Page 77 of Something that Could Last

“Thank you.”

I peer down at Abby as she takes it all in. Her eyes bulge as she assesses the Cessna we’re about to board. “I’ve never flown before,” she admits, looking up at me, her eyes wide with excitement and trepidation. “Aren’t you afraid of heights?”

She must be thinking back to the first time we saw each other when she recognized my unease at the ziplines. “I’m not afraid of heights; I’m just not particularly fond of them,” I assure her with a smile. I’ve flown before. Many times, actually. Once I’m in the air I’m okay. It’s just getting to that point that’s a little rocky.

Once we’re secured in our seats with headsets in place so we can communicate, Freddie starts up the engine. We take off down the runway, gaining speed, and soon lift off the ground. Our ascent is surprisingly smooth, and I’m way more relaxed than I expected to be. Maybe it’s because I have Abby beside me, holding my hand. She peers out the window, taking in the scenery, but all I see is her.

Finally, she turns to me and asks, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

She returns my smile and cups my cheek. “You’re like a real-life Christian Grey, aren’t you?”

“A Who?”

She giggles at my perplexed expression and shakes her head. “Never mind.”

We soar through the sky, passing over grassy hills, pine trees, and breathtaking mountains. It really is beautiful from way up here.

“If you look up ahead, you’ll see the New River Gorge Bridge,” our pilot’s voice crackles over the headset.

Abby’s eyes dart to mine in sudden realization and she mouths a silent “Thank you.” She’s plastered to her window for the rest of the ride, and I take the opportunity to enjoy the view as well. We follow along the river for a long time, revealing lush, green foliage and the enchanting, crystal blue sparkle of water. I knew this place was special, but the aerial view takes things to a whole new level. It’s absolutely stunning.

Our aerial tour is over much too soon. When we land, I help Abby down and thank Freddie, then we head back to my SUV. I climb into the driver’s seat, but before I can start the engine, she pounces on me. Her hands, her lips, her scent. She consumes me with her kiss, her fingers raking over my scalp. When she finally pulls back, her breath rushes in and out in a pant.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll never make it to our next stop,” I warn. I’m not above throwing her in the back seat and finishing what she started.

“There’s more?” she asks, stunned.

“Oh, baby girl, there’s a lot more.”

Her pupils dilate and I lean in for one last kiss before starting the car and taking off.

“So, what’s next?” she asks after we pass back through the security gate.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” For more than just food, judging by the look in her eyes.

We pull into the Shady Brook Vineyard shortly after. A young woman dressed in a crisp white shirt and black dress pants meets us at the door.

“Mr. Daniels, Ms. Harris,” she greets, nodding to each of us with a warm smile. “Your private tour will begin shortly. Your guide, Martin, is on his way.” She leads us inside and motions for us to sit at a small round table. “Would you like a glass of wine while you wait?”

Abby tenses beside me, her grip tightening on my hand. My eyes find hers, looking to her for an answer. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so I wait for her to respond.

She traps her bottom lip between her teeth and glances at me. I nod, letting her know that whatever she chooses is fine. After everything she’s been through, she’s reluctant to drink, and understandably so.

“Sure,” she answers finally, relaxing and sinking down into her chair.

“And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have a glass as well.” We listen as she recites the wine list from memory and make our selections.

“I can’t believe we’re getting a private tour. How did you pull that off?” Abby smiles around her glass as she sips the sweet red liquid.

“I have my ways.” My evasive answer satisfies her and she prods no further. I don’t want to tell her that I paid them what they would bring in over a weekend to close this place for a private tour and dinner. On a Thursday.

A man in khakis and a blue polo with the winery’s insignia approaches our table and introduces himself as our guide, Martin. He begins the tour by walking us through the building, showing us the wine press and cellar. Abby runs her fingers over the bottles, studying their labels while Martin explains the winemaking process. As we move deeper into the lower level, we see endless rows of casks lined against the old stone walls, the damp, musty smell nearly concealed by the fragrant sweetness of wine. Martin recites the history of the one hundred-twenty-year old building to us, explaining how his family turned the surrounding landscape into a vineyard.

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