Nowhere but Here (6 page)

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.

Page 5

Allegory

Slipping my clothes over my wet undergarments, I turned away from Jamie as he lifted himself out of the water from the side of the pool. He got dressed quickly, and when I turned back toward him, he was sweeping up his sopping boxers from the ground and wrapping them in a towel.
No qualms about commando. I like it!

“I’ll walk you back.”

“Great, thank you, I’m dead-tired.” I was feeling completely bashful after his poetic and sweet confession.

We headed toward the inn.

“I need to stop at my truck for a sec. Do you mind?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

He opened the driver’s side door and then blocked my view. I heard a zipper open and then he was shuffling with something. It was taking more than a second.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“Just one more minute, okay?”

Being the curious person that I am, I stood on my tippy-toes and leaned over to see what he was doing. He turned around abruptly, holding something behind his back.

“What is that?”

“Nothing, it’s not a big deal,” he said, nervously.

“Let me see.” It was at least ten full seconds before he finally held his hand out, revealing some sort of syringe.

My mouth dropped to the ground. “Are you . . . are those drugs?”

“No. Well, yes, but not what you’re thinking.”

“What is it then?” We were both hesitant.

“It’s insulin.”

A breath rushed from my mouth. “You’re diabetic?”

“Yes, type one.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’ve been this way for a long time.”

“Were you embarrassed to tell me?” I asked gently.

“No, I just didn’t want to burden you with it, and I have to give myself this shot now. I didn’t know if you’d be squeamish.”

“Not at all.” I started getting misty-eyed. “That would never be a burden to me, but thank you for the consideration.” At the age of eight, I’d had to play nurse to my mother while she was dying, her body wracked with cancer. At twenty-five, I watched Rose, the only other person I’ve ever loved, get eaten alive by a plague-like bacteria she’d picked up in the hospital after her gallstone surgery. There were few things that could nauseate me.

He was still holding the syringe and looking into my eyes. “I’m gonna do this now, okay?” And then he smiled sweetly. I nodded. He took the needle cap off with his teeth, holding it in his mouth while he lifted his shirt on the left side. My eyes were drawn to his beltless jeans, hanging low on his waist. His stomach was thin and defined and angled in that way that encourages your eyes to continue looking downward. When I glanced up, I noticed his gaze was focused on the penlike syringe. He pressed something on the bottom and a tiny drop of insulin bubbled at the needle tip. The air was suddenly filled with a very potent, medicinal smell. And then, as if he had done it a million times, he pinched a chunk of his skin just above his hip and jabbed the needle into it. I caught a tiny wince flash across his face just as the needle hit the skin. He pushed the button on the bottom of the pen and then quickly pulled it out and replaced the cover using his mouth. He was still holding up his shirt.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I hit a blood vessel.”

“Oh my god, what does that mean?” I said, suddenly frantic.

He chuckled. “Nothing, sweet girl, it’s just a little blood.” He was looking around for something. I looked down and noticed he was bleeding from the injection site. It was thinly streaming toward the top of his jeans. Spotting our wet towels on the hood of the truck, I quickly grabbed one and bent to carefully wipe away the blood.

“Whoa, what are you doing, Kate?” There was a touch of amusement in his voice.

“Wiping the blood away.”

“I could have done that.”

“Oh,” I said. I stared at him for a few seconds, feeling mortified. I was trying to read his expression. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled, but I think he was a little shocked, too.

“No, what I meant was that I wouldn’t want to make anyone feel like they have to do something like that.”

“I know. I told you, I’m not squeamish. I just wanted to help.”

“Thank you.” He held the towel to his waist for a moment and then let his shirt fall. “I should get you up to your room. You must be exhausted.”

“Yes. It’s been a long, strange day.”

“Not all bad, I hope,” he said quietly as we shuffled up the stairs.

“What?”

“You said it’s been a long, strange day, but I hope it wasn’t all bad.”

“Definitely not all bad.” When we got to my door, I turned around before unlocking it. “Actually, I should thank you. You turned a pretty awful day around for me, even after I hit you with my car.”

He nodded. “Well thank
you
for sopping up my blood.”

“No prob.”

“My list is growing.”

I crooked an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah? What list is that?”

“All of the reasons why this is gonna be so hard.” I tilted my head, encouraging him to elaborate. He smirked. “Now you’ve added compassionate and tender to the list.” He leaned in and pecked me on the cheek. “Night, Katy, see you in the morning.”

Oh,
that
list.

I was beginning to make a list of my own, and the promise of seeing him the next day made my heart bounce around inside my chest.

Stephen who?
I thought to myself with a smile.

• • •

In the morning, just as promised, an itinerary was shoved under my door. At the top, under the emboldened word WEDNESDAY, there was a list of breakfast items and the extension number to place my order. In the margin, someone had written,
I recommend the eggs Comtesse or the eggs Blackstone (minus the bacon, of course).

Wow, this is amazing,
I thought.
Personal recommendations—
and they know I’m a vegetarian.

Under the breakfast choices was a detailed schedule.

10:00 a.m.: Private educational tour of winery with Guillermo. Meet in lobby.

In small handwriting above “Guillermo,” there was a little carrot arrow and the words
and Jamie
written rather messily. Well, I knew who the annotating culprit was now, and I couldn’t stop smiling as I continued through the schedule.

12:00
p.m.: Private wine and food pairing experience with Chef Mark
. And again, a little handwritten note with the words
and Jamie
.

2:00 p.m.: Facility tour with Susan.
Instead of
and Jamie
, it said,
I have work to do, young lady
.

There was a big space and then Jamie’s writing again.

But, if you
’
re willing, the staff at R. J. Lawson would like to take you on a sunset sail in the San Francisco Bay. Meet in lobby at 4 p.m.

Wow, really? They’re going all out . . . or maybe Jamie is going all out . . .

After eating the best eggs Comtesse I’ve ever had, I searched my suitcase for something to wear. I had brought plenty of very reporter-looking clothes, not sure of what the weather would be like, but none of it was appropriate for impressing hot, rugged winery men. Spicing up the same black blazer was going to be a challenge, and then I remembered that I had brought a maroon camisole, something I would normally wear underneath a blouse. I went for it—my sexy silk camisole, the tightest jeans I owned, some heels, and the black blazer, for the sake of good form.

I decided I would tell Jamie as soon as I saw him that I had broken up with my boyfriend, but Susan’s warning scared me, and I wondered if I really wanted a fling with a man who lived two thousand miles away.
Yes, with this one, I most definitely do,
I couldn’t help thinking.

It was time to update Jerry, even though I had made no progress on the story. I dialed his number and it didn’t even ring. “This is Jerry.”

“I have a problem.”

“Well, hello to you, too.”

“I’m serious.”

“Congratulations. You haven’t been serious about anything in a very long time.”

I often had these ridiculous back-and-forths with Jerry in which he would intentionally mock me or try to ruffle my feathers because he thought it inspired my writing. I was also ninety-nine percent sure that Jerry had undiagnosed ADD. Many days we ate lunch in the park together, sometimes Lincoln, sometimes Stanton. We’d eat our deli sandwiches and talk about life stuff. We would be having the most profound conversation about mortality or world hunger and Jerry would suddenly jerk his head around and say, “Oh man, look at that kite, it’s shaped like a giant squid!” I would never even attempt to take him to Millennium Park—forget about it. I know he’d just sit there and stare, mesmerized at those giant sculptures. His brain would go into overload and he would probably chant, “Big metal object, big metal object,” over and over. He did everything fast—he thought, ate, wrote, talked, even walked faster than the average person. His attention span didn’t last longer than a few seconds. His deadlines were sometimes unreasonable, and his brain rarely allowed for small talk in conversations, which made him a straight shooter.

“Jerry, stop.”

“Are you getting the dirt? That’s all I really want to know.”

“Yes, dirt is exactly what I’m getting. R.J. is kind of a dick.”

“What do you mean ‘kind of’?”

“Well, he
is
a dick. He kept hitting on me throughout the interview.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“No.”

“Good . . . Are you gonna fuck him?”

“No, Jesus Christ, Jerry, who do you think I am?”

“Well, it’s great that he’s a dick, just don’t fuck him.”

“
Okay!
And why is it great that he’s a dick?”

“Because you need an angle, Kate. You always need an angle.”

“But I love this place, and all of the people who work here are so nice, and the wine is phenomenal. Plus, I know he has veto power over the article.”

In his typical superfast speech, he said, “Listen, there are always loopholes. If you would have told me that he was the most philanthropic, God-loving gift to all women and humankind, I would have said great to that, too. You just need an angle, okay? Don’t stress so much, you’re not fucking writing
The Jungle
. Just play up the facts. Get the dirt on how the staff feels about him. Find out why the wines are winning awards, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

“They’re winning awards because the wine is that fucking good.”

“Well, why? What are they doing that’s different? That’s what you need to find out.” He suddenly paused and then continued. “By the way, I’m sorry to hear about Stephen.”

“Oh . . . how’d you know?” I asked, somewhat alarmed.

“Beth saw him having breakfast this morning.”

“So? What did he say to her?”

“Well, it wasn’t so much what he said . . .”

“What do you mean?” And just like that, it hit me. “He was with a woman? This morning? Already? Fucking dog!”

“Yeah, and you know how Beth is. I guess she went up to him and said something like, ‘While the cat’s away, huh?’ He blurted out that the two of you had broken up.”

“What a fucker!”

There were several seconds of silence, which was rare for a phone conversation with Jerry. I wondered if he was rubbing his chin and staring at the ceiling. Then I could hear a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, you could say that again.”

“Jerry!”

“No, I
am
really sorry, Kate. I just never really liked the guy.”

Jerry wasn’t alone in his feelings. Rose hadn’t liked Stephen, and Beth couldn’t stand him, though of course Beth couldn’t stand most men. Still, even the superintendent of our building loathed him and would instantly scowl whenever Stephen would simply approach him.

“I’ll call you later, Jer.”

“’Kay. Don’t think too much about Stephen. You deserve better. Focus on your job and get out there and knock ’em dead, kid.”

“Yeah, because I’m so good at that,” I said sarcastically.

“You stop it right now. I don’t want to hear that kind of talk.” His tone went serious and then turned right back around. “Oh, and don’t fuck the genius.”

“Bye, Jerry.”

I had fifteen minutes before I needed to be in the lobby, so I plugged in my laptop and fiddled around for at least ten minutes, trying to log in to the Wi-Fi with no luck. They left me a code on the desk but it wasn’t working, so I opened a Word document instead and began jotting down some notes.

R.J.: asshole, no sign of genius, brags about his money, has girlish hands.

How I was going to get an article out of that little bit of information baffled me. Then I wrote:

Winery: sustainable, beautiful grounds, rustic, old world charm, great wine.

And then, finally:

Jamie: vast knowledge and pride in the winery, diabetic, sweet, genuine, gorgeous, charming, warm hands, strong hands, likes me . . .

And then I had to go.