Falling for You

by Travis, Stacy

  So I stared back and let myself float away in his eyes.

  “You’re not going to fail. You’re in this horserace until the last lap and there are lots of ways it could go. Consider all your options, figure out how to pivot. People love you way too much to watch you fail. I think you’ve called time of death prematurely. Sorry for the jumble of metaphors.”

  He was right, and on my good days I believed most of it, but I wasn’t going to lie—it was nice to hear it from someone else.

  I never used to doubt myself or my abilities, but it was mainly because I’d achieved success. It was a drug, and I didn’t realize the haze it had kept me in, always wanting more. It had also blunted the reality that not everything was going to go my way.

  “Thanks for that. You’re right. I’m overreacting.” I reached over and put my hand on Owen’s thigh. He immediately put his own hand on top of mine.

  “I didn’t say that at all. Every reaction is valid, and you’re lucky that you’ve done well in life. I was merely saying you need to cut yourself some slack now and again.”

  The rest of the drive was lovely after that. I didn’t feel the need to defend my life choices and I finally felt relaxed enough that I did eventually close my eyes.

  But I kept my hand on his leg and as I was drifting off, I was aware that he didn’t move his hand from mine.

  * * *

  “Okay, sleepyhead, we’re here.” Owen brought my hand to his lips and I opened my eyes to a bright yellow sun resting atop the trellises of grapevines. The vineyard in front of us soared as far as I could see into the distance.

  It was beautiful, but then, everything in the wine country looked like this—endless hanging grapes on endless vines. I kicked myself for not having made the trip in years.

  Why wasn’t I considering opening a Victorine here?

  It would give me an excuse to come more often. I was finally starting to understand why Owen opened hotels where he did. Why not create excuses to visit beautiful places?

  “Where is here? Because it looks an awful lot like a vineyard and I can’t tell them apart.” I watched Owen pop his door open, and before I could grab my purse from the floor and get out, he’d opened the door on my side.

  “M’lady, come with me,” he said, extending his hand to help me out of the car. Unnecessary, because I’d never needed help exiting a vehicle before, but so sweet. When I got out, I noticed to our right a two-story wood and glass structure with a large front porch.

  It looked at home amid the grapevines, so much so that the trellises abutted the building and bunches of hanging green grapes framed the sides.

  Looking up, I noticed living gardens on the roof of the first story and wild expanses of succulents, pink roses, and lavender bushes spanning out from the building in both directions. The whole tableau had the effect of making the building feel like it was part of the landscape.

  We walked up the steps of the building to the porch where Owen grabbed two filled champagne flutes and handed one to me.

  “It’s sparkling wine. Champagne only comes from that region of France so anything from here with bubbles is sparkling wine. I’m probably telling you something you already know.”

  “Tell me more,” I said while raising my glass to clink against his.

  “To life,” he said.

  We each drank a sip, and I was surprised at how cold the sparkling wine was, given that it seemed to have been sitting out on the silver tray on the porch. There was no signage to indicate we were at a bed and breakfast or some other landmark. The porch looked like the front of a house—a phenomenal wine country fantasy house.

  “Tell me where we are and how you know about this place.” I sat in one of the twin Adirondack chairs on the porch and took another sip of the wine.

  A person could get used to this life.

  “We’re in Calistoga and it’s one of our properties. We’ve had a lot of trouble finding the right person to run it, so I’m going to have to spend a few minutes meeting with our new general manager and see if he’s the guy we need, but then we’re free to run among the vineyards and drink all the wine.”

  “That sounds amazing. And I’ll sit right here and start on the wine if you need to go talk to your guy.”

  “Ha. I don’t have to meet with him for an hour. I figured I’d give you a tour of the property first, but the rest of the day is yours. You can take a nap, have a two-hour spa treatment, go for a run, whatever you want.”

  I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. “You’re talking to a girl who hasn’t had a spa day in, um, I don’t know, five years . . .”

  “Done. Spa it is. I’ll get you the menu and you can see what you want to do.”

  I put a hand out to stop him. “Wait. Don’t go to the desk or wherever. All that can wait. Just . . . hang with me here for a bit.”

  He cocked his head and stood in front of me. “I plan to. I was just going to grab the spa menu off the table in the room. Cool?”

  I nodded and he turned the doorknob, at which point I realized the porch led to a well-appointed living room with an overstuffed sofa, a writing desk, and two leather chairs, and that was just what I could see peeking through the doorway.

  I’d assumed we were sitting in front of the main reception building for the whole place.

  When Owen came out with a small booklet, I looked at him agog. “Is this one of the rooms? As in, we’re staying in this house here in the middle of a gorgeous vineyard?”

  He nodded. I stood and threw my arms around his neck and jumped so my legs were wrapped around his waist. “Ah, this is the reaction I hoped for,” he said, tipping my face up and kissing me lightly on the lips. “I’ll admit I was a tiny bit worried I’d tell you that I planned for us to stay here tonight and you’d think it was a violation of our friendship code.”

  I shook my head. “It’s amazing. And now I have to see the rest of the room even though I said I wanted to sit on these chairs forever.” I released my legs from around his waist and slid them down his body, not taking a step backward.

  My arms still encircled his neck and I felt no urge to let go, so I tipped my lips up again to kiss him before we checked out the room.

  “Calling this a room was a bit of a misnomer,” I said when we’d walked through the living room and past the full kitchen. “This is nicer than my house.”

  Owen laughed. “That’s the point. It’s supposed to be a life upgrade. Why would you want to go on vacation and sleep in a more uncomfortable bed than what you have at home and look at a worse view?” He said this as he walked me up a set of stairs, past a yoga meditation room, and straight through the master suite and onto a sweeping balcony with a one-hundred-eighty degree view of vineyards and gardens.

  The entire length of the teak wood railing had hanging planter boxes blooming with purple and white flowers that blended with the landscape in front of us.

  The sun was hanging low in the sky, but the spring days were getting longer and we still had a few hours before it would set.

  “I don’t know what I want to do more—sit back here, sit on the front porch, go to the spa, jog in the vineyards . . .”

  He was right. The whole point of getting away was to improve upon life at home and he’d accomplished that.

  “You can do all of it. Here, sit.” He motioned me to a lounge chair where a thick terrycloth towel had already been laid out and a tall glass bottle of water chilled in a silver bucket.

  While I kicked off my shoes and settled back on the lounge chair, Owen went back for our champagne glasses and reappeared with them as well as a bottle, which he used to top off our glasses before sitting down. “Okay, you have exactly fifteen minutes to relax here before we’re due for a relaxing walk in the vineyard for six minutes on the way to a relaxing spa session.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like my kind of relaxing—on a schedule.”

  “Why doesn’t that shock me? I’m kidding about the time limits. The only thing required of you is that you do w
hatever you want until you decide to do something else. I do ask, however, that you have dinner with me at some point, and if you want to do a striptease on the eight-hundred thread count sheets, I certainly won’t call foul.”

  “Sounds like a perfect evening.”

  He eyed me hungrily and I loved the wolfish gleam in his eye. So much so that I debated hoisting myself from the comfort of the chair to test out the sheets immediately.

  Then I panicked. “Oh. I don’t have anything to wear to dinner. Or a toothbrush, for that matter.”

  He directed my gaze behind us to where an overnight bag—my overnight bag—sat on a luggage rack at the foot of the bed. “How did you—?”

  “Sarah. She packed it for you.”

  “You called Sarah? Did you track her down at her campus number?”

  He looked from me to the vineyard and grimaced as though he’d done something wrong. “Actually, she called me.” I still didn’t see why that would make him look so guilty. I also couldn’t imagine why Sarah would call him.

  “What did she want?”

  “She didn’t tell you.” That must have seemed clear from the confused look I was giving him because he explained. “She wanted me to assure her that I had nothing to do with Centinela Bread—no ownership stake, no advisory role, no connection whatsoever to the company—because you mentioned to her that Centinela seemed to know specifics about your business plan, things you’d told me.”

  “Oh. That.” Honestly, I’d put the whole thing to bed once Jamie had said that Owen hadn’t been the one he’d talked to. Mostly. I had told Sarah, maybe as a safety valve in case my growing affection for Owen made me completely blind to everything going on around me. It seemed like a growing risk.

  I was a little bit impressed with my non-confrontational sister. “I told you she looked out for me. But I hope you know I wasn’t worried. I told her as much."

  He exhaled and picked up my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. When he met my eyes, there was hurt that I didn’t expect. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask me if I had any connection to Centinela? I could have set you straight in a heartbeat.”

  “I didn’t really think you were part of it.” Okay, I couldn’t lie. “Fine, I considered it for a few minutes, but then I decided it didn’t make sense. You can’t fit a hotel in a bakery space.”

  His slight look of hurt turned to a mixture of hurt and anger. “Wait, the only reason you decided I had nothing to do with it was that it didn’t make sense? What about the fact that you know me? Don’t you know I’d never—and I mean this wholeheartedly, never—do anything to hurt you or jeopardize your business? You know me.”

  I turned to face him, to reassure him, but he’d turned in on himself and had his arms folded across his chest. “Owen . . .” I reached a hand for him but he moved away. “I do know those things. I do know you.”

  “Do you?”

  I nodded. “Owen, look at me . . .”

  He didn’t. He stared out at the field and I wondered if I’d blown everything. He was right—I should have been able to make the call about his involvement based on my gut instinct about him, but I couldn’t. So I had to own it.

  “Owen . . . here’s the thing . . . you’re right. I wasn’t ready to know those things about you,” I said.

  It was the most honest I’d probably ever been because I knew it was liable to end the friendship I had with him and I had to tell the truth anyway.

  He looked at me. “I’m listening.” His expression was blank, but at least the disappointment was gone.

  “I like you—a lot—and I was worried that my . . . affection for you was clouding my judgement.”

  “That’s what’s supposed to happen.” He picked up his glass and drained it before filling it again. He didn’t top mine off even though I’d finished about a third of it. “You should trust me. Have I given you any reason not to?”

  “No. And I told you, the reason I never said anything was because I wasn’t worried.”

  “Because I can’t fit a boutique hotel into a bakery space.”

  “At first. Maybe that was the proof my head needed to trust that my heart was right about you. And I’m sorry if that’s hurtful, but this has all made me crazy and worried and I’m not going to stop watching my back.”

  I got ready to take my overnight bag and haul it back to San Francisco in an Uber because Owen still looked hurt and angry. It didn’t seem like he was going to get past my mistrust, and I didn’t have any other ways to make it seem okay.

  Owen unfolded his arms and scooted closer to me, and then leaned forward so our foreheads were touching. “Say that part again about how your heart was right about me.” I couldn’t see his face from the close angle but I was pretty sure he was smiling.

  “My heart really likes you. So much.”

  He nodded. “Then I don’t give a shit about the rest. Okay? My heart likes you too.” He brought his hands to my face and tilted it so our lips aligned.

  His hands pushed into my hair and he kissed me slowly, with languid intensity. It was a completely different tone and pace from how we’d practically attacked each other in the wine cave.

  I felt the swirls of desire unfold and pool in my chest. I scooted my lounger closer, the dragging sound of the legs on the wooden slats standing in for the groan building with me.

  In one sweep, Owen lifted me onto his own chair so I was straddling his lap. Our bodies pressed tighter, our tongues tangled, and our hands roamed everywhere.

  It was becoming harder and harder for me to convince myself that I could continue to be just friends with Owen without wanting more. Even after only a couple weeks, my heart had assumed full control.

  Chapter 21

  Owen

  It was the middle of my Tuesday morning staff meeting when I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. There was always some robocalling marketer or PAC solicitor calling from a city where I knew no one.

  But this was different—hang ups from the same number—and it had been happening more and more.

  I almost clicked it off and let it go to voicemail, where the caller would probably not leave a message and I’d have three seconds of dead air before the line went dead.

  Or I could answer and hear some breathing on the other end before the caller would similarly hang up. I was starting to feel like this mystery caller and I had a sort of relationship after several weeks of this nonsense. Maybe it was someone lonely—or a kid with access to an unlimited calling plan—and it helped to know there was someone on the other end of the line.

  I wondered if the caller was working up the nerve to say something. As long as there was a human on the other end of the line, I’d keep answering.

  And because I suspected I’d get another heavy breathing hang-up, I leaned down, away from the others at the conference table, and said, “Hello?”

  There was the usual pause, and I readied myself to hang up as soon as the line went dead.

  But it didn’t.

  I heard breathing, then a cough. Someone was definitely there.

  I got up so quickly, my chair went spinning around behind me, and I didn’t bother to excuse myself before showing the glass door to the conference room open and walking into the hallway.

  “Who is this?” I was holding the phone with both hands. It’s not like I thought someone was going to tell me I’d won a sweepstakes contest or something, so I couldn’t figure out why I felt so nervous.

  There was a scratchy sound on the other end of the line, then a quiet woman’s voice began speaking. “Owen, it’s Jen. Can we talk?”

  Jen. My sister. I hadn’t spoken to her in five years.

  My heart started pounding, and without thinking, I was moving down the hallway and out of the building. My forehead broke out in a cold sweat and I felt light-headed. As soon as I reached the front of the building, I leaned against the outer wall and inhaled a deep breath.

  “What’s up Jen?” I asked. I knew it wasn’t parti
cularly friendly, but I didn’t care. This was the first time she hadn’t hung up, and I just wanted to know why she was calling and get on with my life.

  “Owen, I just wanted to tell you…you’re an uncle.” Her voice squeaked at the end and I could tell she was happy, and she wanted me to be happy.

  But I was having trouble feeling anything.

  “Congratulations.” My voice was strained. A part of me felt wistful that I wasn’t there to meet my new niece or nephew. Is it weird that she hasn’t said which? But the other part of me wanted this phone call over.

  I was in a full-body cold sweat. She was talking again and I only heard part of it. “…so if you ever want to come out.”

  “Are you asking me to come visit you?”

  “If you want…we’d love to see you.”

  “Jen, since you left for college, how many times have you come back to San Francisco to see me?”

  She didn’t speak, but I heard her breathing with such labored difficulty that I wondered if she’d started smoking. Maybe she had emphysema and this would be the last opportunity to see her. No, she’d have said that if it was true.

  Finally, “None. I haven’t been back. You know I had my reasons.”

  “No, Jen, I don’t know. All I know is that you didn’t care enough to buy a single plane ticket. Or hell, to get in the car when you were in grad school in Seattle—which I fucking paid for.”

  “I know, Owen. I should have. There were always things that got in the way.” Her voice sounded strained. Why the hell did she call? She had to know she wasn’t going to get a warm reception. That’s probably why she’d hung up so many times, working up the nerve.

  “Why are you calling me now? Are you okay? Is Jim okay?” I couldn’t help the parenting instinct I’d had for her since I was sixteen.

  Her voice brightened a little. “He’s good. We’re good. I just wanted to share the news. You’re an uncle,” she said again.

  “Okay, well, I’m glad you’re okay. Tell me the name of my niece or nephew. I’ll send a gift.”