Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,54
I was talking to El the previous day, and even more when we’d been texting, and they were like children usually restricted from having chocolate suddenly told they could eat all they wanted. Emotions were pinging around inside me, jumping up and down, straining to get out. I needed to get myself under control.
El’s little blue car sat in the parking lot, and it was next to impossible to stand here talking to my mother when I knew she was just on the other side of the wall. I wanted to talk to her.
In fact, I was beginning to suspect she was the person I most wanted to talk to in the world. And there was a possibility I’d be happy talking to her forever.
I shook off the dramatic thoughts and stepped inside the tasting room, feeling the breath leave me as I took in El behind the counter. She was beautiful, and her eyes met mine as soon as I walked in.
“Hello,” I said, trying not to sound desperate for any scraps she’d be willing to throw me.
“Hi.”
I wasn’t sure where to go next with things, but felt like some kind of tentative peace had settled between us. I wanted so much more than that, though. “How are you?”
El shifted her weight, rearranged some napkins on the countertop. “Good, yeah. Turns out I’m much better at having a job that doesn’t start at nine in the morning. By the time I check in here, I’ve usually spilled two or three things on my clothes and changed already, so I feel like I’ve reduced the odds of spilling on myself or other people. Like that valve’s been open all day and the pressure’s off, I guess.” She was babbling. I was making her nervous.
I decided that was a good thing. “Good, good.” I pressed my hands flat on the countertop as if testing its solidity and then realized I was nervous too.
I had no idea what to say, what to do. I decided to just throw it all out there. “Listen, El, I wondered. Do you think maybe you can forgive me someday? Eventually?”
El stiffened and met my eye for one brief second, then seemed to deflate. “I just don’t think that’s a good idea.” She stood completely still for a second as we each absorbed her words, and then hurried around the edge of the counter. “I need to go grab some bottles.” She swept past me, leaving me alone in the tasting room with my disappointment and humiliation.
But that couldn’t be it, could it? It was so clear there was something between us. I couldn’t let that be it.
The rest of the evening together was stiff and formal, the aftermath of me asking for her forgiveness and being refused laying around us like rubble, reminding us not to let our guards down. We discussed the plans for the weekend, when an army of food trucks would roll into the parking lot and several other wineries would be setting out tasting tables and tents. Mom had even hired a DJ. It was going to be a good mini-festival, but I was dreading it. I didn’t know if I could spend another day watching El laughing and smiling with other people. I wanted her to be with me.
I went home determined to figure something out. El was the best thing that had happened to me, and I wanted to be the one to make her laugh, to see her smile. I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with her. I wanted to be the one she called when she had a flat tire, or needed help with her mom, or spilled on herself yet again and needed an emergency change of shirts. I had to fix this.
And then an idea started to blossom. But I was going to need help.
***
The week flew by, partly because I was so busy planning I barely did anything else, and partly because there was a lot to be done to organize for the first Cunning Ham solo wine fest.
As we set up tables and chairs around the sprawling patio on Saturday, pulling a few out to sit beneath the shade of the big trees on the lawn overlooking the vineyards, Lincoln shook his head at me. “You sure about this, Bos?”
I was. I was more sure about this than I’d ever been about anything. “Yeah.”