“With a population of two hundred people, of course, it’s the best.”
“We’re almost two thousand residents and counting,” he says, serving me with a proud smile.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask as I hold my third glass of the day. This time I’m drinking a Pinot Grigio. He says it has a delicate citrus flavor (lime water, orange zest), pomaceous fruits (apple skin, pear sauce), and white floral notes. It’s light compared to the Malbec I drank before. They’re all delicious, but he’s trying to train my palate.
It’s going to take more than one evening, but I’m humoring him.
“The wine from Paradise Bay doesn’t get you drunk. It makes you happy.”
I lift one of the bottles of wine, reading the label. “Is that the slogan? Because you might’ve forgotten to add it in the design.”
He chuckles and reaches for the cutting board. “It was my father’s mantra.”
“He sounds pretty passionate about his wine.”
“He was…” There’s a long silence.
I reach out for his hand and squeeze it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been almost fourteen years, but it still hurts. He was the foundation of our family.”
“Why don’t I help you?” I offer since I don’t know how to fill the silence. If I knew him better, I could say the right words, but right now…
“Sure, you can rinse the vegetables. It’ll take us less time to cook. The sky is clear. We could eat out,” he offers.
Eating outside sounds like a dream. I’m sure it’s not France, but the place is just as romantic, isn’t it? “Why don’t you tell me about your family while we prepare the food?”
“You don’t want me to bore you. Why don’t you tell me about your new job?”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. As he shows me his outstanding skills in the kitchen while sautéing the tomatoes, boiling the pasta, and preparing the pesto from scratch, I tell him about my passion.
Animals.
“Why choose studying in Colorado and moving to the West Coast?”
“I went on a scholarship. My boss gives three full rides every year to those who show potential. In exchange, we have to work for her for at least five years. I did my internship in one of her animal hospitals.”
He stops chopping the onions. His gray, penetrating eyes stare at me with anticipation. I don’t know what to tell him. Will he care to learn more about me?
“What about you?”
He goes back to prepping his food. “I don’t save animals or handle furry creatures who lick my face. It’s a lot about repetition and practice.”
“You don’t seem excited.”
“I like it. Not many find it as intriguing as I do.”
“If I were an actuary, I’d be as cryptic as you are.”
He’s not looking at me, but I can see his smile. “You caught me there. It’s all about statistics and analyzing what’s best for the team.”
“Would you quit to dedicate your time to the vineyard?”
“This is Lysander’s territory now. I don’t know if he’d let any of us manage it along with him.” He shrugs.
“How many siblings do you have?”
He tells me what it was like to grow up in a house with seven other siblings. As I hear how they spent their summers helping their father with the vineyard and swimming in the pool or the lake, I’m transported to the days when Milly and I were children.
I don’t think we ever had that much fun. Mom always had something important to do, and we were stuck at home doing chores. Everything was about the next room we had to clean or the patio to be swept several times a week—it was dirty.
This isn’t the conversation I planned to have with a stranger during our escape-from-reality day, but we end up discussing his seven brothers and sisters and my only sister. This isn’t exactly what I planned on doing when Avery proposed we go wine dining, but I’m enjoying it a lot. I’m just waiting for that text that tells me it’s over and we’re heading back to San Francisco.
Chapter Five
Caspian
We Spearmans tend to gather strays and adopt them as part of our family. We did that with Benedict Farrow. Since he’s like a little brother, it’s easy to text him something like: I’m going to be entertaining your friend. Make sure to disappear for a day or two.
Did I get a warning back?
Of course. He told me not to be a fucking asshole to Rys—she’s not a fan of his.
That intrigues me since Ben is the friendliest person on the planet. But he’s a secondary character in this escapade, so I don’t even bother to ask Rys what her deal is with Benedict. We spend the afternoon on the veranda just outside the master bedroom of the guesthouse. I’m glad Mom went on a retreat with my aunts. No one will interrupt us tonight.
“If I ever retire, I’ll move to a place like this,” she says, drinking some water.
She stopped accepting wine after the third glass. It’s a shame because our wines are some of the best in the world. But it’s also good because if anything happens between us, I want her sober.
“You’re welcome to visit,” I offer.
“This town would be perfect if there’s a small hotel around.”
“Where are you staying?”
She checks her watch and then her phone. “In San Francisco. We didn’t find any rooms available around the area—”
I interrupt her. “It’s festival season. The next time you want to come, call the vineyard. Someone will be able to tell you what’s happening around town.”
She nods, and I finally dare to ask about the small tattoo she has on the inside of her left arm. “Is that a constellation?”
Rys stares at her ink and sighs. “It’s Ursa Minor.”
“What’s the story?”
“Do I have to have a reason?”
“There are three reasons a person gets a tattoo. They’re drunk, they’re sad, or they’re in love.”
“In love?”
“You could be in love with the idea of something, not necessarily a person. Which one is it?”
She moves the pendant that she’s wearing. It’s a P.
“Was his name Peter, Paul, Princeton…”
“Ha, it’s not a guy. My name is…” Her voice trails off. “It’s not important.”
“Your name starts with a P, and the constellation has to do with it?”
She nods after a couple of seconds. “My name is Polaris Vega—I’m named after Ursa Minor. My parents call me Polly, but I use Rys.”
“That’s a beautiful name and a great reason to have a tattoo.”
“So how many tattoos do you have because you were…what was it?”
I laugh. “A few of them were done because I was sad.” I pull up my shirt and show her the black and white milky way tattoo on my chest, which also has the date when Dad died.
She traces it, and I shiver. “This is beautiful and meaningful.”
It is the only non-stupid tattoo I have and the tenderness in her eyes makes me take her into my arms and kiss her.