Page 21 of Worth the Wait
“You used to play piano,” I find myself saying. “Do you still?”
“Sometimes. When I can’t sleep or when I’m trying to work through complicated problems.” Cameron adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Music helps me think.”
“What do you play when you can’t sleep?”
“Chopin, usually. Something complicated enough to require focus but familiar enough that I don’t have to think about the mechanics.”
I smile, remembering how Cameron used to play late at night when he was stressed about work or family obligations. “Nocturne in E-flat major?”
“You remember that?”
“You played it the night before your sister’s wedding. You were worried about your speech.”
Cameron laughs, the sound genuine and surprised. “I can’t believe you remember that. I was terrified I was going to embarrass Sophia in front of three hundred guests.”
“You were perfect. Your speech was beautiful. You talked about love being worth fighting for, about choosing the person who makes you want to be better.” The memory is vivid and bittersweet, especially given what happened between us later. “It was one of the most romantic things I’d ever heard.”
The silence that follows pulses with the sting of contradiction. We both know the irony of Cameron giving a speech about fighting for love just months before he chose the easier path of family approval.
“I meant every word of that speech,” he says quietly. “I just... wasn’t brave enough to live up to it.”
For a moment, I’m tempted to push him to explain more, to tell me exactly what his family said, what threats or promises convinced him to walk away from what we had. Instead, I find myself saying, “We were young. People change. What matters is who we are now.”
Cameron glances at me with something that looks like gratitude mixed with surprise, as if he expected me to be less forgiving.
“Who are we now?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’m enjoying finding out.”
The admission slips out before I can stop it, more honest than I intended to be. But it’s true. Sitting in this car, listening to music that reminds us both of better times, talking about growth and change and the people we’ve learned to become—it feels easy in a way I didn’t expect.
Natural. Right.
Dangerous.
8
“This is exactlywhat we need for the cocktail reception.”
I watch Lianne make notes about the Sauvignon Blanc we’ve just tasted, her professional focus impressive despite the fact that we’re two wineries and several wine samples into what’s turning out to be a much longer day than either of us anticipated. The storm clouds that looked manageable this morning have developed into something more ominous, but neither of us has suggested cutting the day short.
We’re at our second winery, a boutique operation in the hills above Santa Barbara that specializes in small-batch wines with the kind of story Sterling Industries’ guests will appreciate. Lianne has been taking detailed notes at each location, asking technical questions about production methods and availability, keeping everything strictly professional despite the increasingly relaxed atmosphere that comes with spending hours tasting wine together.
“The minerality works well with the appetizer menu we discussed,” she continues, swirling the pale liquid in her glasswith the practiced motion of someone who knows wine. “Light enough not to compete with the food, complex enough to keep people interested.”
I nod, though I’m more interested in watching her work than evaluating the wine’s mineral content. There’s something mesmerizing about the way Lianne approaches these tastings—methodical but passionate, analytical but intuitive. She tastes each wine like she’s having a conversation with it, understanding its personality before deciding how it fits into the larger story she’s creating for our event.
“You’re good at this,” I observe as she negotiates delivery details with our host.
“It’s part of the job,” she replies, but I catch the pleased flush that colors her cheeks at the compliment.
“No, it’s more than that. You understand how wine works with food, with atmosphere, with the overall experience. Most event planners just pick whatever’s in their budget range.”
Lianne looks at me with something that might be surprise. “You’ve been to a lot of corporate events, haven’t you?”
“Too many. Most of them are exercises in expensive mediocrity.” I take another sip of the Sauvignon Blanc, appreciating the way it balances bright acidity with subtle complexity. “This is different. You’re creating something that will actually enhance the evening instead of just filling glasses.”
“That’s the goal,” she says quietly, and there’s something in her voice that suggests my recognition of her skill means more than she’s willing to admit.
