Page 55 of Married to the Frenemy

“I have the perfect table! This way, please.”

She whirls around, her curls springing with her movements, and walks the few steps toward the long wooden table, gesturing toward a chair for me to sit.

Once I do, she retrieves a small notepad and pencil from the pocket of her apron.

“What would you like for dinner?”

I open the menu and laugh to myself when I see there’s only one thing written in her shaky handwriting.

“I’ll have the ahi.”

“Excellent choice.”

She spins around and heads back inside, hurrying into the kitchen to tell Beckham my order. Then she climbs back onto her step stool and Beckham moves behind her, wrapping his hand over hers as he shows her how to whisk the marinade.

Just like I do whenever we bake together.

As if sensing my eyes on him, Beckham glances up and treats me to a smile so sexy it should be illegal. When he returns his attention to Maggie, I shift my gaze forward, admiring the acres upon acres of vines in the distance, tiny buds starting to appear on them.

Over the past several weeks, I’ve learned more about the process of making wine than I ever thought possible, mostly from Maggie asking Beckham questions about the “juice” he makes.

According to Beckham, this time of year when the buds form on all the vines is referred to as “bud burst” or “bud break”. He mentioned it’s one of the most difficult times of year, aside from right before the harvest. Because of the dips in temperature at night, he has to monitor everything closely, often turning on giant fans overnight to protect the budding vines from falling victim to frost.

I never thought much about the technical knowledge required to do what Beckham does, but it’s impressive. Makes me appreciate him even more. The amount of care with which he’s tended to this land over the past several years is nothing short of remarkable.

His job is so much more than just mixing ingredients together. As he says, his work starts with the vine. He can’t make good wine without good grapes. He can’t expect good grapes unless he takes care of the vines.

And soon, this will all be his.

He’s really come a long way from the boy I knew all those years ago.

“Here we are,” Beckham’s voice cuts through, pulling my attention to him as he sets a plate in front of me, the scent of garlic and ginger invading my senses. “Seared ahi with Asian slaw.”

“This looks incredible,” I tell him.

And I mean it. It looks like something I’d order at a nice restaurant. Certainly not something I’d expect Beckham to cook for me.

“You deserve it.” He assumes the chair beside me as Maggie sits on the other side.

Her plate consists of a few bites of fully cooked ahi, but also some chicken nuggets and apple slices.

While she’s pretty good at trying new foods, she’s still only four and likes to stick to what most kids her age like.

“Bon Appetit.” Beckham lifts his glass, and both Maggie and I do the same, all of us clinking our drinks together.

If I could choose any moment to freeze time, it would be this precise instant, the three of us enjoying dinner like we’re a real family.

Because there will eventually come a time when it’ll just be Maggie and me once more.

Weeks ago, I looked forward to that day.

Now, I hate the idea of never experiencing this again… Whatever this may be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

BECKHAM

“Okay, peanut. Time for bed,” Haley says later that evening, the sun having set a few hours ago.

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