Nowhere but Here

Page 4 Hyperbole

I took a moment to collect myself and take in my surroundings. All of the winery buildings were clustered at the top of the long treelined driveway. Each section looked as though it had been recently renovated. The Craftsman architecture gave the buildings a rustic, lodgelike feel. On the left, there was the bed-and-breakfast, a large three-story house with intricate stained-glass windows and a heavy oak door displaying a complex design of intertwining wooden vines. The sign outside read Together We Bring the Warmth. Even in the afternoon, with the sun blazing low in the sky, I could see an orange glow from the outdoor wall sconces and the mica path lights, which exuded a cozy friendliness. Situated to the right of the bed-and-breakfast was a smaller structure, similar in design, with a sign indicating that it housed the tasting room and restaurant. In the distance, behind the restaurant, I could see what looked like a large warehouse, which I assumed was where the wine was made, and next to it was a red barn that could have been taken right off of a Wyoming cattle ranch.

I stood in front of four small bungalows, one of which I assumed was R.J.’s office, the others more offices or staff buildings. From my vantage point I could tell there was much more to the property that I couldn’t see. Surrounding the cluster of buildings, in every direction, were grapevines. They formed an endless ocean of identical rows, fading over the horizon. I couldn’t see where the vines stopped; they repeated endlessly. The structures around me stood out against their uniformity, like little islands.

My phone buzzed once. I tapped the iMessage button and read:

Stephen: I have a late work meeting. I’ll call you in the morning, sweetie.

I didn’t respond. He hadn’t asked how my trip went, what Napa was like, or if I was even alive at all. It was just more of Stephen’s rhetoric, the obligatory text, the obligatory “sweetie.” They were just words—there were never any feelings or experiences to match those words. There was nothing to justify what we were doing. I closed my messages and realized it was ten after five. I was late. Just then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jerked and turned quickly.

“Sorry I startled you. I’m Susan, the general manager here. You must be Kate?”

She looked to be in her fifties. She was on the plump side with a perfectly manicured and completely gray bob. She had on a black suit and white shirt and a pair of narrow, black-framed glasses.

“Yes, I’m here for the interview with R.J. Sorry I’m late, I had some car trouble. Jamie had to give me a ride up the hill.”

She straightened and squared her shoulders. “Did he now?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Well, I had sent Jamie on an errand but I guess it’s not unlike him to get sidetracked.” She looked me up and down very slowly. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Oh?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I actually hit Jamie’s truck with my car.” She suddenly looked very concerned. “He’s okay and he’s running your errand. I just don’t want him to get in trouble if he gets back late.”

Her expression turned warm and then she chuckled. “Jamie’s not in any trouble, sweetheart.” She put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me toward the door. We left my suitcase lying on the porch. Susan leaned in and said quietly, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the big boss.”

We walked through one small room with a desk and then headed toward an open doorway. I looked in to find R.J. leaning back in his chair, already sizing me up.

“R.J., this is Kate Corbin. Kate, this is R.J.”

Susan immediately left the room. I approached him with my hand out but he didn’t get up. He leaned forward over his desk, shook my hand, and sat back very quickly, making me instantly uncomfortable.

Regardless, I chose to speak confidently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I expected a blonde,” he said with a smirk.

His comment stunned me. I was motionless. “Oh yeah, why is that?”

“I’ve just always associated the name Kate with blondes.”

I supposed there was a very general resemblance between R.J. and the twelve-year-old boy I saw in the photograph the night before: white male with brownish hair and lighter eyes. Adult R.J. had no standout features at all. His braces were gone but so was his smile, which probably answered the mystery of why he was such a recluse—he clearly had poor social skills. He wore a really boring blue suit with a pin-striped shirt and tie. His big, nerdy-chic glasses and poor style choices made sense for a computer wiz who probably spent more time alone with gadgets than with other living, breathing people.

“I guess you’ve never heard of Kate Middleton or Katie Holmes?”

“Oh, you’re quick.”

“You’re inappropriate.”

He stood up immediately, clapped his hands once, and announced, “Well I guess that wraps things up, Kate.”

“No, I’m sorry.” I plopped down in the chair across from him. I was blowing it and knew I had to recover. “I apologize. You just threw me off. I didn’t expect any comments about my hair color.”

He sat down but still scrutinized me with his eyes. “Let’s get on with it, then. You were late. I only have an hour and I still have to take you to the tasting room.”

I fumbled with my things and pulled out a recorder. He stood up immediately.

“No. No recording devices and no pictures. Just notes. I was told Jerry was aware of this.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to misquote you.”

“Then don’t screw up your notes.”

Geez, this guy goes from inappropriate ass to stick-up-his-ass in two seconds.

Susan walked in and announced, “The tasting room is ready for you whenever you want to head over there.”

“I haven’t answered a single question yet.” He wore a smug grin. She shook her head and walked out. I couldn’t tell for sure if her gesture was directed toward me or R.J., but my guess would be the latter.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

He leaned forward, resting his face on his propped-up hands. “Shoot, Kate. We don’t have all night unless you want to take this interview back to my room.”

“No, thank you.” What was this guy’s problem? “So, I heard you spent some time in Africa building schools. Can you tell me a little bit about that?”

“I was told you were only going to ask questions about the winery, but if you must know, it’s true. I have an organization that builds schools in Africa.”

I glanced at his smooth, delicate hands with his perfectly manicured fingernails.

“So you weren’t actually building the schools yourself, with your own hands?”

“Let’s get to the winery questions, Kate.” He smiled and arched his eyebrows.

“Right. Tell me about the winery. I’d like to know how you turned this place around and learn about your methods of production.”

“Well, I put a pretty penny into this place, I’ll tell you that. I think it’s also about how you handle your employees, letting them know who’s boss, you know?” I unintentionally snickered. “Do you disagree with that?”

“No . . . I guess I’m not surprised. And your method for production?”

“I don’t know much about that. I let Guillermo handle that. I think it’s pretty standard, though. He had worked for the previous owners since the eighties.”

“So Susan is the general manager and Guillermo runs the wine production and distribution.”

“That’s right.”

“What does Jamie do?”

He cocked his head to the side, “So you met Jamie?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing?”

“He was running an errand. He had some barrels he had cleaned in the back of his truck.”

“Jamie does a little bit of everything around here. He works in the vineyard and also does maintenance. He sometimes works in the B and B and store when the need arises.”

Interesting. A man who knows how to use his hands.

“What sets R. J. Lawson apart as a winery resort and wine producer?”

He glanced down at a notecard and began rapping off facts. “Our winery is almost one hundred percent self-sufficient. Our number one goal is to produce quality wines and a quality experience in a completely sustainable environment. We have a three-acre hydroponic and natural garden and a small ranch to feed our restaurant. Our animals are raised hormone free in the best conditions with the best feed available. We have nine hundred and fifty solar panels installed in various places across the property, which produce one hundred percent of the power we use, solely from the sun’s clean energy. All of our vehicles are clean-energy-running or fuel-efficient—even the tractors and machines we use in the vineyard and ranch. We only use homemade, organic pesticides in the vineyard and gardens. The tradition of winemaking on this property has been handed down for years—we’ve just updated it. We added quality control measures and modern, environmentally sound methods to an old procedure. We take a really hands-on approach, and I believe that’s the beauty of this craft.” He finally glanced up at me with a faint look of trepidation. It was becoming apparent to me that this guy probably sat behind his comfy desk while he waved his giant wallet around and ran his equally giant mouth off at his staff. Why any staff would be loyal to a huge asshole like R. J. Lawson baffled me.

“That’s amazing. I’m really impressed, but are you saying that you actually take a really hands-on approach?” I focused on his unmarked hands again. He stood up, leaned over his desk, and glared at me. “What’s your play?”

“I don’t have a play, I’m just trying to figure out who the elusive R. J. Lawson really is.”

“Let’s head to the tasting room, unless of course you want to skip that part, go straight to my room, and perhaps get a little more personal information on R. J. Lawson?”

“You’ve made three passes at me in the last twenty minutes. You do realize I’m writing an article about you that will be published worldwide?”

“I haven’t made any passes at you. Don’t flatter yourself—you’re too uptight for me. Anyway, why don’t you just stick to writing articles on lipstick and yoga? Isn’t that what you female journalists are good at?”

“What’s going to stop me from writing about what a misogynistic dickhead you are?”

“What’s going to stop me from not approving your shit-ass article before publication?”

I looked at him and cocked my head to the side, completely bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I guess you didn’t know about that clause in the agreement I made with Jerry?”

“No, I didn’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

He smirked with pure satisfaction. “Jerry agreed to my approval over the full article before publication. If it isn’t to my liking, he’ll toss it out. So, nosey little Kate, you still think I’m a dickhead?”

My heart was racing. I stood abruptly and leaned toward him, mere inches from his face. I balled my hands into fists and tried to contain the anger building in my chest. I took a deep breath, composed myself, and shot back, “The Verizon guy called. He wants his glasses back.”

R.J. huffed and shook his head. “Time to go. I’ll walk you over there, but I can’t say I’ll stay long. Somehow sharing wine with you lost its appeal the second I met you, and p.s., you have a mouse nose.”

Prick.

What had come over me? I couldn’t believe I was blowing the single most important assignment I had ever been given by trading juvenile insults with this asshole. His behavior was reprehensible, but so was mine, and I wondered how I would ever write an article that would do the winery, the paper, or myself any justice at all.

We headed toward the door, and to my surprise he actually held the door open for me. Susan stood from her desk in the first room and joined us as we headed out. Once outside, I looked down and saw that my suitcase was gone. In its place sat Chelsea. She was like a statue, looking out at the sun, which was slowly disappearing behind the horizon.

“Hi, Chelsea. What did you do with my suitcase?” She sat there stoically, a truly regal expression on her face. Then she turned, looked at me, then looked back, almost completely dismissing my presence.

Susan laughed. “Jamie took your bag up to the room. I can escort you over there when you’re through in the tasting room.” She smiled warmly at me and then put her arm around my shoulder. “Chelsea is going to be about as easy to win over as R.J. Don’t sweat the interview. Just write the article about the winery and forget about him.”

“Were you listening?”

“A little.” She laughed and then I started laughing. R.J. was walking far enough in front of us that he couldn’t hear our conversation.

“Is he always like that?”

She stopped and placed both hands on my shoulders, turning me toward her. She was about three inches shorter than me, a small woman but with a powerful presence. Her mouth was framed with thick frown lines. She had a naturally serious face, so when she smiled it almost looked condescending. “This winery is a really beautiful place and a fantastic operation. The people who work here have put their blood, sweat, and tears into making it what it is today.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Forget about R.J. The first thing you’ll get to experience is our phenomenal wine, and we’ve picked only the best for you to sample.”

“Thank you.” I still couldn’t understand the aloofness Susan showed toward R.J. and the frank disdain from Jamie. I smiled at her anyway and headed through the two large mahogany doors. The tasting room took my breath away. It was a large room with a high, beamed ceiling, Mission-style couches, and Arts and Crafts furniture everywhere. It felt like a cozy lodge, even though the ceiling was at least sixty feet high.

On one end of the room was a large, wooden, intricately carved mantel framing a grandiose fireplace, with river rock extending above it all the way to the ceiling. It would have been an intimidating room but there was some heavenly Miles Davis pumping through the speakers, and the warmth from the fireplace was so welcoming. There were a few patrons lounging in the chairs and couches situated near the fireplace, but most of the visitors were crowded around the large square bar in the center of the room where the tastings were happening. I walked toward the bar but stopped at a wooden hutch where some of the bottles were displayed, as well as some tapenades, jams, olive oils, and other artisanal goodies. Susan watched me patiently as I took it all in. R.J. just headed straight to the bar.

I looked up and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, at the art on the walls, at the old, early-century charm that was surely the prevailing theme. Large black-and-white photos of the winery’s vineyards hung on the walls, clearly taken decades ago. The room was a tribute. It was as if I had traveled back in time to a better place, one where you could escape the modern hustle and bustle, have a glass of wine, listen to a jazz legend, and just be. I followed Susan to the bar, and as soon as I recognized the Miles Davis song, Jamie turned from the other side and came walking toward us. It was the song “Someday My Prince Will Come.” Jamie never took his eyes off me.

He threw his arms up and smiled from ear to ear. “Katy, you made it!”

“I did.”

“Good to see you again.”

He reached a hand over to R.J. “R.J.”

“Jamie. Everything running smoothly?”

“Always, R.J. Always.”

Their exchange seemed strange, almost strained. I was getting the feeling that Jamie wasn’t the most compliant employee, and clearly R.J. was not the best boss. I sat next to R.J. on stools at the bar. After Jamie set two wineglasses in front of us, Susan went behind the bar and Jamie followed her to the other side. He bent his tall, six-foot frame down toward her; I saw her whisper something in his ear. He looked at her cautiously and then she rubbed her hand up and down his back before he leaned over again and kissed her cheek. She patted his back and then left, waving to me as she walked away. There was something very maternal about her behavior toward Jamie. When he turned and headed back toward us, I took in his appearance more closely. He had cleaned up since our encounter on the road. He was wearing a black polo shirt with the R. J. Lawson logo on it and dark Levi’s cuffed over a pair of new-looking Converse. His hair was slicked back. I noticed it was long enough for a little curl of hair to just barely stick out from behind his ears. It drew my eyes to that part of his neck. As he was pouring the first tasting, I glanced up and noticed his eyes were on me.

He shot me a crooked grin. “See something you like?” I shook my head nervously.

R.J.’s cell phone rang. “Put that thing away, man,” Jamie said to R.J., scowling. Oh my god.

“I have to take this,” R.J. said as he got up and walked toward the door.

“Wow, I can’t believe you talk to him like that.”

“He’s kind of on my shit list right now. You know, no raise in a while.” He smiled and then tilted his head toward the wine he had just poured. The small bit of growth on his face couldn’t hide his subtle dimples when he grinned. He was undeniably handsome with his chiseled jawline, but there was also something really adorable about him. He still had a hint of baby face hidden in his rugged good looks.

I reached for the glass. “That’s our 2009 Estate Pinot Noir, the big award winner.” He watched me as I took a sip. When his gaze moved to my mouth, I noticed a tiny smirk play on his lips. “What do you think?”

“It’s amazing, totally decadent and vibrant.” He began nodding and smiling, seemingly thrilled at my satisfaction. “The acidity is perfectly balanced and it has such a full, earthy finish. It’s really fantastic.” He was watching my mouth again.

“I thought you would like it,” he said softly.

The brief moment was intense. It seemed like it would have felt completely normal to lean over and kiss him as a way of thanking him for the wine. I had to do something quick.

“R.J. hit on me like twenty times during the interview. I wish I liked him more because this place is wonderful and this wine is absolutely divine.” That definitely shattered the moment.

Jamie’s eyes went wide and the muscle in his jaw flexed. “He hit on you?”

“Yeah, big time.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“God, what an ass.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you tell Susan?”

“I think she heard him, but anyway, what good would that do?”

“Well, she might be able to straighten him out.” He was wearing a slightly penitent smile but I couldn’t understand why. “I’m really sorry he treated you that way.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”

He nodded slowly but seemed unconvinced. “What else did you talk about in the interview?” Jamie’s eyebrows were pinched together and his lips were completely flat. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer him. “Did he mention how hard we work here to make this place completely sustainable?”

“Yes, he did,” I said immediately and smiled.

He nodded. “Good, that’s good.”

“He just didn’t tell me much about his personal life. I was trying to find out about the organization in Africa.”

“The organization is great. It’s really grown over the last eight years, and it does a lot of good for people, especially children all over Africa.”

“I guess R.J. might not be so bad after all.” I reached for my glass and took the final sip of wine.

“Let’s move on. What can I give you next—something deeper, more full-bodied?” Somehow I forgot that Jamie was talking about wine. He was leaning forward with his forearms resting on the bar. He looked me right in the eyes so intensely that it felt like he was looking inside of me.

“Huh?” Now I was watching his mouth. He smirked very slightly.

“What would you like to taste next, Katy?”

“Uh, what?” My voice got really high.

“The wine, Katy. The wine,” he said, chuckling.

“Oh, right! Um, actually I’m famished, I think I really need to get to my room and settle in. I should get a bite before I have any more wine, otherwise you’ll have to carry me out of this place.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said. At that point R.J. had returned quietly and sat at the bar to finish his glass.

“Would you like me to walk you to your room? Or maybe you can use those investigative reporter skills to find it on your own?” He really was a smug bastard.

Before I could respond, Jamie chimed in, “Susan said she’d walk her up.”

“Well then, I must be going. Kate, I guess we have to give this another shot when I’m back in town on Thursday, although I don’t think either one of us is too thrilled about that.” He turned without addressing Jamie and headed toward the door.

I couldn’t hold back, and once he was out of earshot, I let out the sigh I had been holding back. “What a total jackass.”

Jamie nodded and then reached over and grabbed my hands in his. “Listen, forget about him—just write about the winery. We all love it here. He was being a jackass, but it’s not a reflection of what we do. Susan and Guillermo and I will show you everything that we do here.” There was urgency in his voice. “Listen, Katy, go up to your room and relax, I’ll have the chef send up something special. I’m really sorry about R.J.”

“Are you related to Susan?” I asked. He jerked his head back in surprise. “Well, I just saw the way you spoke to her, and it looked like she was comforting you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I guess I would say that Susan has been sort of like a mom to me. She got me this job.”

“Huh, interesting.” I stood slowly from my barstool. “I have a lot of questions.” I said it softly, almost to myself, but I knew Jamie heard me.

“Let’s pick up this conversation later. Do you have any food allergies, or is there anything you don’t eat?”

“I’m a vegetarian.”

“Okay.” He smiled warmly at me. There was silence as we stared at each other. The connection was palpable. “Truffle mushroom risotto?”

I was in a daze, still staring into his eyes and he into mine. It felt like he was burrowing into the depths of my soul. He was captivating me, enchanting me with fancy names for rice dishes. I must have been very hungry.

“Is that hyperbole?”

“No.” He laughed. “It’s Chef Mark’s signature dish.”

“It sounds amazing.”

He paused then whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

“I have a boyfriend.” I whispered back.

“You mentioned that.”

Right at that moment my knees buckled, but luckily Susan had suddenly appeared at my side and grabbed me from around the waist, hitching me up.

“You need to eat, young lady. You’re a waif, and we don’t want you passing out on us,” she said.

I looked up at Jamie, who shrugged. “She’s right. Up to your room, young lady.”

Susan pulled me toward the door, and I turned and spoke over my shoulder. “Bye, Jamie. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“At least,” he said, grinning.

Walking toward the inn, I took the opportunity to drill Susan.

“Does Jamie ride a motorcycle?”

“No.”

“Is he in a band?”

“Not that I know of.”

“What about rodeo. Does he rodeo?”

She laughed. “Jamie does a great many things around the R.J. Lawson property. He is our resident jack-of-all-trades—you’ll see that for yourself over the next few days. And while I see you’ve picked up on some of his bad boy tendencies, he really is just a sweet, good ol’ boy.” Her smile flattened abruptly as she squared her small frame and looked me right in the eyes. “You should know that he’s like a son to me. He’s experienced great personal loss and betrayal by the people who were supposed to love him. He’s found a home and a family in this place. I hope you don’t come in here looking for some kind of story in all of this. Or maybe you’re looking for a fling? If so, you’re looking in the wrong place,” she said with a perfunctory smile.

“Whoa, Susan. Jamie seems like he can take care of himself,” I said. She shrugged. “Anyway, I was just curious. I have a boyfriend, by the way.”

“Who are you reminding of that fact?”

My eyes began to well up. She was putting me on the spot and embarrassing me, but I held back the tears. I was a professional.

“I’m looking for details for the article, that’s it. I’m supposed to be writing an article on R. J. Lawson and, well . . . you know how that interview went.” I said the last part with a huge lump in my throat.

“I’m sorry, Kate. He acted very inappropriately. That is not what we’re about here, and I’ve asked that he complete the interview via e-mail so you don’t have to go through that all over again on Thursday.”

“What? No! My whole reason for being here is to conduct the interview in person. I won’t get the answers I need if he can calculate all of his responses in an e-mail.”

She tilted her head to the side and then huffed. “That man has a very small role in the operations here.”

I pointed my finger up to the sky. “I knew it! It’s just his big, fat, stupid wallet, isn’t it? Everybody thinks he’s like this genius, but he probably just throws his money at everything.”

She took a deep breath. “I know where you’re headed, Kate. Look, the staff will show you around and let you in on how we run the winery, restaurant, and inn. It’s up to you what goes in that article, but I know by now you’ve heard that R.J. has veto power, so I hope you’ll think twice about how you approach your commentary.”

We entered the large, three-story bed-and-breakfast and went up a small flight of stairs to the first level. I held on to the fine, polished, wooden banister until we reached the landing. She handed me a key. “Your room is here. Your dinner should be up soon. I hope we can all start fresh tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it,” I said sincerely. I’m going to get a story no matter what.

She smiled and headed down the stairs, shouting back, “You’ll get an itinerary under your door in the morning.”

Wow, an itinerary? This was one carefully organized operation.

I shut the door and leaned against it, surveying the room, then slowly made my way around. It was finely decorated in the same Arts and Crafts style as the lobby. Great taste. It had a Mission-style four-poster bed next to double doors leading out to a small balcony housing two captain’s chairs. The bathroom had a beautiful claw-foot tub, with gold fixtures and ornate tiles running along the walls, framing a porcelain pedestal sink. I collapsed into the feather bed covered in white fluffy pillows and an eyelet duvet and proceeded to type a text to Stephen.

Kate: I’m okay, not that you care.

Stephen: Do you realize how late it is here?

I’d really had a colossal mind-fuck of a day, but I was feeling feisty and decided to go for it.

Kate: Do you love me?

My phone rang instantly.

“What’s going on, sweetie?”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know where I’m at and what I’m doing?”

“You’re out of town on an assignment.”

“I’m not in the fucking Secret Service, Stephen. I told you where I was going, but of course you weren’t listening.”

“You’ve been distant.”

“Me?” I said in shock.

He sighed. “Ever since Rose died and you started having that dream, Kate—that bizarre fucking dream—and following that homeless dude around on the train like you worship him. I don’t get what’s going on with you. I wouldn’t blame you for losing your mind for a little while, but this has been going on for months.”

“I . . .”

“No, listen. We’re different, Kate; we always have been. Things have felt wrong for a long time.”

“Hold on. Are you beating me to the punch, you asshole?! You’re trying to break up with me first?”

“Listen . . .”

“No, you listen, Stephen. God, how can you be so heartless? It’s not a dream I keep having about Rose, it’s a fucking nightmare, and sometimes I wake up from it and realize the nightmare is real. She’s gone, just like my mother. She’s never coming back, but her sad, lonely life still haunts me. I was all she had, and then when she was gone, it was like she never existed. I’m terrified I’ll end up the same way, but at least I had you, though now I’m not sure I ever did . . . It doesn’t matter now.” I calmed down while Stephen remained silent. “It doesn’t matter now because I don’t want you. I’ll tell you why I’ve been listening to Bob on the train. It’s because he’s right. I’m all I’ve got.”

I began crying but made certain Stephen couldn’t hear me. Then he finally said in the calmest voice, “Well, I guess that’s it then, Kate,” indifference seeping through every syllable.

I swallowed. “Tell me the truth. Do you really think you love me?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think by now you should know.” My voice cracked.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“So that’s your answer?”

Without waiting for him to respond, I hung up, feeling more stupefied than sad. The tears had stopped. I was shocked—not that I was losing Stephen, but that I had wasted two years of my life with someone who didn’t love me. I guessed my reaction meant that I wasn’t in love with him, either. Stunned, I stared at a tiny crack in the wall for several moments until I heard three rapid knocks. A shiver ran through me before I hopped off the bed and ran to the door, swinging it open dramatically. There was an older man carrying a tray. Had it been Jamie, I might have jumped into his arms. “Your dinner, ma’am.” I stepped aside and let him set the tray on the small dining table in the corner of the room. “Truffle mushroom risotto and a bottle of our 2009 Pinot Noir, compliments of Chef Mark Struthers and R. J. Lawson.”

“Oh, right!” I laughed maniacally, making a crazy cackling sound. The day had really gotten to me. The waiter gave me a frightened look as he opened the bottle of wine and proceeded to pour a glass.

“Enjoy, ma’am,” he said and then hurried out the door. Once he was gone, I plopped onto the bed again as the tears began flowing once more. I thought about Stephen and tried to conjure up one truly happy memory with him besides him fucking me on the washer in the basement, which could hardly be deemed as happy. In retrospect, our time together was mediocre at best.

Rose never liked him; she had said he was cold fish. I thought about the dream Stephen referred to in our argument. Shortly after Rose died, I began questioning my life so deeply that it started to unnerve me. Not having any family or knowing where you come from can make you feel like you don’t exist.

I would look in the mirror and not recognize myself. I would say, “Who am I?” over and over, and the feeling, the anxiety of not knowing the answer, would send me into a panic. I wished I’d asked every question I could think of before she died, but I didn’t. There were just a few pictures and a tiny bit of information that I knew about my parents and grandparents, but it wasn’t enough to imagine their lives. In my mind, if they didn’t exist then I didn’t exist, and it was when I started believing that to be true that the dreams began, those tiny whispers that sent me reeling.

Rose’s funeral was closed casket, but in my dream it was open and she was lying there, looking nothing like herself. In my dream she wore white, a color she never wore and a dress she certainly did not own and one I definitely did not bury her in. It looked like a wedding dress with lace sleeves and a satin bodice, but Rose had never married—like my mother, she lived a solitary and mundane existence. I walked toward her and could feel someone else’s presence next to me, but I didn’t know who it was. I leaned over and stared at Rose, lying there lifeless and appearing much younger than she had been in reality when she died. She had long brownish-red locks that tumbled over her lace-clad shoulders in the most angelic way. Even though she appeared to be about twenty years old—much younger than I ever knew her—there was an obvious sense that the body lying there was my Rose.

When I turned to look at the figure standing next to me, something stopped me, an invisible force. It was one of those dreamlike moments when you try so hard to do something physically, but your body won’t let you. I felt paralyzed. All I knew was that the figure gave off a peaceful and soothing presence. I wondered if it was my mother or my father or God. Looking back down into the coffin, I noticed a tiny movement, and then the motion became more pronounced. I leaned in closer. Rose’s mouth was moving, but I could tell she was having trouble. I knew it was wired shut, the way a body is traditionally prepared for burial. Her eyes bolted open as wide as could be, and she was violently moving her lips, trying to open her mouth; it was horrifying. She’s alive! Help her, I kept shouting, but my voice made no sound. She finally pried her lips apart. Her expression was urgent. She was desperately trying to give me a message, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. All I could hear was the sound of heartbeats, and that’s the moment when I would always wake up.

Every time I had that dream, I would wish for one more second. I would replay the scene over and over, wanting so badly to decipher what she was trying to tell me. Her dead body lying there in a casket trying to speak to me was the most frightful vision. Still, I wished I could get an inch closer, just to hear her, because I knew it was a whisper. Even terrified, I knew it was a whisper that would change the course of my life forever, if only I understood what the message was.

Perhaps she was warning me about Stephen. Maybe it was her last plea for me to kick him to the curb. And maybe, just maybe, she had sent Bob down to remind me that I’m all I’ve got.

I composed myself, took a deep breath, walked over to the table, sat down, put the napkin across my lap, and began eating. Table for one, and I was okay with it. I was going to concentrate on my job, write the article, hopefully impress everyone at the paper, and move on with my life.

One glass of that fine Pinot was not enough; I had two, then three. The risotto was divine. I ate every single bite and thought, See, this is the life. Nobody gives a shit about me and that’s okay, because I give a shit about me.

It was dark out on the balcony, I could see every single star in the sky as I polished off my glass of wine. It made me feel as insignificant in the world as I knew I was. I walked in and called the front desk and told them they could collect the tray. I had drunk three quarters of a bottle of wine and was feeling numb when I heard the same three knocks. My plan was to apologize to the poor man for my wacky behavior earlier, but when I opened the door he wasn’t there. In his place stood Jamie, in all his glorious beauty. He had a small box in one hand and something else behind his back in the other. I took a step back and let him enter the room.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Don’t you ever go home?” One corner of his mouth turned up, revealing the dimple. I realized my comment sounded rude. “I mean, do you work twenty-four hours a day?”

“I live on the property.”

“Here?” I motioned around the room.

“No, I live in . . .” He laughed a little before speaking again. “I live in the barn.”

“You live in the barn?” My eyes went wide.

“It’s a really nice barn, okay?” he said in a low voice. There was something about the way he said it that made my fingers tingle, like he was promising me something—an invitation, perhaps.

For a few moments we were quiet and shy. I’d had a lot of wine.

“How was the risotto?” He glanced down at my mouth.

“Delicious.”

“I like the way you say that word, like you really mean it.”

“I do,” I said, and then brazenly looked him up and down.

“I brought you something.” He held out the small box and then set it on the long entry table, along with another bottle of Pinot. “In case you need backup. And that’s just a little treat,” he said, pointing to the box.

“I doubt I should be drinking any more wine.”

He shrugged. “Well, just in case.” He turned to walk out. At the door, he looked back at me. “It was nice to meet you, Kate. I hope you have a good night.”

“Wait a minute.”

He turned immediately, and there was something hopeful in the look on his face. “Yeah?”

“Well, I want to see what you brought me so I can thank you properly in person.” I took the small box and opened it to find two of the most decadent-looking salted chocolate caramels seated on two tiny doilies. “Oh, my favorite. How’d you know?”

“Good guess, I suppose.” He was still standing near the door, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“And thank you for the wine, but really, I shouldn’t have any more.”

“We can share it if you want.”

I smiled then took a chocolate from the box and bit into it, the caramel stringing out over my fingers. Taking a few steps toward him, I reached my hand out, holding the chocolate near his mouth. “We can share.” I was drunk, but I didn’t care.

He wrapped his hand around my wrist, pulling it closer. He never took his eyes off of mine when he slowly took the chocolate with his mouth and then sucked the caramel off my index finger. He leaned in next to my ear and spoke softly. “Does your boyfriend like to share?” Flushed from head to toe, I stood there, speechless. He stepped back and laughed a little.

“I’m just messing with you, Katy.” He searched my face. I was shocked. “I’ll be respectful, I promise.”

I mock-punched him in the chest. “All right, open the wine then.”

“Is that how you ask nicely?”

“Oh, you’re pushing it.” We both laughed. “Okay, please, let’s have some wine.”

He grabbed the bottle, bottle opener, and two glasses and then said, “Let’s take a walk. We should be outside on a gorgeous night like this. I’ll show you the pool.”

Taking nothing but my room key, I followed him toward the door. I glanced in the mirror. I was still wearing my demure work clothes and matronly shoes. I had piled my hair on top of my head in a messy bun and had faint black mascara streaks under my eyes from crying. I was the picture of a man’s worst date. It’s not a date, I reminded myself, but I was also beginning to realize Jamie wasn’t just any man. It didn’t seem like he was turned off.

It was hard not to stare at him. There was something sweet but innately confident about the way he carried himself. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, he gave a chin nod to the man behind the front desk.

“Going to the pool, George.”

“Okay buddy, I’ll send some towels over.”

I started to object. What on earth would we need towels for?

Jamie jutted an elbow out for me to loop my arm through, and then he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, towels are good for sitting on.”

“Right,” I said assuredly.

We walked through the large great room, out to a huge veranda, and down several small sections of stone stairs to a gate. I read a sign on the fence that said the pool closed at ten.

“It’s got to be after ten.”

“I clean this pool. I can swim in it any time I want.” He winked.

“I thought we weren’t swimming? Wait a minute, you clean the pool, too? What don’t you do around here?”

“I’ve worked every job on this property for at least a day. I even did housekeeping for a week.”

“Why?”

“Curiosity, I guess. I wanted to know how to do each job, and Susan really loves me so she let me give it a go. Sometimes I just fill in for other people because I’m always here, you know?”

“Is R.J. always here?”

“He’s here a lot.”

The pool was gorgeous, with a stone waterfall on the opposite side from where we were standing near a table. While Jamie opened the wine, I pulled a chair out.

“Let’s dip our feet in.” He looked up at me eagerly. “Want to?”

“Isn’t it cold?”

“It’s heated.”

“Okay.”

I kicked my shoes off and rolled up my slacks, then followed him to the edge of the pool, where he set two towels down. He rolled up his jeans and sat gracefully before dunking his feet into the water. My fingers twitched with a desire to smooth back the disheveled hair that had fallen into his face. I watched intently as he reached up and ran his hand through it, displaying the flexing muscles in his arm. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. When he handed my wine over, he noticed me staring.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just want to forget about everything for a little while.”

“Really?” He looked excited. I nodded. “I have a great idea.”

I dipped my feet in. The water was very warm, like bathwater. It was immediately calming my nerves.

“What’s your idea?”

“Well, curious Katy, I’ll show you.”

He jumped up, ran to the gate, tinkered with something, and then all the lights went out—the lights in the pool, all around the patio area, even the waterfall. Everything was silent. I could see steam rising from the surface of the water. A million more stars became visible. I sipped my wine and then heard Will Ryan’s soulful voice filtering softly through the outdoor speakers. Jamie appeared at my side.

“I love this guy. He’s so good,” I said.

“Yeah, he’s awesome. He and his wife are playing at a little local bar on Saturday, if you want to check it out with me?”

“I’d love to, if I’m still here.” I finally looked up and noticed that gorgeous Jamie was shirtless and undoing his belt buckle. Even in the dark, I could see the sinewy muscles of his arms and his defined abs and chest. He just smiled playfully at me. “What are you doing?” I whispered loudly.

“We’re gonna take your mind off things with a little dip.”

“I’m not taking a dip.”

“Okay, fine.” He yanked his jeans off and leaped into the pool, wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue and gray plaid boxers.

When he surfaced, he held his boxers by a finger above his head and spun them around as if he were doing a striptease. He flung them toward me and they landed just to my left.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe you just did that.”

“What? You can’t see me. Anyway, I know you have the crazy in you. You’ll be in here in no time.”

“How do you know that?”

“The pretty ones are always a little cray-cray.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“You have no idea,” he said with no trace of humor. “Just get in here, Katy. I promise I won’t look.”

At that point, it’s fair to say that I was drunk, completely and utterly drunk from the wine, and Jamie’s presence did nothing to sober me up. His long, wet hair left little glimmering droplets on his shoulders. I giggled. “Turn around, you better not peek!”

“I promise.” He waded to one end of the pool and turned his back to me.

I quickly stripped down to my black bra and panties. Looking down, I thought it could easily pass for a swimsuit except that it was silk. Oh well.

As quietly as I could, I slipped into the pool on the opposite end of where Jamie stood. There were at least thirty yards between us. The pool felt amazing. I relaxed for a moment and then realized I was in a pool with a naked man I’d just met. A very attractive naked man.

“Okay, I’m in, Jamie, but keep your safe distance.”

He turned around, grinned from ear to ear, and then disappeared under the water.

Good god, what is he doing?

I was suddenly very nervous. A small part of me was actually frightened. If it weren’t for Will Ryan’s sweet words pumping through the speakers, I would have been terrified. His hands on my hips didn’t startle me at all because I could feel him getting closer. He rose out of the water, his warm hands gripping my waist. He wasn’t smiling; he was searching my eyes. I looked around quickly and then back to his shoulders and pecs as he lifted his arms and slicked his hair back with both hands. I could see his tensing neck muscles. There was very little stopping me from licking the drops of water off his arms. I closed my eyes as he closed the gap between us. I felt his mouth brush my neck and then move toward my ear. “Baby, open your eyes.”

“I . . .”

“I know. You have a boyfriend.” One side of his mouth turned up. He moved back a few inches. “We can be friends though, right?”

“Yes,” I sighed.

“You were crying earlier. Why?”

“I shook my head.”

“Please tell me it wasn’t because of how R.J. treated you?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I just want to forget everything.”

He nodded, looking away for a second. “Are you ticklish?”

“Don’t you dare.”

He laughed. “Well, there is one thing I know . . .”

“What’s that, smart guy?”

He put his hands on my hips again and I let him, even though I knew it was crossing the line. It felt so good, like being enveloped in warmth and security.

His mouth turned up into a knowing smile, and then he said, almost wistfully, “Just being your friend is going to be hard, but I’ll try. It’s just that . . . I like you. You’re witty and sweet, and you happen to be the most infinitely beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” I sucked in a startled breath. He paused, looking all drowsy with desire before opening his mouth to speak again.

“Don’t,” I murmured.

“It’s not hyperbole, Katy. I promise.”

Giggling nervously, I slowly sunk beneath the water, thinking Jamie was out of his mind. I never would have described myself the way he just did.

But then again, I had allowed Stephen to make me feel like I was barely worth coming home to.