Page 38 of Merlot Marriage

“God, she really is annoyingly perfect, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it annoying. More like intimidating.”

When she gives me a funny look, I shove more food into my mouth so I don’t have to elaborate on how I’ve always been a little afraid of our oldest sister.

“Did I ever tell you about the time she accidentally dyed her hair purple?”

“What? No. How did I not know this?”

“She was trying to brighten her blond and used too much purple shampoo.” Maggie lets out one of her belly laughs at the memory. I’ve always envied her ability to laugh like that—like she doesn’t give a fuck who hears her.

“How come I don’t remember this?”

“It was one of the summers we went to nationals for dance—you were probably home with Dad doing summer school.”

“Hmph.” I lean back in my seat, remembering all the summers my older sisters would go away for dance stuff. If it wasn’t nationals, it was a camp. Or a convention. One year, Maggie was gone for four weeks at a ballet intensive. Even though I knew at the age of seven that it was not for me, I was always so jealous of the time the two of them got to spend with Mom doing dance stuff. Dad and I would hang out doing crossword puzzles or watching movies when I was younger. By the time I was in high school and spending my summers practicing for academic decathlon, I’d talked myself into believing that all the time they spent dancing was a waste.

Now I’m not so sure. It seems like they had a lot more fun together growing up than I did.

“Did she get in trouble?”

Maggie laughs. “Of course not. She showered, like, ten times before our dance teacher saw her. All the gel and hairspray makes your hair look dark anyway, so Miss Tanya didn’t notice until we were on stage for awards.”

We fall into silence as we finish eating. Birds chirp at us from the greenbelt behind the condo, fighting to be heard over the cars and trucks passing by on the main road.

With a sigh, Maggie sets down her empty plate. “You know, there are times I really miss the sound of civilization.” A fire engine goes by, sirens blaring. “And other times I don’t. You wouldn’t believe how quiet it is out at Sunshine when the tasting room is closed and the sun goes down.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever experienced it.”

“You should go and stay with Philip one night while he’s out there and see for yourself. It’s wild.” She pauses, then casually changes the subject so fast I nearly choke. “He’s such a good guy, Ophie. If he’s not going back to South Africa, I don’t understand why you two aren’t together.”

Anger flares in my chest so fast that I snap at my sister without thinking. “I’m so tired of people asking me that. He’s my best friend. We aren’t dating. Leave it alone.”

Pushing to my feet, I swipe our plates and stalk into the kitchen. I love my sister, I do. But if one more person insists on telling me what I should do with my love life, I’m going to scream.

Why can’t anyone else see thatof courseI’m head over fucking heels for the man, but he’s leaving me one way or another—either to go to Australia or somewhere else in the country that offers him a job. He hates the Pacific Northwest.

Philip is sunshine and citrus, yoga at the beach, and flip-flops—or thongs, as he calls them—year-round.

I’m sweaters and hot cocoa, hikes in the rain, and forgetting to shave my legs for a month because I live in sweatpants.

His happily ever after doesn’t include me, and I refuse to hurt him by making him break my heart.

Philip

I haven’t seen Ophiefor over a week and it’s slowly driving me insane. Working at Sunshine has been a great distraction, but I keep comparing every woman who comes in to Ophie. Not even spending hours every morning submitting job applications to every place I can find has been enough to stop me from wondering what she’s doing all day.

And missing our usual constant texting. My phone has been suspiciously silent for the last few days, and I suspect it has to do with her having second thoughts about our marital relations the other night. And the night after.

The couple I’ve been pouring for decides on a bottle and takes it outside on the patio to drink as the sun dips toward golden hour. I have to admit that I’m having fun working here. Pouring wine for people looking to relax and enjoy their afternoon is the opposite of high stress. And the view doesn’t suck either.

Nate slips in the back door with a case balanced on his shoulder and a scowl on his face. “I saw we were running low on the Estate Pinot. You doing okay with the POS?”

I take the case from him and set it on the floor so we can both reach inside. Pulling out two bottles, I slide them into the rack beside Nate’s two. “Yeah, man, the till is good. Thanks for bringing those in. The Amelia has also been popular today, so we’ll probably need to bring up some more tonight.”

“I heard you telling people it was named after my grandmother. You know it was named after a cat, right?” Nate grumbles the words before giving me a testy look.

“You guys had a cat?” I raise my eyebrow and grab another pair of bottles. “I’ve heard of winery dogs, but not cats.”

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