Page 66 of Love on the Vine
“Cheater! You knew I couldn’t change gears.” She pouted as she plopped down next to me, panting slightly, her cheeks rosy from exertion.
“Just admit it, you don’t like to lose. You’re actually quite competitive, but you hide it well.” I pulled her between my legs and kissed her neck.
“I guess you’ve discovered my dirty secret.”
“I plan on discovering more,” I murmured, tasting the salt of her sweat, inhaling the sprig of lavender that she had stuck behind her ear. “Want something to drink?”
She nodded, tickling my nose with her hair. I opened the thermal backpack I’d filled with our lunch and retrieved a chilled bottle of Reynaud’s rosé. Olivia laid out the checkered picnic blanket and set out the food she’d prepared early that morning:pan bagnatwith heirloom tomatoes and briny olives, homemadecacio e pepechips,saucisson,and a crusty baguette.
We ate languidly and then, still pleasantly buzzing from the wine, laid down and watched the lavender sway in the warm summer breeze. Olivia laid against my chest as I stroked her hair.
Here I was cuddling again. I barely recognized myself.
“We never talked about when I’d be leaving,” she said out of the blue, and I tensed. I didn’t want to think about that yet. “If I’m going to help Lucie, I’ll need to go back to Paris next week.”
There was no way I was letting her leave so soon and regretted ever having suggested that plan. “Do you want to go back to Paris?”
“No.” She squinted at me accusingly. “But you seemed to like the idea when Lucie mentioned it.”
“If I did it was only because I felt like a piece of shit for wanting to get in your pants.” I pressed my face to the top of herhair, inhaling the rosemary-mint scent of her shampoo, and ran my hand over the bare skin at the small of her back.
“And now that you have, you want me to stay. Is that it?”
“T’as tout compris.” I ran my finger under the band of her shorts.
“I understood that.” She laughed. “You know, I think my comprehension is improving. I just need to get over my fear of speaking. Maybe we should only talk in French.”
“Mmm, maybe we shouldn’t talk at all.” I rolled her over onto her back and nibbled at her lips. I wanted to forget the panic that came over me when she talked about leaving. It was the same hollow pit in the gut I used to get as a kid each time my mother threatened to leave the house after my parents fought. I was always afraid she’d abandon me. I didn’t like that I was feeling this way at the idea of Olivia leaving. Especially when I knew it was inevitable.
Eventually, I stopped kissing her and pushed myself up on my elbows to gaze down at her beautiful face. She stroked my cheek, and I fought back the urge to rub into her like that damn tomcat.
“I do have to decide what I’m doing this fall.” She sighed.
“You know my opinion about that.” I don’t know why she was still hesitating. Law school was obviously the wrong choice for her.
“Not everyone can live from their passion like you.”
I laughed bitterly and sat up, resting the backs of my arms on my knees, staring into the distance. “I’m not very passionate about anything anymore.”
Except about you. The thought flickered uninvited through my mind. I shook my head to clear it.
“What do you mean?” She sat up and turned toward me.
I’d been dreading saying the next part aloud, afraid to make it true. “This problem I had . . . with tasting. It’s gone, disappeared this past week.”
“I wondered if it had but didn’t want to ask you.”
“So it’s pretty obvious that my problem is my work. All that pressure, for what? I just don’t care anymore.” I took a dried blade of grass and twirled it between my thumb and forefinger.
“Why did you care? In the beginning,” she asked.
“When I first started it was like I was contributing to something bigger than myself.” Though it was a long story, I told her my theory about history and culture and time being wrapped up in wine. “Then the more successful the business became, the more it was about spreadsheets and bottom lines, bullshit meetings with pretentious hedge fund managers. I let the competition with Thomas fuel me for the past few years.”
She ran a finger up and down my forearm soothingly. “So do you think if you were able to prove him wrong about your business, it would be better?”
“No. I don’t care. That’s the problem.” I flopped back down and stared at the clouds.
“You don’t think it has anything to do with losing your dad?” she asked quietly.
