely over the last couple of days, and he knows I’ve deviated from the plan. Hell, everyone who works here probably knows we’ve grown closer, but I don’t care.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, mumbling through another bite of the biscuit.

“Don’t worry, Kyle. It’ll be fine. The winery’s good, we’re good, and I’m good.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I do worry, and as your friend, I’m warning you to be careful.”

I hear what he’s saying, but I don’t agree. There is no reason I can’t indulge in something good for a few days. The plan was to woo her enough that she would feel the need to write a kickass post for her blog, but what if she doesn’t write it? We have always assumed she would, but maybe she’s only writing an article for the magazine. If she doesn’t write it, things are no worse or better than they were before. We could move forward with the marketing of the magazine article, and the whole plan can be forgotten as if it never existed.

“It’s all good, trust me.” I smile at him, and his eyes narrow with concern before he lets out a huge sigh.

“Last I saw her she was at the barn. I think she’s wandering around the property today taking pictures.”

Pictures.

My heart starts racing in anticipation of seeing her, and I know the place she’s ultimately headed.

“Thanks, man. I’ll catch up with you later.” With that, I’m out the door and running in the direction of the apple trees.

She loves the bees almost as much as she loves the cliff.

Turning down the last row, I spot her sitting under the shade of the trees, and the sight stops me in my tracks and halts the breath in my chest.

“Be still my heart,” I whisper to myself as I rub the burgeoning ache in my chest.

Shelby is lying on her stomach with her feet kicked up in the air, her blonde hair is pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head, and she’s reading a book. She looks so comfortable and so relaxed that part of me doesn’t want to bother her. She looks so at home here.

Wow is all I can think.

My heart pounds, my hands have started to shake, and as a breeze blows, the leaves on the vines move in unison like an ocean wave and I know . . .

This is the moment.

The moment people talk about when they say they just knew.

She’s perfect.

She’s wearing cutoff shorts, a tank top, and those ridiculous rain boots. Her face is pink from the afternoon sun, and she’s never looked more beautiful. She takes my breath away.

I try to burn this image of her in my mind. I never want to forget it—not that I think I could.

Walking straight for her, I force my steps to slow so I don’t startle her, and she looks up as she hears me approach. Big blue eyes shine at me, and her smile lassos my heart.

Everything inside me clenches with want for her—want for her friendship, want for her heart to be mine, and want for her body. I want to imprint myself so deeply on her that I consume her mind as much as she consumes mine.

My knees hit the dirt next to her blanket, and I soak in every tiny detail of her face.

“Hi,” she whispers, watching me with wide eyes. Tiny freckles dot the skin under her eyes and across her nose. I’ve never thought once about freckles on a girl, but damn, on her they’re adorable.

At a loss for words, all I want to do is drop soft kisses across said freckles and onto her lips. She tosses her book to the side and sits up, resting her weight on her heels and watching me.

What do I say to her? How would I even begin such a conversation, and after only two weeks? She would think I’m crazy, and if by some chance, she doesn’t, how do I ask her to be mine?

Mine.

This girl, this beautiful, easygoing, independent, driven girl is mine. As sure as the sun will set tonight and rise tomorrow, I know in my gut this is a certainty, and I’m so moved by the realization that I cup her face between my palms and bring her lips to mine.

They’re full, warm, and easily follow my lead as she kisses me back. Her tongue dances with mine, and I drown in what has now become my favorite flavor . . . her.