One Perfect Year. Melinda CurtisЧитать онлайн книгу.
as if he’d been sucker punched. Unbelievably, he, who’d always relied on proof and facts, had fallen in love at first sight. How else could he describe how discombobulated he felt just seeing Shelby? But while he’d overanalyzed those strange, new feelings, Nick, who’d never hesitated in his too-short life, acted right after Gage introduced them.
Once Gage discovered his feelings for Shelby were substantial and real, it was too late. He’d fallen for his lab partner, and she’d fallen for his best friend. And his feelings hadn’t waned. Not at their high school and college graduations. Not at the engagement party. Not at the wedding. Not at the funeral.
He’d never acted on his impulses. And tonight would be no different.
“Gage?” Shelby’s voice. So unsure.
He closed the distance between them slowly. The slower he approached the longer he had to take note of her features. That no-nonsense, short blond hair beneath a yellow knit cap. That slender figure bundled against the late October chill. That tentative look in her eyes.
He was the reason for that look, while she was the reason his pulse kicked up a notch.
He stopped and brought out the heavy artillery—his smile. “Did somebody call for a grape picker?”
Without missing a beat, she put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t answer any of my messages.”
He shook his head. The crowd of volunteers watched silently, as if this was enthralling cinema.
“You didn’t reply to any of my texts or emails either.”
His smile dimmed.
“You un-friended me on Facebook.”
The crowd gasped. A few chuckled.
“I shut down my Facebook page,” he told her, and the crowd. There, at least that was a defendable excuse.
“And your phone?”
Don’t do this to me, Shel.
He’d never admitted to anyone that he was supposed to have been with Nick the day he died. The secret ate away at him. It probably always would.
“Gage?” Her vulnerability was strong enough to slip past his guard.
“I couldn’t.” The words were wrenched out of him.
She made a sound that was half disapproving huff, half sob and ran toward him, practically tripping over her own two feet. He couldn’t say later if he’d met her halfway, couldn’t remember much beyond her arms coming around him, pressing against the hoofprint contusion near his spine. But the hug...the hug was worth every pang in his bruised and sore back. She held Gage as if he was a precious gift she never wanted to lose.
For a moment, Gage drew Shelby close, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her hair, imagining what life would be like if she were his: no-overanalyzing. No careful responses. No distance.
Like there was a chance of that happening.
The power of his emotions made him realize coming home was a good thing. He’d needed to see Shelby again, if only to say goodbye to her once and for all.
“This makes up for nothing,” she whispered, before pushing Gage away to introduce him to those he didn’t know.
Her boss divided the volunteers into different groups—bin runners, crush pad operators, but mostly grape harvesters. Gage ended up with Shelby’s group of harvesters, along with several of their friends.
They were outfitted with plastic tubs, work gloves, and curved, serrated knives. Shelby led them between two rows of grapevines, halting beneath a boom with lights that illuminated three rows across, positioning them six feet apart on either side. “We’ll go through each corridor tonight. You’ll locate a cluster of grapes, and cut the stem as close to the cluster as you can.”
Gage’s breath caught as Shelby held up a very sharp-looking knife. Back in high school, after she’d sliced open her finger while dissecting a pig—twice—Mrs. Bernhardt had forbidden Shelby to wield sharp instruments in her biology class.
“Plant your feet. Grab hold of the vine. And...” Shelby smoothly slid her knife beneath a leaf, made a cut, freed a grape cluster bigger than her hand and set it in the bin next to her. Then she demonstrated her technique again, slower this time, surprising Gage with how capable and confident her movements were. “Hold the cluster in one hand, make a diagonal cut with your knife and then show the grapes some love as you put them gently in the bin.”
“Nicely done,” he said.
She ignored him and cut another grape cluster free. “Remove any leaves or excess stems. When your tub is full, empty your load into the large wheeled bin and move ahead to another section. And if the knife makes you uncomfortable—” she made eye contact with everyone but Gage “—let me know. We’ll find something else for you to do. Nobody’s getting hurt on my watch.”
He realized in the past two years he’d missed out on something: Shelby had changed.
She wasn’t the cute, naively optimistic, bumbling young woman he’d fallen in love with and his best friend had married.
She was something more.
Something that made it hard for him to remember he should only have come to say goodbye.
* * *
EACH WINERY’S HARVEST was different. The weather, the slope of the property, the crew.
Some crews spoke very little English. Some sang rowdy songs.
This crew was like being at a high school reunion without the alcohol or cocktail dresses. They fell into an easy camaraderie—joking, reminiscing, telling stories about college, jobs, spouses and kids. Everyone, that is, except Shelby and Gage.
“Three kids already?” With a waggle of eyebrows, curvy Tanya ribbed Emily. “You’ve been busy, girl.”
“I love my kids.” Emily had that look about her that many young moms seemed to have—equal parts joy and weariness. “But every mom needs a break. That’s why my husband is home with them tonight.”
They all laughed.
Carl hadn’t changed a bit. “I couldn’t wait to get out of here after graduation. Santa Rosa has everything I need—sexy cars, sexy women and the food...” He’d always been focused on the trappings of success and quite the talker. Only now, his brown hairline was receding. “I sell solar panels for swimming pools. I drive a company truck, and as a perk they put solar panels on my roof for free. If anyone needs to heat up their pool, let me know.”
Broad shouldered Umberto’s grin was just as wide as always. “California’s been hard up for water. How’s the pool biz working out for you?”
“It’s been tough,” Carl admitted begrudgingly. Then he gave Umberto a friendly slug to the arm. “But I’ve always been a survivor. Remember that baseball game against Cloverdale senior year? I was not going to let their superstar score and beat us.”
And Carl hadn’t. He’d decked the runner trying to steal home, hitting him so hard the boy got a concussion.
Shelby glanced at Gage. He and Nick had played in that game. Afterward, they hadn’t been proud of the win. Gage said nothing.
Seeing Gage triggered so many memories. Bright ones—laughing with their heads bent over a science book, racing Nick and Gage on bikes to school, dancing with Gage on her wedding day. And darker memories—her calling to ask Gage if he’d heard from Nick, him showing up at their apartment in the middle of the night to drive her to identify Nick’s broken body, him fading into the crowd of mourners at the funeral.
A part of her ached anew trying to imagine the reason he’d disappeared. He was hurting as much as I was.
A part of her rose up in indignant anguish. He left me