Page 51 of Work and Play
I’m turning into a grumpy sap from missing her.
Which is why I let the guys drag me out to Hastings tonight, where I’ve been sitting at the bar, moping over a bottle of beer Dean pushed my way when I walked in.
“Her dad has a housekeeper. Aren’t rich people the only ones with housekeepers?” I ask, taking a swig from my bottle of beer.
“Why the fuck does it matter?” Reid asks and I glare at him.
“It doesn’t. I’m just saying we’re different. What if she’s back in the city and decides she would rather have some city slicker guy instead of the guy who squishes grapes for a job.” God, even the memory of the first time she described my work that way makes my stomach hurt.
“I’m not even going to touch the squishing grapes comment because what the fuck. But do you hear yourself right now? You’re being an idiot. Ashley isn’t like that and you know it. Besides, even if she does come from money, who the hell cares? She doesn’t act like a spoiled rich kid, so whatever. Stop whining and looking for problems that don’t even exist.”
Even in my current state of emotional turmoil, I know Ethan’s right. Besides, this isn’t me. I don’t lack self-confidence, I’ve never once felt like my choice of vocation makes me any less than anyone else, and I certainly don’t give two shits whether someone has money or not. This is me lashing out for no good reason.
“You’re nervous. She left before you guys could talk about things.” Dean leans back on the counter behind him, taking a sip from a bottle of water. I stare at him, with his wedding band staring me in the face. Easy for him to say I’m nervous, he’s got an amazing woman who loves him and is currently carrying his child.
“Bartender’s right, my friend.” Reid tips his bottle of beer toward Dean, who nods his head in acknowledgment, then heads down to the other end of the bar to help another customer.
“Okay. Fine. Let’s say you jackasses are right, and I am just nervous. What the hell do I do?”
“Easy. You go and get your girl.” Ethan, Jackson and Reid all clink their bottles together.
Fuck.
The next morning I drive out to the winery, still consumed with questions and worries about Ashley. She’s never far from my mind, and when my text this morning went unanswered, again, I banged my head against the wall in frustration. When Pierre finds me in the blending lab, I’ve just poured my third attempt at creating a Meritage down the drain. Finding that balance of flavour that each custom blend of red wine is famous for is not easy, and I cannot seem to get it right today.
“And what did that juice do to offend you?” Pierre asks in a far too cheerful voice. I grunt in response as I go to the sink to clean out the vials and beakers I was using for blending. “Or perhaps it is not the juice that has you upset, but rather the absence of our lovely Ashley.”
I set the glass vials down carefully, then place my hands on the counter and let my head drop down to my chest.
“Do you need anything, Pierre?” I know I’m being rude, but I don’t feel like making small talk. Especially not about Ashley.
“Just to know why you are not on a ferry headed toward Vancouver to be with her, and to make sure she comes back, of course.”
I turn around slowly and fold my arms over my chest. “What if she doesn’t want to come back?”
The look he gives me clearly says he thinks I’m an idiot. Seems to be a common theme amongst my friends these days.
“My dear Finn. You are a brilliant winemaker and a good man. But right now, you are also a fool. Go to her.”
He turns on his heel and walks to the door of the lab before pausing and speaking over his shoulder to me. “She wants to come back, I am confident of it. But a woman also needs to feel wanted. And that is what I think is missing.”
Goddamnit, he’s right. They’re all right. My hesitation is the only thing to blame for Ashley shutting me out right now. Well, that and her dad being hospitalized, I guess. She doesn’t know she can want me or need me because I haven’t made it clear that I’m here for her, no matter what.
I grab my phone and coat, and stride out of the blending lab, shutting off lights and locking the door behind me. I stick my head into the tasting room and find Pierre sitting calmly at a table, poring over some paperwork.
“I’ll be away for the next few days.”
He lifts his head to me and nods. “Good.”
Two hours later, I’m on the ferry headed to the mainland, staring at my phone and trying to decide how to tell Ashley that I’m coming. I go back and forth on this for who knows how long, alternating between looking at my phone and looking out at the grey sea of the Strait of Georgia. The ferry is bringing me closer to Ashley, but I’m no closer to knowing what I’m going to say to her or how I’m going to convince her to give us a real chance.
The one thing I do decide on is not tell her I’m coming. Pierre texted me earlier with the address of her dad’s house in some fancy neighbourhood in West Vancouver. My phone gives me the address for a florist in Dundarave that I plan on stopping at before finding Ashley.
Sitting in my car, waiting to disembark from the ferry, realizing I’ll see Ashley very soon and finally, finally tell her how I feel, sends a wave of calm over me like I’ve never felt before. All the worry and uncertainty suddenly disappear, and with a startling clarity, I can see that all I need to do is be honest. Tell her I’m falling in love with her, tell her I want her in Dogwood Cove, and in my life.
My fingers drum on the steering wheel in time to the music playing on the radio. It’s some sappy love song, which I guess is fitting. I don’t even absorb the luxurious homes I drive past on my way into town, my focus is lasered in on Ashley and nothing else.
Fate is smiling on me when I find a parking spot right outside the florist shop. I park and head inside, and walk out twenty minutes later with a bouquet of bright yellow and pink flowers. The colours are vibrant, and even though they shouldn’t work together, they do. Kind of like me and Ashley.
