Page 96 of The Sweetness of Life

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, 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 but afraid 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—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?

Because Meg’s right.

Zach is worth it. He’s so much more than worth it.

He wasn’t the only one who had a plan. I always have a plan, a plan for everything, and Meg pointing that out to me was eye-opening.

The thing is, I fell for him. I fell hard, harder than I ever have, and in such a short amount of time, combined with our unique situation, the speed at which we were traveling was faster than my ability to mentally adjust my plans, my dreams. Emotionally, I was already derailing, and then after overhearing them in his office, I crashed into a thousand tiny pieces.

It had to happen. I needed to break in order to put myself back together. In doing so, I looked at all the different pieces of myself and realized that, although I do love how hard I’ve worked and who I am, plans don’t need to fit together so tightly. I need to be able to make room for the unexpected, for forgiveness, and for love.

All three of which happen to encompass Zach.

Zach.

Inwardly, I sigh when I think his name, every time. I was already finding my way back to him, but to have him show up in Charleston and lay himself out there for me, to me, it was all I needed to be able to make this drive today with a renewed purpose.

“I can’t believe you spent two weeks here. This is incredible,” Meg says with her face glued to the window as I turn into the entrance of the winery. It’s as beautiful as I remember, only now the vines are fuller and the hillsides are more lush from being kissed by the summer sun.

I’m also pleased to see that there are cars lining both sides of the driveway. The more people that are here, the more time I’ll have to work up the courage to talk to him.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him; I do. I just need a few minutes . . . or hours for my nerves to calm down.

When I step from the car, the air clings to my skin as if it’s welcoming me. There’s a hint of clover and lavender, and as I breathe it in, I breathe this place in. With each inhale, a small piece of my anxiety falls away. I can do this.

Meg pops the trunk, and we pull out four large thermal bags filled with fifty individual peach and blackberry cobblers. After reviewing the final interview, the website content editor of the magazine fired Kelly. It seems he also found her behavior inappropriate and assured us there would be modifications to the video, or if we so chose, we could re-record it. Feeling somewhat vindicated, I offered to make the same cobbler for the party. He was thrilled with the idea.

“Where’s the cottage you stayed in?” Meg asks as she turns in a slow, awestruck circle. I can relate. I felt the same way the first time I fully saw the vineyard, too.

“It’s behind the manor and down the hill.”

I miss the cottage. I miss this place.

“Well, I’m completely jealous. You call it a manor, but it’s a castle, and you got to live like a princess.”

“Come on, let’s get this stuff inside.” I laugh and bump my shoulder against hers. The move makes her wobble a bit, and I look down at her feet. “Oh yeah, make sure you watch how you’re walking—heels aren’t the best here.”

“Oh, I’m on my toes already.” She giggles, gravel kicking up behind us.