Page 33 of Make You Love Me
“Come on,” she says, pushing me toward the entrance. “Partying may not be in the plan today, but wecanhave a little fun.”
“How is a winery fun if I can’t get drunk?” I ask to get a rise out of her.
“We’re getting out of the apartment and creatively crossing something off your bucket list. Stop complaining.”
“I was really enjoying where things were heading at the apartment.” I lean back to see her reaction as the wheels roll over the uneven lip of the ramp, shaking the chair. I groan at theimpeccable timing and resulting electric current now shooting through my torso. “Oww.”
She activates the automatic door and addresses the hostess, who seats us at a table by windows overlooking the vineyard out back. The rows of grapevines seem to go on for miles over rolling hills, untouched by the season. Mountains I’ve seen my entire life whenever I leave the city but never appreciated line the horizon in the distance. The sun shines only on them, casting shadows over the vines.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks, ending my observation of our destination.
I nod and return to my favorite view. “So, sexy tour guide, what do you have planned for us?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
The waitress brings us two glasses of ice water and menus, the latter Nora declines.
“We’ll have the special,” she declares, sending the waitress off to place the order with the kitchen.
“What’s the special?”
“Not telling you. Just sit back and enjoy the surprise.”
To show my appreciation for the effort, I place my hand on the table and wait for hers to slide into it. She hesitates, transporting me back to the moment the vision sliced me in two at the restaurant. It shines another light on everything that’s been different about her lately—the deer in the headlights look she has when I touch her, the distance she keeps, the constant distractions, the delayed time between texts. Other than that mind-numbing kiss this morning, her reactions to me have been off.
Then again, she’s never liked displaying our couple’s status in public. Frankly, I’m shocked her first suggestion was to go out to a very popular, crowded winery…even if it is locatedover sixty miles northwest of Richmond. But that also means no oneshould know us here. So, the question stands. Why is my hand empty without the warmth of her touch?
Disappointed that nothing’s changed in the PDA department, my hand falls back into my lap.
“Jordan, I…”
The waitress interrupts her excuse (or lack thereof, I’m predicting) by dropping off a sampling of four wines. Each kind, displayed in a dainty decanter on a wooden tray, is a different hue. Then, she adds a set of eight even tinier wine glasses beside it.
“Enjoy the Italian experience,” she says with forced enthusiasm, unaware of the brittle tension between us. “Your charcuterie board will be here shortly.”
“Italian experience?” I ask, muscling up the motivation to climb the wall she’s rebuilt with staggering reinforcement.
“You wanted to drink authentic Italian wine in Italy. This is as close as you’re going to get in Virginia.”
“I appreciate it.”
Her lips roll into a self-aware grin before she selects a decanter and pours a sampling into two glasses.
I follow her lead as she swirls the shot-sized portion of wine and holds her nose to the rim to sniff the fragrance. The deep burgundy liquid smells of sour dirt and my face revolts.
“Come on,” she teases. “It can’t be worse than warm, cheap beer that you’ve happily drunk over the years.”
“Nothing is better than beer…warm or cold.”
“This is your wish, remember?”
“Touché.” Draining the glass, the smooth liquid coats my throat. To my delight, it tastes better than it smells.
“I thought we could check off another item on the way home,” she says, reaching for the next decanter.
“Please tell me it’s number six.”
“How am I supposed to know which number it is? I can only recall a few of them.” Her eyes grow wide, accurately guessing I’m up to no good.
