Page 75 of The Voice We Find

And yet I want it to be true.

I want her to be mine.

By the time I finish my patrol around the property and check in on Norma, our widowed neighbor to the right, Sophie is waiting for me at the table.

There’s a battery-operated candle in the center, as well as a cutting board topped with an assortment of fruit, cheese, cold meats, pickles, trail mix, veggies, and several varieties of crackers from the pantry. The presentation alone is a ten out of ten. Yet another way she’s gifted.

I also note the presence of two familiar bottles of wine on the table from a local vineyard that still owes me a VIP tour.

“I thought tonight would be as good a time as any to explain red and white wine pairings to you.” She points to the Snow WhiteandLittle Mermaid mini juice glasses on the table. “Also, I couldn’t find your stemware, so I improvised. Those are both yours, by the way. Ariel for the cabernet and Snow White for the Chardonnay.”

“Wow, I haven’t seen those for a while.” I laugh as a memory comes flooding in. “We went to Disneyland for Gabby’s eighth birthday, and she begged our mom to buy her the entire Disney princess plastic juice cup collection from the gift shop. The crazy girl refused to drink out of anything else for an entire year.”

“Well, they’re the perfect size for a tasting.”

“Where’s yours?” I ask, lifting Ariel’s contents to my nose for closer inspection. “I know for a fact we have at least six others stored in the same place you found these.”

“I’m good. Besides, I still have to drive back.”

“About that.” I set Ariel down. “I can’t let you drive home tonight. Half the county is off grid, and there are tree limbs everywhere. It’s not safe.”

She stares at me unblinking with an expression I’m not sure how to interpret. “So you’re suggestingwhatexactly?”

“That you stay here with me.”

“Uh ... I ...” At her rounding eyes, I hear how suggestive that must have sounded to her.

“Oh, no. That’s not what I ...” I hold up a hand. “I already called Gabby, and she’s offered you her bed, along with the use of whatever things you might need. She’ll be staying in Portia’s guest room for the night.”

“Okay, thank you,” Sophie says with a slight nod of her head. “There’s been a lot to process in the course of a single evening.”

I reach out to clasp her hand. “Maybe we can process it together over this stellar snack dinner and Disney princess wine tasting?”

Her ready smile is the only answer I need.

For the most part, our conversation stays light while Sophie tries—and fails—to refine my palate in a single evening. AlthoughI finish my cartoon tumbler of the red wine, which paired nicely with the meat, cheese, and dark chocolate, I cannot stand the white. Sophie might be able to taste the apple, vanilla, and hints of butterscotch hidden away in this prize-winning bottle. But to me it tastes the way Gabby’s nail polish remover smells.

Sophie scooches Snow White toward herself and then takes a sip. “I’ll keep working on you.”

“I hope you will,” I say, noting the perfect segue into our next conversation and my sudden onslaught of nerves. As soon as her eyes meet mine, I begin. “I can count on three fingers the positive things that have come out of the two hardest years of my life.” I pause before I raise the first finger. “Gabby’s survival.” I unfold the next. “Chip bribing me to let a stranger record a demo in my studio.” And then a third finger. “And this afternoon. With you.”

Her blush is soft, yet immediate. “Our kiss?”

“That was so much more than a kiss for me, Sophie.” It’s perhaps the most transparent thing I’ve admitted to her so far, but it’s true.

“I feel the same.” She reaches for my hand. “Which is why I was afraid to let it happen. I knew we wouldn’t be able to go backward once we went there.” She tilts her head to the side, examining me as I give her the space to say whatever she needs to, even though a low-level panic begins to brew somewhere behind my ribcage. “I never planned to stay in California, August. I may not know what’s next for me career-wise, but the one thing I was adamant about was leaving as soon as I had enough money to pay my debts and start over somewhere new. Somewhere with fewer bad memories and unsupportive family members.” She stares at her plate of half-eaten fruit and cheese. “After that night on the beach with you, I applied for several teaching and directing positions around the country that would utilize my theater degree and give me a way out of this state, but every time an interview has popped up in my inbox ... I’ve declined it.” She traces the scar on my upturned palm. “Because you’re not there.”

“So stay.” I close my hand around hers, desperate to hold on to her for as long as I possibly can. “I know it’s selfish of me to ask that of you, especially considering that the sacrifice isn’t mutual.”

“It’s not selfish,” she counters. “I get it. Your whole world is here. You have your sister and Chip and this beautiful home you grew up in. Not to mention your studio and a wonderfully supportive church.”

I don’t correct her on the last one. “You have many of those same things, too, now. And more.”

Gabby has told me how Sophie goes early to the ASL classes every week to meet with her and Portia. And even though I’d like to drop-kick Sophie’s father into next week after the trauma she endured as a teenager, I want to believe that not all the Wilders are bad apples. How could they be when Sophie is full of such goodness and love?

Then again, if someone were to examine the character of my parents and sister, there’s no chance mine would measure up. In the Tate family, there is only one bad apple.

Her sweet contemplation pulls me back to the here and now.

---