Page 26 of Trouble Me
Shane rubbed a hand over a cheek. “It was productive. We signed some contracts, closed some deals. Looked over some land in Virginia we’re interested in.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Then why don’t you look happy about it?”
Shane’s gaze met hers. He looked as though he were weighing his next words. Looking away from her, he pulled his legs in, his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. “I spent a couple of days with my dad in Napa, as well.”
She stayed silent when he paused, feeling he wasn’t done talking, but her stomach dropped. The look of sadness on his face didn’t give her a warm and fuzzy feeling.
“My father has stage three colon cancer.”
Shit, it was worse than she thought. Her fingers tightened around her glasses that sat in her palm. Her throat ached and her heart twisted. She wanted so badly to reach out to him, soothe the hurt that comes with knowing a parent is sick. “Oh, Shane. I’m so sorry. What’s his prognosis?”
“He’s on his second round of chemo right now and it’s really taking a toll. If it works, his prognosis is decent. But at this stage?” he trailed off, shrugging. One of his hands clenched into a fist. “I hate seeing him this way.”
Emma’s heart went out to Shane, and she tried to comfort him the only way she could without crossing the line. “I understand. It’s incredibly hard to watch someone who you consider an anchor in your life be so frail.” Her mind wandered back to the times when first her father, then her mother, lay dying in a hospital bed. “It’s a helpless feeling.”
“Exactly.” When he spoke, she looked up at him to find him watching her. A sort of understanding passed between them. It was a feeling like they were in the same club, but it was one nobody wanted to join.
She swallowed and cast her gaze down to the calendar on her desk. “You never mentioned your mother. How is she doing with all of this?”
Sadness tinged his voice once again. “My mother died when I was twelve.”
She closed her eyes briefly as her heart clenched again and she wanted to kick her own ass for asking. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Shane stood and put on his jacket before sliding his hands into his front pockets. A sad smile tilted his lips. “Don’t be sorry, Emma. You didn’t know. It’s not like I walk around talking about it.”
“Still, I’m an idiot.”
“I don’t hire idiots.” He shot her a grin, making her smile. “Speaking of hiring. How’s the staffing going?”
Emma had never been so grateful for a subject change. “I narrowed down a few candidates for the restaurant manager and hospitality director. I’ve sent you the résumés, if you want to go over them.”
Shane shook his head. “No, I trust you know how to hire great talent. I’ve got the new vintner coming out next week. I hired him away from one of our European locations. He and I will work on staffing for the vineyard.”
Trust. Her chest swelled with the knowledge that he trusted her. Something she felt she needed to earn again with her own family. Still, to have Shane’s trust made her sit a little taller.
“Other than that, I’ve been working on the inventory list, and I reconciled it to the audit reports.”
“Good. I should have had that done sooner but never got around to it.” He smiled. “Great job, Emma. Why don’t you head on home? It’s late and you’re the last one here. Again.”
“Yeah, I’m exhausted actually.” She stood and raised her arms over her head, working out the kinks in her neck and back. He cleared his throat and walked to the door of her office.“I’ll walk you to your car.” His voice came out low and gravelly.
“It’s okay, I’ll be fine. I’ve walked myself out for the last few nights.”
Shane walked back toward her with her scarf and jacket in his hands. “The woman doth protest too much.”
Emma tilted her head. “Did you just use Shakespeare on me?”
He held out the scarf to her. “I did. Why?”
She shrugged, taking the colorful fabric from him and wrapping it around her neck. “I just didn’t picture you as the Shakespeare type.”
He stared at her, his gaze darkened slightly. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He held out her coat to her and when she took it, their hands brushed. Their stare held for a beat while her heart threatened to race out of her chest. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“So it would seem,” she said, forcing her tone to be easy as she shrugged into her coat.
His hands found the front pockets of his jeans again. “Besides, anyone who’s ever sat through a high school literature class is the Shakespeare type at some point.”
She chuckled and pulled her hair out of her coat collar. “That’s true. In my case, I did it again in college.”
