Page 27 of Intoxicating Pursuit

Fever

SAMMY

T he cheerful, trilling jabber of songbirds announced first light, piercing my slumber. I squinted in the direction of my dormer windows, only to find an unfamiliar space. Light floated through faint dust motes, filtering in from the wrong side of the room.

Gabe’s cabin.

The mattress shifted as warm muscles wrapped my torso and a firm body pressed heat into my back.

It all returned in a rush as I stroked his arm gently, reveling in the contact.

While my brain bumbled awake, I gazed at the subtle shifts in morning light washing over the knotted grain of the cabin’s cedar walls. Gabe adjusted his position again, turning over to nuzzle the pillows, and a muted snore ruffled the stillness.

I closed my eyes once more, stealing a few more minutes of nirvana in the cozy cloud of his bed.

My morning mouth begged for a toothbrush, however, and I badly needed a restroom and shower. Before long, I could no longer ignore the plea of biology. I snuck out from beneath the comforter, got dressed, and slipped back to my unlocked cabin.

A hot shower released the kinks in my back and loosened the tight knots in my legs. After a thorough steaming, I set a pot of coffee to brew then dressed in shorts, a strappy blouse, and yesterday’s sandals.

The plan was to spend another day here—to float in the creek and maybe go over design ideas if I could draft a few. That meant twenty-four more hours of outdoorsy, artsy time with Gabe.

Heaven.

The irresistible scent of coffee permeated the cabin, and I checked my phone and booted up my computer while it finished its noisy percolation. I’d missed no texts from the prior night, and there was nothing new today so far, but it was still early.

I took my laptop and a steaming mug out to the cabin’s porch, where I could enjoy the view while I worked.

Humid air hung across the dewy vineyard, and low angles of morning sunshine filtered through the crops.

Carolina Wrens continued their warbling gossip, and a construction crew of woodpeckers hammered hollow, echoing drills into the towering treetops of the surrounding pines.

I cracked open my laptop and sipped coffee, thinking through a few to-dos.

The brewery merited at least a little attention, so I checked network security, moderated the social sites, and took a quick peek at how the July numbers were landing.

Sales were still poor and expenses were still elevated.

Dang it. I truly had hoped to see progress.

Maybe Gabe was right. I should get boots on the ground in Madison and Charlotte.

More than a day had passed since I left home, and I still felt good.

Strong. Maybe I could pull it off. Actually, now that I thought about it, I might be able to squeeze in a Charlotte visit before returning North.

The brewery could easily be within a couple hours’ drive of La Fermata

The idea was enticing, but for now, I refocused on Gabe’s restaurant.

One thing at a time. I opened my favorite design software and roughed in La Fermata’s existing patio, porch, and indoor areas, as well as the approximate surrounding acreage.

I transcribed my voice memos into notes in the margin and uploaded the photos I’d taken yesterday, pinning them to the software’s bulletin board feature for reference.

Footsteps on the porch signaled someone else awake, and I looked up into Gabe’s sleep- crinkled face.

He raised his coffee cup in a simple gesture of cheers, then eased himself onto a rocking chair.

He set his coffee on a small wooden side table and laid the guitar across his lap. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Gabe plucked idly at the strings, circling around a melody I hadn’t heard before while I gathered photos and product links for design inspiration. Eventually, he played "Shivering Bridge", and I shot him a warm smile. Then he strummed another favorite of mine, "Eight Lilies." Gorgeous.

The sun slowly rose higher in the sky, casting away shadows and basking bright, nourishing light across the vineyard. After a while, Gabe stood up and stretched, then walked over and took a peek at my computer. “When do I get to see?”

“Not much to look at yet. Just gathering ideas.” I tilted the computer his way. “But I’m thinking there might be two ways to go, and one would require very little capital. I’m guessing you don’t need to blow your budget on this.”

“Well, that’s good news,” he said.

“How do I share the designs with you when I’m done? I don’t think I'll have them finished today.”

“Oh, Charlie’s your man for sure. Just call him, and he’ll set everything up.”

That stung.

We’re not intimate enough to swap phone numbers yet? Or emails? Disappointed and frankly a little ticked, I turned my attention back to the screen. In fact, I snapped the laptop shut and picked up my coffee instead. Why give him free labor if he couldn’t even trust me with an email address?

He leaned against the post of the porch then, studying me. “By the way, Sammy, I think you should know—this must be a world record.”

I cut my eyes to him as I blew on the surface of my topped-off mug. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“Well, as far as I can tell, you’re a fan of my music, right?”

“Um. . . yeah . I mean, this free performance I’ve been getting all morning is gonna be the highlight of my year, I’m pretty sure.”

“Oh, really? ” He raised an eyebrow. “ This is the highlight? I might need to drag you back to bed and change that.”

I was still annoyed, but heat rose to my cheeks anyway, a deep blush no doubt coloring my face. I sighed. “Fine. I stand corrected. . . And pleasured. There are indeed better experiences from the trip.”

“That’s more like it.” He playfully tugged a strand of my hair. “Anyway, like I was saying, I think this is a world record for the most time I’ve spent around a fan without being asked to take a selfie.”

Interesting.

“Well. . . ” I blew on my coffee, considering the best response. “A picture would be fun. . . but I didn’t think you’d appreciate being asked.”

He tilted his head. “So you didn’t ask?”

I shrugged.

“Well, you’re remarkable in all kinds of ways, aren’t you?”

“Not remarkable. Just enjoying your company. I don’t need a photo op."

“Well. . . you might get one anyway.” His expression was amused. Irresistible. “Because frankly, at this point, I think I’d like a selfie with you . I want a way to look at your pretty face after you drive away and leave me.”

Such drama. I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure my departure’s your biggest concern.”

“Hey, you don’t know. Maybe it is.” He stretched his hand my way. “Come on. Indulge me.”

I set down my mug, took his hand, and let him lead me to the grape vines. He put an arm around me and pulled me gently against him. He leaned his lips close to my ear. “To help preserve my sweet memories,” he whispered.

The warm strength of his body stirred my blood. Staying angry when he held me close was too great a challenge. I gave in, at least for the moment. I laid my head back against his shoulder and hugged the arm he’d wrapped around my waist while he snapped a few pictures.

They turned out lovely, in an early-morning sort of way. Our hair was messy. I wore no makeup. Our smiles were relaxed, and the morning light was soft. Perfect really.

“Can you send them to me?” I asked.

He froze, his finger hovering over the touch screen. The look on his face told me plenty.

“Ah, let me guess, Charlie will send them to me.” I made no effort to hide my annoyance and displeasure.

“Look, I’m happy to send these. I trust you with the photos. But it’s got to be through Charlie. That’s just a rule.”

Nothing he said made the situation any better, and I leveled a hard gaze at him.

He scoffed. “Sammy, do you have any idea what happens when thousands of crazy people get access to your email? Or your cell? Or your address for that matter? People get angry, relationships sour, and this stuff gets released. Makes it very hard to function. So, this is just how I operate.” He crossed his arms defensively.

“You don’t trust me yet.”

He sighed heavily, his frustration obvious.

“I do. But I’ve trusted a lot of people, and I’ve been burned.

A lot.” He kicked at the dirt. “Look, I won’t deny I've had fun, but, sometimes, I wish I’d found a more permanent relationship before all of this happened.

Because the problem is, everyone in my orbit wants something sooner or later: money, fame, a ticket around the world.

Or sometimes, women just want a fantasy and not a flawed, sweaty, idiotic guy. It’s just been over and over again.”

I was about to fire off a retort when my cell phone rang. “Hold on, Gabe.” I took a few steps away for privacy and answered.

Meghan’s voice came over the line. “Hey. Sorry to bug you."

I turned my gaze to the distant mountains and walked a few paces farther away. I didn’t want my irritation with Gabe bleeding into my conversation with my daughter. “Hi, sweetie. I was gonna call soon. How’s it going?”

“Fine. Do we have a key to Grandma’s cottage?”

She knew better.

“We do. . . but you’re not allowed in there when she’s not home. You know that.”

“She’s home. She wants ice chips for her fever. So, I just need a key.”

A flutter of nausea rose in my gut. Why would this happen the one day I’m away? “She has a fever?”

“I guess.”

“Meghan, since when? She was fine yesterday evening.”

“I dunno. She texted a little bit ago. I’m sure she’s okay.”

“Can you put her on the line?”

“Well, I could if you would tell me where the key is.”

“Did you knock?”

“ Of course I knocked.”

“She didn’t come to the door?” The humid morning air was suddenly difficult to breathe. “Can you see her through the window?”

“Yes, Mom. Relax. She’s just sleeping. Are you gonna help me or not?”

My heart splashed frantically, and the world accelerated around me. My brain scrambled to keep up.

“Mom?”

What was she asking for?