Nowhere but Here

Page 7 Poetry

While visiting my room and cleaning up, I decided to go back to a blazer and flats instead of heels. Heels somehow seemed out of place here. I headed toward the restaurant and caught Jamie standing in the doorway of his truck. Hearing me come toward him¸ he turned. “I have to meter really quick before we eat.” He was wearing a clean white T-shirt and black jeans with Converse. His hair was damp and slicked back. The growth on his face was thicker than the day before, and I wondered what it would feel like to brush my cheek against his.

I stood next to him and watched as he popped open a small container with test strips and then inserted one into the meter. He took a smaller device, a lancet, I assumed, and pricked his finger then smoothed the drop of blood over the strip extending from the meter.

“One hundred exactly. I’m good to go.”

“What do you do when it’s too high or too low?”

“Well, my ever-curious little kitten, I’ll tell you all about that tonight when we go sailing. You’ll need to know.” He winked.

That little tidbit made me nervous. “Why will I need to know?”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the restaurant, ignoring my question. “Come on, I’m starving.”

The restaurant had a bar stretching around the open kitchen. Jamie explained that it was designed so guests could get an up-close experience with the chefs, who prepared their signature dishes and offered the guests wine pairings. The restaurant, called Beijar, was finely decorated and lit, with dark, rich booths and muted lighting against the stark light from the kitchen. The effect highlighted the clean, stainless-steel counters and drew my eyes to where the magic happened. I had no doubt Beijar was an experience as much as it was a meal.

We took our seats on the stools at the kitchen bar. Before Chef Mark came in, I swiveled toward Jamie. “Where did they get the name from?”

“It means ‘kiss’ in Portuguese.” When I was with Jamie I forgot about everything else. Just the word “kiss” coming out of his mouth could freeze time.

“Oh.”

“Food is like love, you know?”

“Yes,” I said breathlessly.

“We need it to stay alive.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And wine is like poetry.”

His words, his warmth, were like a stun gun to my brain. I was conscious of nothing but his words. “Oh?”

“If it’s good wine.” He revealed his dimple. “If not, then it’s a tragedy.”

I realized that he had dimples on both cheeks, but his smile was always just a little crooked so it only showed up one side. Adorable.

“Is it Portuguese food?”

“Not really. There’s a little inspiration, but it’s traditional American, farm to table.”

Chef Mark entered. “Hi, Kate.” He reached over and shook my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Chef.” He wore the standard white chef’s shirt and a black bandana across his hair, tied at the back of his neck. He was an average-looking guy of forty, at least, but his presence was strong. I imagined that he could command a busy kitchen of chefs and servers.

Jamie reached over, shook his hand as well, and said, “Chef.”

“Hey, buddy.” Clapping once, he suggested, “Why don’t we start with a salad trio?”

“That sounds fabulous.” Jamie got us glasses of water and opened a bottle of the Pinot while Chef Mark got to work. He poured me a glass but only poured himself a quarter of the amount.

“Why so little for you? Are you sick of the wine?”

“No, I love the wine, but I can’t have too much because of the diabetes. I can taste it, though. I’d like to have some with you later, so I’m saving up.” My heart did a somersault.

Chef Mark set a plate in front of me, describing each of the four salads as he pointed them out. “Heirloom tomatoes. Avocado and corn in a light vinaigrette. Quinoa with mango and red peppers. And, finally, beet and kale with goat cheese. Enjoy.”

I took a bite of the avocado coated in dressing. Jamie watched my mouth as I chewed.

“What do you taste?” he asked.

“Shallots and lemon and avocado.” I took a bite of the tomato. “That is perfection.”

“We grow those in a hothouse on the estate. The big tomatoes are harder to grow outside in this region.”

Chef Mark asked me how I was enjoying the salads. He mentioned that there weren’t a ton of vegetarian dishes on the menu but that he would try his best to make accommodations.

“Well, I eat seafood, too.” Jamie and Chef Mark both jerked their heads back.

Leaning in, Chef Mark spoke in the gentlest voice. “You are not a vegetarian, sweetie. You’re a pescetarian.”

“That sounds like a religion.”

Jamie laughed and looked over at me with a pitying expression. It was funny how I had berated Stephen on the very topic of being a vegetarian, but here I was getting lectured myself.

“This opens up many possibilities for us. Halibut or salmon, which would you prefer?” Chef Mark asked.

“Surprise me.”

“This opens up possibilities for me, too,” Jamie said, turning his body toward me.

“How’s that?”

He took my fork and stabbed the last piece of avocado off my plate and held it to my mouth. I opened for him. “I like feeding you. I want to take you into the city tomorrow night for dinner. Will you let me do that?” I had swallowed the avocado and now my mouth was hanging open. I must have looked like a moron. He shook his head and ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “There’s no more. It’s all gone, angel.” I shut my mouth and shook my head, inhaling through my nose deeply to clear my head. I still couldn’t believe his effect on me.

“So, will you let me take you to dinner tomorrow?”

“Okay.” Positively, undeniably, absolutely, emphatically, definitely, one hundred percent YES!

We finished the lunch, which I could only describe as erotic, although I don’t think Jamie was intentionally trying to make it that way. He fed me the last little bites off my plate, clearly a stickler about wasting food, but it was the attention that he gave me that lit my insides on fire. Never in my life had anyone given me that kind of attention. I sat there trying to commit each moment to memory so I could relive it later when I was . . . alone. Ahem.

Jamie was still a mystery to me. Even though it felt like I had known him forever, I hadn’t asked him one real question about his life, his family—nothing. I made a mental note to do that and then I scolded myself for getting tongue-tied around him. I could not let that happen anymore. He practically hypnotized me with his looks alone. Add to that his words and his sweet mannerisms, and he fully entranced me. I thought about his thumb on my lip and how at ease I was with him. When we parted ways after lunch, I glanced at my phone and calculated the hours until I would see him again.

Susan and I met in her office for the facility tour. She basically took me through each of the buildings and explained the inspiration for the architecture and décor. She informed me that the inn and restaurant were legally on a separate piece of property from the winery itself. She said R.J. had gone to great lengths to make sure that the entire operation abided by all of the strict rules handed down by the Napa County Board. She said that he had paid more than the winery was worth, and it wasn’t a matter of him throwing his money around so much as it was his passion to give the pleasure of this beautiful place to others. She referred to the winery as his escape. I couldn’t see that at all. He seemed barely involved. When I tried to pry deeper into the dynamic between the employees and R.J., she skirted the issue.

“I just didn’t see one redeeming quality in him, but I keep hearing about all of the wonderful things he’s done. Jamie called him a ‘douche’ on the first day and you said yourself to forget about him.” She studied me intently as I spoke.

“Let’s just say he was having an off day. I would recommend that you focus on the winery and operations, not whether or not R.J. is living up to his reputation. If he wants anonymity, what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s not in my nature to give anyone anonymity. I came here to get the story on him.”

“I can see that. I left his e-mail address on a note in your room. You can send him any more questions you have, but I really believe you will get the best information here, on the grounds.”

We left each other abruptly. I got the sense that Susan liked me but was perhaps frustrated with R.J.’s distance and lack of participation.

I went back up to my room and began to draft an e-mail to R.J.

Dear R.J.,

I’m sorry our first interview didn’t go as well as we both hoped. I think e-mail will be a better platform for us. I’ve listed a few questions. Please answer at your discretion.

All the best,

Kate Corbin

Chicago Crier

1. Can you give me any details about your personal life? Are you single? Do you live alone? What are your hobbies? Is your family involved in your business ventures?

2. Why did you decide to buy a winery?

3. Why did you sell J-Com Technologies?

When I hit SEND, an error message popped up reminding me that I still wasn’t connected to the Wi-Fi. I fiddled for twenty minutes with it before finally resorting to typing the e-mail on my phone and sending it. Within half an hour, he responded in complete narrative form.

Kate,

I’m really sorry about yesterday. I didn’t conduct myself professionally and I apologize. I’m trying desperately to keep my personal life private. I’ll give you some background and then try to answer your questions as efficiently as possible. I was in the public eye from the age of thirteen when I graduated from high school. By sixteen, I had a degree from MIT and a brand new company, J-Com Technologies. After patenting new server technology, I was coined “The Boy Genius” in the media. It was a tough role to live up to. I was under a great deal of pressure, even with the unwavering support of my father, who essentially ran the company.

Although my love for discovery and science never died, my interests and focus began to change back then. There was a night when I realized that all of the glory of my early success translated into money, but the money only made me feel empty. I had to teach myself to look at it differently, to look at the money as representing something more basic: clean water, food, vaccines, shelter, and for the very lucky, education. It was the realization that a third of the world’s population is poor, hungry, and dying of preventable diseases that pushed me to sell J-Com. I did not want to waste my time on what I felt were frivolous things, and that’s why I got out when I did.

I took the money, started a foundation, and went to Africa, where I spent almost ten years traveling around, building schools and infrastructure. My foundation still provides vaccines for thousands, and we work tirelessly to provide small villages the proper resources to get plumbing and clean water. That is my passion. I spend several months a year there.

The winery is my escape. I’ve also used it to test clean energy theories, but mostly it’s a home to me. I am single and live alone. My hobbies are typical. I am very close to my father, who lives in Portland. He’s a retired Boeing engineer. My mother was killed in a traffic accident four years ago. She was hit head-on by a girl texting on her phone. Because of that, I spend very little time around the technological gadgets I helped to invent. My mother’s death tore me up so badly that I needed to find something to focus my energy on, and that is why I bought the winery. I have one sibling, a younger sister in Boston. We’re not close. I think that about wraps it up.

Again, I’m sorry for yesterday. I hope that experience didn’t taint your view of the winery.

Kind Regards,

R.J.

And there it was. I had my story. I didn’t need to write an article; R.J. had basically done it for me: philanthropist, genius, douche bag with a heart. That was going to be my angle. The tragedy of his mother’s death drove him to buy the winery and escape into the hills of Napa Valley, leaving the tech world behind. I wanted to spotlight the winery in the article as well as the good he was doing in Africa with his organization, but I struggled with how R.J. had treated me during our meeting. I wondered if he really needed his ego stroked any more.

I glanced at the clock. It was three fifty. I showered in three minutes, threw on a coat of lip gloss and mascara, and got dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and flats. When I got to the stairway, Jamie was there at the bottom. I reached for the banister but saw him slowly shaking his head back and forth.

“What?”

He pointed toward my door. “Back in there, lady. You need sneakers and a sweatshirt.” I huffed and rolled my eyes like a teenager before turning and heading back to my room. When I came down the stairs, he was leaning his back against the banister with his hands in his pockets, looking relaxed and delicious. He was wearing jeans, a thicker black jacket, and his plain black baseball cap. He looked dangerous, and then he flashed me a dimple and it all went poof. No more danger. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Everyone who?” he asked without turning to look at me. We passed the front desk and Jamie shot his hand up in a wave. “See ya, George.” The same man who was working behind the desk the night before waved to us.

“Who all is going sailing?”

He stopped in the parking lot as we approached his truck and turned toward me.

“It’s just you and me.” He hesitated, searching my face. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, I just don’t understand why you made such a big deal about dinner if you already had plans to sweep me away tonight?” I said, fluttering my eyelashes coquettishly.

“Dinner is intimate. This is sport. It’ll be fun.” He opened the passenger door. I hopped in. Chelsea sat on the sidewalk, glaring at us. He turned and spotted her. “You have to stay here, girl.” And then he pointed toward the inn. “Go lay down on your bed.” Her head dropped as she walked away slowly. She knew exactly what was going on.

As we turned onto the main road, I rolled down the window and stuck my head out, letting the wind dry my hair. Jamie turned up the radio.

“Who is this?” I shouted.

“The Amazing. It’s a song called ‘Dragon.’ ”

“It sounds old.”

“It’s not. What are you doing, crazy girl?”

“What does it look like, genius? I’m drying my hair.”

He laughed, shaking his head. I closed my eyes and felt the wind whip my long hair all over. I listened to the music and let the lowering sun beat down on my face. When my hair was adequately dry, I rolled the window up and Jamie turned down the music.

“All right, Katy, we need to talk about a few things.”

“Yes, because I have questions, too.”

“Well, first of all, I need to talk to you about the diabetes.” There were two rectangular canisters sitting between us on the truck seat, one orange and one black, both about the size of a sunglasses case. “The black case has my meter and insulin, and you won’t need to worry about that because I can do that myself. When my blood sugar is high and I need insulin, I’m usually alert. When it’s low, I can take these glucose tablets or drink some juice.” He held up a bottle of glucose tablets. “If it gets really low, I get groggy. If it gets too low, there’s a chance I could pass out.” My eyes got huge. He glanced over at me. “I’ve never passed out, but I’ve gotten really low. If I pass out, you’ll need to give me that shot in the orange case. It’s a glucagon kit.” He looked over quickly and then returned his gaze to the road. “Kate, are you okay?”

“Yes. Where do I inject you?” He pointed to his ass and grinned. “Of course it would have to be there.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to worry about it, but since we’ll be on a boat, I thought it was important to tell you.”

“Are we going on R.J.’s boat?”

“It’s my boat.” He snickered.

“Yesterday, when you gave me the ride up the driveway, you called R.J. a douche.” He didn’t respond. I let a few moments go by. “Jamie?”

“He can be, but he wasn’t himself in that interview. I think it was a case of paranoia, to be honest with you.”

“He had a funny way of showing it . . . by hitting on me?”

Shaking his head back and forth, he said, “I know, he was an idiot. R.J. usually tries to do the right thing, but sometimes it just backfires.”

I quietly watched Jamie for a few minutes and studied his tattoos as he turned the steering wheel.

“Where did you get your tattoos? They all look different.”

“I’ve gotten them all over the world. I traveled a lot after college.”

“They’re really interesting. Not typical at all. Do they mean anything?”

“Yes. Some do.” He looked over, wearing a small, sad smile, so I decided to drop the subject.

“Where are we going, exactly?”

“We’re sailing out of Sausalito. That’s where I keep my boat. We’re almost there.”

The sun was moving lower in the sky and the air was much cooler when we stepped onto the docks in Sausalito. “There she is.” He pointed to what looked like a thirty-foot standard keel sailboat. When I got closer, I noticed that it was an older boat with beautiful, polished wood decking, sleek lines, and a very tall mast.

Once we reached the boat, Jamie immediately started unhooking cords and coiling up lines on the dock. He unhooked the safety cable and stepped on board easily, then turned and held out his hand for me. “Step up on the block there, Katy, and then onto the boat. You can have a seat. I need to get a few things ready.” He gestured toward a bench in the cockpit behind the large steering wheel. I watched as he removed covers from the rolled-up sails, hooked lines, and then removed the door leading into the bedroom below. He went down the ladder and then returned a few moments later with a blanket and red wine in a stemless glass.

“Here you are. It’s going to be really chilly out on the water.”

“I feel so spoiled. Is this what you do for all the ladies who visit R. J. Lawson Winery?”

“Hardly,” he said as he continued setting things up and tugging at lines. “I usually sail with Guillermo, sometimes Susan or her son. I don’t really like going out alone, but I’ll go on short runs with just Chelsea once in a while.”

“Cute. She hates me, by the way.”

“Maybe she’s jealous of you.”

“Are we really having this conversation about a dog?”

“She’s like a person. You said it yourself.”

“True. So tell me about the boat. How long have you had it? How long have you been sailing?”

“I learned how to sail as a kid with my dad up north, but it wasn’t until last year that I had a boat of my own. I restored this beauty. I bought her for fifteen hundred dollars last year and spent three months bringing her back to life.”

“Why am I not surprised? What’s her name?”

“Heartbeats.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

The sun was setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge. To say it was picturesque would be a gross understatement. I was in awe. Jamie backed the boat out of the slip and then moved forward out of the channel to the open water.

“Katy, what do you know about sailing?” His back was to me.

“Nothing. I’ve never even been on a sailboat.”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you know how to swim.”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll want to swim in this water, but it’s good that you know how. The life vests are under your seat just in case, and there’s a little emergency beacon and radio that you can turn on if something happens to me.”

“That sounds very scary.”

“Everything will be fine.”

“What shall I call you? Captain Jamie?”

“Or Captain Fantastic. Either one will do.” He turned to me and smiled.

Once we were in the open water, Jamie stepped aside and said, “Okay, your turn to steer.”

“Me?” I said with a shriek.

“Yes, I need to raise the sails. We’re going to turn into the wind. See the arrow up at the top of the mast?” He pointed up.

“Yes.”

“It’s always pointing in the direction that the wind is coming from. If the arrow is pointing directly to the bow of the boat, then you’re in irons; you’re driving directly into the wind. That’s what you want to do if you need to stop the boat—just turn the boat into the wind. Okay, now take the wheel.” He put his arm around my shoulder, bending close to my face, and pointed. “See that buoy in the distance?” I nodded. “Just steer the boat in that direction. That’s your heading. I’ll get the sails up and then we’ll kill the engine, my favorite part.” He jumped up on the tiny decking space and held the safety cords as he walked along toward the sails. He removed some ties and quickly raised the mainsail and then returned to the cockpit. Standing right behind me, I felt him bend close to my ear and then I heard him inhale deeply. He put his hands over mine and turned the wheel about forty degrees to the right until we were heading right for the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Okay, baby, that big bridge is your heading now. You can’t miss it, just steer straight for it.”

“Ha-ha!” I said sarcastically. Try me.

He adjusted some lines, pulling them from the winches and cleating them off. He turned a key and pulled a lever, killing the engine before quickly returning to his spot behind me. There was silence for a few moments, followed by the light sound of the wind and the water lapping at the side of the boat.

“What do you hear?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Listen closely,” he said softly near my ear.

It seemed like every sound was shut out, every worry, every care . . . gone. Once Jamie turned off the engine, there was only peace from the quiet and gentle movement. The sound of the city was a distant hum across the huge bay. The world looked like a painting, and the only movement I could see was the water around us. It was as if we were sailing across a canvas, painted with Impressionist waves, with the San Francisco skyline in the background. Sunlight dazzled us through the giant cables of the bright red bridge, silhouetting the monster in an almost frightening way. It was overwhelming to be so close to the bridge. There were no cell phones, no horns honking. Nothing. And then I heard it. I took a deep breath and said quietly, “Heartbeats. That’s what I hear. Yours and mine . . .” I turned to see him smiling.

The wind picked up rather dramatically. I shivered and he wrapped one arm around my shoulder from behind while he used his other hand to grab the wheel. “Ready for some fun?”

“I’m scared.”

“I got you.” As soon as he turned the boat into a better heading, we immediately began listing dramatically. The wind beat much louder against the sails, and the forward motion of the boat sped up. I lost my footing a little, but he held me tight to his chest. We moved closer and closer to the massive bridge. It became bigger and more intimidating with each passing moment, but the truth was that I wasn’t scared at all. Jamie made me feel safe. Even against the rushing wind, the choppy waves, and the towering bridge, I felt bigger, like I could stand up to it all. The right side of the boat was way above us. We had all of our weight on our left feet when we started skipping, rising, and diving quickly on the waves.

I was laughing and screeching with joy. I saw Jamie smiling, his grin so wide and so proud that it made my eyes water.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Katy?”

“This is . . . amazing.” At the last second my voice cracked, tears ran down my cheeks, and I shivered. I felt cherished, and even though I wasn’t sure where it would go with Jamie, I was enjoying every minute of the ride.

He moved from behind me. “Here, sit, I’ll wrap you up. It’s getting cold.”

I sat on the bench to his left on the low side of the boat. He handed me my wineglass from the cupholder and then quickly wrapped the blanket around me before getting back to the wheel. “We’re going to jibe. Normally the captain would say ‘prepare to jibe.’ ”

“That sounds fun,” I shouted giddily over the sound of the waves.

“It just means we’re turning with the wind, but the mast is going to swing around quickly. Keep your head down.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

We headed back to the docks in Sausalito. The entire way back, neither one of us spoke; we just took it all in. Every once in a while I would steal glances at Jamie, only to find him watching me and smiling. Once we parked in the slip, it took him about twenty minutes to put the covers on everything and tie up the sails. He slung an arm around my shoulders as we headed back to the truck, and then he opened my door for me. “Hop up, cutie.” He ran his hand across my hair as I got in. I immediately looked in the visor mirror and discovered a red-cheeked, windblown, wreck of a woman. He was teasing me by making me self-aware about my hair. Quickly wrapping my frizzy locks in a bun, I turned toward him as he got in the driver’s side.

“You were making fun of me, jerk.”

“I was just playing with you.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. I shook from a chill.

“You’re still cold.” He took off his jacket and draped it over my legs. I watched him, completely mesmerized, as he opened the black case from the compartment between us, pulled out the pen, and stabbed the skin on his stomach with a needle full of insulin. No blood that time. We were back on the road in seconds.

“Chef Mark is making us dinner but the restaurant will be closed. It closes early on Wednesdays for karaoke night.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Not at all. We take our karaoke very seriously at R. J. Lawson.”

“I am the karaoke queen.”

He laughed. “Well, I am known far and wide in these parts as the white Otis Redding.”

“Oh, we are so doing a duet. Which song should we do?”

We were silent for a few moments, and then in unison both of us shouted, “Tramp!”

We practically skipped through the parking lot and into the restaurant, which was already full of people directing their attention to a small stage set up in the corner. Judging by the turnout, karaoke was a very popular activity with the locals. I started feeling nervous about my performance until a very drunk group of women, who looked to be in their fifties, sang a horrible rendition of “Vacation” by the Go-Go’s.

We sat at the kitchen bar where a waitress immediately brought out the plates Chef Mark had prepared for us. I had seafood stew in a light tomato sauce with French bread on the side. It smelled divine. Jamie had some kind of white fish. When he saw it, he smiled. “Oh good, we can share,” he said, boyishly. He grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from the kitchen. It was from a different winery, and I quirked an eyebrow at him. “We like to know what our competition is up to.”

“Really?” I had to shout over the painful sounds coming from the speakers.

“No, we serve a few other wines here.” He laughed. “Some of our neighborhood friends.”

“I see,” I said, smiling. The winery really was becoming a magical and friendly place in my mind.

He walked over and said something to the guy manning the karaoke equipment.

When he came back, he leaned down toward my ear. “It’s so on.” I laughed and dove into my dinner. I drank three full glasses of wine while Jamie sipped his tiny portion.

“Are you trying to get me drunk so you can show me up?”

“Yes, that’s my strategy.”

“But we’re doing a duet. I could make you look really bad and tarnish your precious reputation.”

He smirked. “I’m thinking of it more as a duel than a duet.”

I leaned in toward him and deadpanned, “Bring it.”

A moment later, the karaoke guy announced, “Captain Fantastic and Super Girl, you’re up!”

Jamie grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the stage. “That’s us,” he shouted. I laughed and then my stomach dropped through the floor when I realized I was about to sing to a room full of strangers. Karaoke guy handed Jamie and me our mics, and then we stepped up onto the small rectangular stage. Jamie never looked over at me. He put his head down like he was about to deliver Hamlet’s monologue to a room full of thespians. He clearly took his karaoke seriously. I had to play along, so I quickly choreographed a few steps in my mind.

When the music came on, I got the pleasure of singing the first line. “Tramp!” I coated it with a thick Southern accent and then jetted my arm out, pointing at Jamie as I spoke the word.

Still with his head down, his right shoulder began bouncing to the beat as we exchanged the famous back-and-forth between Otis Redding and Carla Thomas. When it was time to sing, Jamie lifted his head, spun around, and slid across the floor, dropping to his knees in front of me as he delivered the line “I know, I’m a lovererererer.” He held his empty fist out and pounded his chest as he sang before winking at me and then hopping to his feet. He sang up to the ceiling dramatically during the second verse, which garnered him a lot of cheering from the audience, mostly from the women, but it was when he went out into the crowd to sing the last verse that he truly lived up to his reputation. He hovered around the ladies who had sung “Vacation,” and I watched as they fanned themselves and laughed like schoolgirls.

When we were through, he grabbed my hand and held it all the way to the door while yelling back “Thank you!” to the crowd. We both bowed and then he said, “We’ll be back next Wednesday for the encore.” Everyone cheered loudly.

Once outside, he turned to me, “You were awesome.” His eyes were gleaming.

“You’re already promising I’ll be back next week? Pretty confident of you, isn’t it? I doubt I’ll still be here next Wednesday. I’m on a serious budget with the paper.” The idea of going back to reality in Chicago made my stomach hurt.

He drove his hands into his pockets, looked down at his feet, and shrugged. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

I was doing the same thing, hoping that there would be some reason to stay longer, to get to know Jamie better. “Well you, my friend, were truly fantastic in there, especially with those ladies.”

His face went expressionless. “I had to work at that, Kate. It didn’t come easily.”

We both burst into laughter. I looked up at the sky and saw a hundred million stars shimmering brightly. We quieted, but I stayed where I was, staring at the sky, transfixed. I wondered if I had been at the winery for years. That’s what it felt like. I couldn’t believe I had only known Jamie since the day before. I knew so little about him but I didn’t care because, when I was with him, I didn’t feel alone.

“Kiss me,” I said strongly. He took a staggering step back and then scanned my face but didn’t respond. “You heard me.”

“Is that how you ask nicely?” One side of his mouth lifted.

“Please kiss me.”

“You have a boyfriend.”

I didn’t hesitate for a second. “Not anymore.”

And then his lips crushed mine.

We kissed eagerly, clutching at each other. My hands went to his neck, tangling my fingers in his soft hair. His hands ran upward from the small of my back. His lips were softer than they looked and he took his time, moving from my mouth to my neck and then up my jawline to my ear, trailing tiny kisses before coming back to my lips. I could have kissed him like that for days. When he finally slowed, his fingers ran up my spine to my neck, and I shivered. When he let go, I stumbled to the side, not completely in control of my body. He braced me by the elbows. His eyes were wide and bright, and I could tell he was waiting for me to say something.

“That was nice,” I said, still stunned.

“Nice?” he said in mock offense.

“Wondrous?”

“Mind-blowing,” he came back quickly.

“Spine-tingling.”

“Exploding stars.”

“Intoxicating.”

“Christmas morning.”

“Chocolate lava cake.”

“Potassium chlorate and gummy bears.”

I squinted sharply. “What?”

“It’s chemistry. Google it.” He took my hand in his and pulled me along into the darkness.

“Where are we going?”

“Let’s watch the stars.”

We lay down on some blankets in the back of his truck, which was still parked in the main parking lot. We watched the stars, talked, and laughed as we heard the drunken ladies pouring out of the restaurant, talking about Captain Fantastic.

As the parking lot fell quiet, I decided to get personal. “Tell me your story, Jamie.”

He didn’t move for a few moments. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your life and what brought you to this place.”

“Well, I was adopted by two of the greatest people to walk this earth. I was their only child. I grew up on the West Coast, not too far from here, and aside from the diabetes, I had a truly idyllic childhood. When I was eighteen, I found my birth parents. They were married and had another child, whom I’ve never met because a month after I reconnected with my birth parents, they tried to steal money from me.” I squeezed his hand, but he continued without pause. “I cut off all ties to them, not that there were many to begin with. I went to college on the East Coast and then came back to California for a couple of years. Before I found the winery, I traveled a lot and tried my hand at a few different things. I met Susan when I was going through a rough time, and she brought me to this place.” He paused for just a second. “Your turn.”

It seemed like Jamie was uncomfortable talking about himself or his life. I didn’t get the feeling that he didn’t want to share certain things with me; I just got the impression he was a live-in-the-moment kind of guy and didn’t dwell on the past. Still, something about the way he described his life reminded me of my own, and the solitude I felt in it. I thought dreamily for a moment about how it seemed like Jamie and I were two lost and lonely souls finding each other in the vast wasteland of adulthood.

“No rebuttal questions?”

“I want to know about you, Katy.”

“Well, I was raised in Chicago by my mother. I never knew my father. I don’t even know his name, so I’ll never find him. When I was eight, my mother died of cancer. After that, I went to live with her best friend, Rose. I have no family that I know of, my grandparents are dead, no siblings, no aunts or uncles. I was shy growing up so I didn’t have a lot of friends. I came out of my shell when I went to college, but didn’t have many lasting relationships from that, either. I’ve worked at the Chicago Crier for five years. I live alone.” In that moment I wondered if I was scaring Jamie away, but he just continued listening and nodding every few seconds, so I went on. “I’m good friends with Beth, a writer at the paper. I’m pretty sure she’s a closeted lesbian. I also have a pretty good relationship with Jerry, the editor you talked to yesterday. Let’s see, what else? Oh, my ex, Stephen, just basically told me he never loved me and that he had been unhappy for a long time. So, that’s my story. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“He’s an idiot,” he said up to the sky. We were both lying flat on our backs, holding hands.

“Who, Stephen?”

Jamie just nodded.

“I can think of a few stronger words for him. We broke up last night and he was already at breakfast with another woman this morning.”

“You deserve better,” he said and then brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Where is Rose now?”

“She’s dead. She died nine months ago,” I said, flatly. He turned his whole body toward me.

“Kate, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk about her. It’s too hard.”

“I understand. Let’s change the subject. What shall we talk about?”

“Um, what kind of music do you like?”

“A little bit of everything. Mostly indie rock, folk, that kind of thing.” We lay on our sides, facing each other.

“Same here.”

“So why’d you ask me to kiss you?”

I swallowed and made a loud gulping sound. “I . . . er . . . uh, did you not want to kiss me?”

“Are you kidding? Let me think . . .” He scratched his chin. “I’ve wanted to kiss you pretty much every second I’ve spent with you since we met, but that wasn’t my question.”

My heart was racing. I felt momentarily paralyzed with fear that I might accidentally blurt out that Jamie was the single hottest guy I’d ever been alone with. “I wanted you to kiss me,” I said, shyly.

He touched his index finger to my bottom lip and tugged down on it. “I know, but why?”

“You know why.”

“Was it my amazing karaoke skills?”

“No.”

His face went expressionless. “Was it to get back at your ex?”

“No.”

“Then what was it?”

I smiled giddily and tried unsuccessfully to stop. Finally giving in, I laughed and said, “I like you, okay?” I felt like the biggest dork in the world.

He smiled, kissed me on the nose, and then said, “I like you, too.”

• • •

Later that night, Jamie walked me all the way to the door of my room. I opened it and asked in a confidential whisper, “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes . . . but I’m not going to.” He took a step toward me, reached his tattooed arm out, and wrapped his hand around my neck, pulling me toward him, my mouth meeting his. He kissed me softly and slowly and breathlessly. “First, I want to take you on a real date tomorrow. I’ll show you the city. There’s somewhere special I want to take you.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Then we’re set. What are your plans during the day tomorrow?”

“I was going to work on the article, and then unless I get an itinerary . . . I’ll just be hanging around.”

“Okay, I’ll come and get you around four.” He lowered his voice. “If I don’t see you before then.”

After he walked out, I looked down at my sneakers and my stupid college sweatshirt and laughed. I hadn’t thought about fitting in or how I looked when I was with Jamie. He made me feel beautiful and alive. I decided to call Beth. I knew Beth liked to write into the wee hours of the night. She usually got to the office later than me but would proceed to brag to everyone about how many words she wrote the night before.

She picked up on the second ring. “Kate?” She sounded groggy.

“Oh my god, did I wake you?”

“No.” She perked up. “I just busted out three thousand words.”

“Nice.”

“What’s up? Are you bummed about Stephen, the jackass?”

“Actually, I was calling because I wanted to tell you that I met someone here.”

“Man or woman?”

“Seriously, Beth? A man. I’m straight.”

“I was just asking. I mean, I wouldn’t blame you, with your history with men and all.”

“My history? You’ve known one guy that I’ve dated.”

“I was just sayin’, I wouldn’t blame you. That’s all, geez, settle down. Tell me about the dude.”

“Don’t tell Jerry.”

“I don’t tell Jerry shit.”

“Okay, it’s this guy who works at the winery. He’s gorgeous, but totally not what I’m used to. He’s tall and thin but really muscly. His hair is kind of grown out and sometimes he slicks it back. He has a scruffy light beard and tattoos. Oh my god, his tattoos!”

“Whoa, Kate. Bad boy, bad boy, whatcha gonna do?”

“That’s the thing. He’s not. He’s really sweet and sensitive, but confident and sexy as hell—and smart, too. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing here picking grapes.”

“Get his history,” she said urgently.

“I did. He told me all about his childhood and everything. He had a totally normal upbringing, besides the fact that he was adopted.”

“I meant get his sexual history before you drop your panties for him.”

I laughed. “What is it with you and Jerry? You guys think I’m some kind of slut.”

“Do you know what a dental dam is?”

“I’m changing the subject.”

“Get his history, that’s all I’m trying to tell you. If you’re going to have your little winery fantasy, then get the details.”

“Now you really sound like a journalist. I’ll let you go.”

She got quiet for a few moments. “Kate, I’m happy for you. Seriously. Enjoy yourself for once. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Lying on the bed, I wondered where my little fantasy could take me. I had a life in Chicago, plants in my apartment that needed watering, and a career. There was Just Bob on the train waiting to give me some life-changing advice, and then there were Beth and Jerry. I thought about all of it, but when I added it up together, sadly it didn’t amount to much. I loved Beth and Jerry, but they were colleagues. I could write anywhere; I could live anywhere. I wondered if Jamie liked me enough to see where things would take us or if he was looking at me as a fling, something temporary.

I thought about what it would be like to upend my life and move to California, but the idea of losing my rent-controlled apartment scared me. Then I thought about the holiday train. Every year the transit people decorate one train. They completely deck it out—even Santa Claus rides on it. My entire life, all I had ever wanted to do was ride the holiday train, but I’d never been able to catch it. When people would talk to me about how rad it was to ride the holiday train, I wanted to kick them in the face.

I was trying to convince myself, while lying on that bed, that I had enough reason to stay in Chicago because, hey, I hadn’t ridden the holiday train, but I fell asleep thinking about Jamie and what his rough hands would feel like on my bare skin.