One Perfect Year. Melinda Curtis

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      Shelby mingled with friends from her past—Emily Johnson, Carl Quedoba, Tanya Romero, Umberto Escabar. She met the recently hired town sheriff for the first time, as well as a woman who was thinking about opening a bed-and-breakfast in her grandmother’s ancient Victorian.

      A lone vehicle turned down the driveway, its headlights high between the palms. A truck. A white truck. A white truck with a dented rear fender.

      It can’t be. Shelby held her breath.

      The driver parked and got out, flashing a dazzling smile beneath a faded red Harmony Valley Hedgehogs ball cap.

      A brisk wind rustled the grapevines, chilling her.

      It was Dead Gage.

      * * *

      AWARENESS OF SHELBY kicked through Gage’s system like an electrical current wearing combat boots.

      If Gage had been a lab rat hooked up to sensors, every time he saw Shelby scientists would record an intense release of dopamine, serotonin and norepinephrine. He wasn’t a lab experiment, but the trifecta of his body’s chemicals heightened his perception at the sight of her. They focused his attention on the things he found physically attractive about Shelby—her slender curves, her warm smile, her big blue eyes—and the things he admired about Shelby—her intelligence, her gentle humor, her nurturing tendencies— It was all imprinted in his memory.

      Luckily, no one kept track of his internal responses except Gage. And to this day, since he’d been careful, no one knew how Shelby affected him.

      He was a doctor, a scientist. He could catalog his physiological response to her, rationalize his feelings and control his behavior. And if that control was threatened, a joke to break the tension was always the answer.

      And so, upon seeing Shelby, he didn’t smile like an idiot when he admired her in body-hugging jeans. He didn’t let his gaze linger more than a second on her sweet face. And he didn’t reenact his fantasy of staring into Shelby’s sky-blue eyes as he reeled her slowly into his arms, brushed aside her short, soft blond curls, and kissed her.

      Not when their small town friends flanked her.

      Not when, presumably, her new boss stood nearby.

      Not when he hadn’t talked to her since Nick’s funeral.

      Gage took off his old high school baseball cap and wiped his brow. The hat was useless anyway, as it did little to hide his seminervous expression from Shelby.

      Two years ago, he’d overslept and missed meeting Nick for a day of kayaking on the swollen Merced River rapids. That was the day his life changed forever.

      If Gage had woken up on time, he might have talked Nick out of getting on the raging water that day. He might still spend Saturday mornings snowboarding black diamond slopes in winter. He might still spend Saturday mornings in summer free-climbing cliffs in Yosemite. And Nick might still be alive.

      Born a month apart, and raised a block from each other, Nick and Gage had been more like brothers than friends. Gage would do almost anything for Nick, even ignore the feelings he had for Shelby.

      Take the day he’d met Shelby. She’d stumbled into his high school science class during his senior year. He’d felt as if he’d been sucker punched. Unbelievably, he, who’d always relied on proof and facts, had fallen in love at first sight. How else could he describe how discombobulated he felt just seeing Shelby? But while he’d overanalyzed those strange, new feelings, Nick, who’d never hesitated in his too-short life, acted right after Gage introduced them.

      Once Gage discovered his feelings for Shelby were substantial and real, it was too late. He’d fallen for his lab partner, and she’d fallen for his best friend. And his feelings hadn’t waned. Not at their high school and college graduations. Not at the engagement party. Not at the wedding. Not at the funeral.

      He’d never acted on his impulses. And tonight would be no different.

      “Gage?” Shelby’s voice. So unsure.

      He closed the distance between them slowly. The slower he approached the longer he had to take note of her features. That no-nonsense, short blond hair beneath a yellow knit cap. That slender figure bundled against the late October chill. That tentative look in her eyes.

      He was the reason for that look, while she was the reason his pulse kicked up a notch.

      He stopped and brought out the heavy artillery—his smile. “Did somebody call for a grape picker?”

      Without missing a beat, she put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t answer any of my messages.”

      He shook his head. The crowd of volunteers watched silently, as if this was enthralling cinema.

      “You didn’t reply to any of my texts or emails either.”

      His smile dimmed.

      “You un-friended me on Facebook.”

      The crowd gasped. A few chuckled.

      “I shut down my Facebook page,” he told her, and the crowd. There, at least that was a defendable excuse.

      “And your phone?”

       Don’t do this to me, Shel.

      He’d never admitted to anyone that he was supposed to have been with Nick the day he died. The secret ate away at him. It probably always would.

      “Gage?” Her vulnerability was strong enough to slip past his guard.

      “I couldn’t.” The words were wrenched out of him.

      She made a sound that was half disapproving huff, half sob and ran toward him, practically tripping over her own two feet. He couldn’t say later if he’d met her halfway, couldn’t remember much beyond her arms coming around him, pressing against the hoofprint contusion near his spine. But the hug...the hug was worth every pang in his bruised and sore back. She held Gage as if he was a precious gift she never wanted to lose.

      For a moment, Gage drew Shelby close, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her hair, imagining what life would be like if she were his: no-overanalyzing. No careful responses. No distance.

       Like there was a chance of that happening.

      The power of his emotions made him realize coming home was a good thing. He’d needed to see Shelby again, if only to say goodbye to her once and for all.

      “This makes up for nothing,” she whispered, before pushing Gage away to introduce him to those he didn’t know.

      Her boss divided the volunteers into different groups—bin runners, crush pad operators, but mostly grape harvesters. Gage ended up with Shelby’s group of harvesters, along with several of their friends.

      They were outfitted with plastic tubs, work gloves, and curved, serrated knives. Shelby led them between two rows of grapevines, halting beneath a boom with lights that illuminated three rows across, positioning them six feet apart on either СКАЧАТЬ