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Maggie
By the time I waltzed through my front door after our impromptu second date road trip to Seattle, I was already halfway gone over Kel and would have bet money that he felt that same.
All signs pointed to a man who was smitten. The way he wiped cream cheese off my lip and licked it off, explained how harvest worked over breakfast, asked me about my family, and held my hand the whole drive home—it was straight out of a hallmark movie montage. This guarded man had let me in.
But it’s become very clear to me over the last two weeks that Kel is a much better communicator in person than he is over text. I didn’t think my phone would be blowing up with texts from him, but I did think I would get the occasional communication. Half a dozen times a day I pick up my phone to text him, then put it back down because I can’t tell if I’m bothering him or not.
For the first few days it didn’t bother me. Much. We’re both busy people, and even though part of me is desperate to hear from him, I’m also trying to be happy that he’s giving me the time and space to keep my expectations for this fledgling relationship under control.
Sometimes I wake up to a sweet good morning text, sometimes I don’t hear from him until I’ve sent a string of random thoughts over the course of a couple of hours. I never know what I’m going to get. And so it’s been for the last fourteen days, not that I’m counting.
And of course, my period was supposed to start yesterday and still hasn’t shown up, which, like every other woman in the world, is making me both irrationally terrified, grumpy, and queasy. I refuse to take a pregnancy test. I’m on the pill. Taking a pregnancy test would be a waste of money.
Even if a tiny part of me has a niggling feeling that maybe I should.
“You’re being ridiculous, Mags.” Ophie hands me my coffee before settling opposite me at our tiny kitchen table. I bristle at my younger sister having the nerve to call me ridiculous, but take the coffee and sip gratefully. “He’s probably busy working. Please tell me you don’t think he’s got another woman he’s texting? Because from what I’ve seen, he’s more of a hermit than a player.”
“I don’t think he’s a player. I just want him to want to talk to me as much as I want to talk to him.” I whine, hating the words even as I say them. Frank used to tease me by calling me needy. Once, he joked that he only moved in with me to stop me from complaining about not seeing him enough.
Well, at the time I thought it was a joke. Now I’m not so sure.
It’s probably right up there with the time I thought he was being funny when he said he loved me in spite of my impulsive nature. New mental list to berate myself with—times I thought Frank was joking when he was actually being cruel to my face.
Ophie levels me with a glare. “Has it occurred to you that no one on this planet likes to talk to people as much as you do? Doesn’t he work with his hands? He can’t be texting you and working at the same time.” Ophie shakes her head. “I gotta get to class. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I roll my eyes, opening my laptop. “I won’t.”
By lunchtime I can’t stand the silence in my house. Not even T-Swift can fill the deafening silence of Kel not texting me. Even though I should be designing some invitations for a January sweet-sixteen party I just booked, I pull out my phone and scroll through my conversations with Kel.
DILF Pickle: Yesterday was amazing. Thank you for coming with me, it made the whole trip a thousand percent more fun. And that BBQ place was fantastic.
I don’t bother reading my own replies. I hear myself talk all day long, I don’t need to reread my own messages. Most of the conversation is innocuous enough—but there are a few choice gems from him mixed in with the other getting-to-know-each-other conversations.
DILF Pickle: I keep thinking about how soft your skin felt. I was almost afraid to touch you.
DILF Pickle: I hate that I won’t get a chance to see you again sooner. But I’m working crazy hours and I finally get Olive again next week. Maybe the week after that?
A crazy idea starts forming at the back of my mind. It’s been over two weeks since our trip to Seattle and I’m dying to see him again. If I’m being honest, I’m in desperate need of reassurance that I didn’t dream up the softer version of Kel that I’ve been swooning over in my mind. The version that might just be a little excited if my period didn’t show up in the next few days. Either way, the texts just aren’t cutting it for me anymore.
It’s a Thursday, and with Thanksgiving next week, surely the winery won’t be busy. I’ll just take my laptop down there and work from the tasting room. I bet Jackie would appreciate the company. Really, I need the company so I can stop running to the bathroom every time my underwear feels slightly damp.
My mind made up, I grab everything I’ll need to work comfortably, plus my toothbrush and a change of clothes just in case things go well again, and head to Sunshine.
Engine running and music playing, I send Kel a quick text to let him know I’m on my way to work from the tasting room before tucking my phone into my purse for the drive. I sing along as I drive out to the winery, my windshield wipers keeping the beat with me.
I let myself think back on the night we spent in Seattle—the first time we had sex and then again in the morning. I’d made myself forget how nice it was to wake up to someone else. How comforting it is to wake up wrapped in strong arms, with the reassuring rise and fall of Kel’s chest at my back.
I almost miss the small sign indicating the Sunshine Cellars drive. For the first time I notice a flatter drive off to the left, and I turn down it instead of heading up to the public parking at the top of the hill.
Too bad I hadn’t noticed this on the day of Mrs. Springer’s shower—it probably would have saved my cake. The drive leads to the three cottages at the base of the hill, like I suspected. Parking in front of Kel’s, I climb out and consider my options. Kel hasn’t answered my text and I’m not sure what to do now.
Last time I was here, Kel whisked me inside so fast, I never had a chance to take a good look at the outsides of the three buildings. And I’d been in such a hurry to escape with Ophie that I hadn’t even looked back as we drove off, knowing my willpower would crumble if I let Olive and Kel keep me a minute longer.
Greg and Jackie’s place is the farthest, with a large vegetable garden out front and a pair of Adirondack chairs on the porch. An older truck and a small SUV sit tucked against the side of the building. There are a couple of big potted plants near the house and some cute bits of decor that make it look homey.
The middle cottage, Nathaniel’s, looks empty, with no cars or decor outside. I’m surprised they don’t rent it out as an Airbnb or guesthouse, but I suppose it’s none of my business.
Kel’s black SUV is parked outside the nearest cottage, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s here. I note the sad-looking pot of flowers on the porch—I wonder if he would be mad if I bought him a new one? It’s surprising that his porch looks so neglected when the rest of the winery is so well-maintained. But then again, the last person Kel seems to have time to take care of is himself.
