Page 70 of Corkscrew You
Iwasthisclose to telling Shelby I love her. But I’m glad I didn’t. It might have made her feel even more obligated to say yes to my outrageous request. I could tell she had doubts, and all of them were completely justified.
She might still change her mind, and I wouldn’t blame her. It was a pretty shady move to heap all that emotional responsibility on her shoulders. Being desperate isn’t much of an excuse. A whole family can’t get their own father to listen, so we’re going to pass the buck to a complete stranger. Good job, Durants. Stay classy.
I quit the kitchen while I was ahead and went to face the other grim reality of my life – saving Flora Valley Wines.
There’s a little voice nagging me to come clean with Shelby about the precarious nature of our financial position. But I can think of so many reasons not to. It’ll put her off her winemaking game, and the business needs her in peak form. It’s not her job to worry about money; it’s mine. Likewise, it’s not her job to find ways to get us out of this financial hole.
Most importantly, I don’t want her to have to feel grateful towards me. If – when – Shelby and I get to start our relationship, I want it to be on an even footing. I don’t want to think for asecondthat she’s with me because she feels indebted to me for rescuing her family’s business.
And rescue it I will. Even if it kills me. Because that’s how Durant men roll.
I did a lot of hard number crunching over the weekend, and I have some ideas. Trouble is, Shelby will hate them. Which is another fine reason to keep quiet.
First, though, there’s the little matter of securing her an invitation to dinner. I didn’t want to share the details of my Dad-plan with the family before I knew if Shelby was in or not. I’ve crossed that hurdle, for the time being, at least. Now for phase two.
I phone Ava, to test my thinking out on her first.
“Wow,” she says, but not in a complimentary way. “I thought youlikedShelby?”
“I do,” I protest. “I like her a lot!”
“Alot, hey?” I can hear my sister smirking. “So you guys have—?”
“No! Well, yeah, but … it’s complicated.”
“Fast work, bro. Only been a week.”
I give thanks that we’re on the phone, not FaceTime. I rarely blush, but I’m bright red now.
“And only a month since you broke up with Camille.” Ava sticks the knife in as only a sister can.
“I’m over Camille,” I say, shortly.
“Sure,” she replies. “But I bet you’re not over being dumped.”
This conversation is going downhill fast.
“What exactly are you accusing me of, Ava?”
“Nothing. I’m pointing out the fishhooks. If you reallydocare about this girl, then … just be mindful of your motives. You don’t want to lead her down a path you have no real intention of following.”
“Thanks for that, Brené Brown.”
“You still want to invite her to dinner?”
Jesus, sometimes a simple phone call feels like going ten rounds with Tyson.
“She’s said she’s happy to come,” I half lie. “And do you have a better plan?”
“Nope,” she readily admits. “How about Wednesday? I’ll rope Max into helping me cook. Mom will hate that, but too bad.”
“Ask Mom to contribute cookies.”
“Like I could stop her.”
There’s a beat, then she adds, “I’m looking forward to meeting this Shelby Armstrong. I don’t recall youeverfalling for a girl that quickly before. You took over a month to ask Camille out.”
“How do you knowthat?” I demand.
