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“Same here,” I say.
With you. How I long to say the words. But I can’t. He won’t return them, and that will be too painful to bear.
He clears his throat. “Ashley, the tasting…”
I whip my hand to my mouth. How could I have forgotten? “I’m so sorry! What time is it?”
“It’s ten thirty.”
“Oh, good. We have time. I can’t believe I forgot. I’m not usually like this.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not, though.” Sure, he left me alone in his house after we made love, but it’s no excuse to slack off on my work. We talked about this tasting all yesterday.
“Come on,” he says gruffly. “I’ll drive you back.”
I nod and walk next to him as we leave the vineyard. He opens the passenger door of his truck, and I climb in.
To the tasting.
I’ll kill it like I did the last one.
I won’t let myself think about the woman Dale Steel was once in love with.
I enjoy the lunch part of the tasting immensely. The tasters are all good-natured and ask a lot of questions, and not a one is young enough to drool over Dale like last time. All are middle-aged couples and a few are in their golden years. All lovely people.
Older couples probably also have more money to spend on wine. It should be a good tasting businesswise.
That part doesn’t matter to me, but Dale will be pleased.
Dale pastes on his “tasting face” and responds to the customers as well. The smile—the smile I long to see more often—plays on his lips as though it’s more natural than I know it to be.
The tasting proceeds without consequence, and as I predicted, we sell a lot of wine, mostly Dale’s table blend, which pleases him.
“You can go on home,” he says to me afterward. “It’s been a long day.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please, Ashley. Go. I’ve got this.”
He looks away from me, seeming to focus on the order forms while employees shuffle cases of wine to the tasters’ cars in the lot.
Does our time together truly mean so little to him? He wants me. That much is obvious. But he doesn’t seem to have any genuine need for me, and he certainly doesn’t love me. Relationships have been built on less.
I bring as much courage as I can to the surface and meet his gaze. “Dale, are we going to even try?”
“Try what?” He continues scanning the papers in front of him.
“To…” I swallow. “To be together?”
He looks up. “Ashley…you don’t want to be with me.”
I lift my eyebrows. “What?”
“You heard me.” He drops his gaze back to the matter in front of him.
Yeah, I heard him, but I didn’t expect those words. I expected something snide or douchey or, more likely, no answer at all.
You don’t want to be with me.
He’s so wrong.
“Isn’t that my choice to make?” I reply.
He scoffs. “Last I heard, I have a choice in the matter as well. You’re not the only one in this relationship.”
A tiny sliver of hope dances in my heart. Relationship. He used the word relationship. Of course, he could simply be talking about our working relationship. He probably is. But maybe not. Maybe, in his eyes, we have something more.
“Dale, please look at me.”
He inhales and lifts his gaze from the paperwork. “I’ve got to get this done.”
“No, you don’t. Have you forgotten I’ve done a tasting with you before? You didn’t touch the paperwork after that one.”
“Maybe the employee who usually does it is out today.”
“I’m not buying.”
He sighs, which turns into a soft growl. Such a light touch of his voice, and already I’m enrobed in the gorgeous color of Syrah.
“Ashley, I don’t know how I can make this any clearer. We can’t be together. We can never be together.”
Though his words aren’t unexpected, an arrow pokes my heart anyway and tears threaten to pool in my eyes. I sniff them back. “Tell me why,” I demand. “Tell me why and I’ll never bring it up again.”
“Because,” he says, “you deserve better.”
Chapter Thirty
Dale
I don’t expect my response to stop her incessant questioning. If that’s what I wanted, I could have said something else.
I don’t love you and I never will.
We’re too different.
I find you repulsive.
All of which are complete lies.
What I said, though? That’s the truth. She does deserve better.
She’s silent for a few minutes, and I can’t read her expression. Total poker face.
Finally, she says, “What if I think you’re the best? That there’s no one better than you?”
I scoff softly. “Then you’re deluding yourself.”
“Bull. You’re brilliant. You’re a hard worker. An ethical worker. Already I’ve learned as much from you as I have from my best professors. Your love for your work is unequaled. You’re amazing, Dale. If you let me in, I’ll show you how amazing you are.”
I inhale slowly. “Ashley, you’ve got to let this go.”
But she won’t. I already know this, because I already know her. This woman goes after what she wants, and right now her goal seems to be me.
