I shifted in my seat to make room for a rather large man who was trying to squeeze himself through the tight aisle. After one of his thighs threatened to take my journal with him, I slid onto the empty seat next to me. I looked out the window for inspiration.
“How’s the view?” A voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned, and my eyes widened as I realized the owner of the voice was Simon, who was staring down at me. I immediately straightened up in my seat. I felt a surprising frizzle of excitement and tucked my hair behind my ears. Dressed in khaki shorts and a navy blue Polo shirt, he looked as if he were headed to the golf course.
“View’s not bad.” I paused and looked at Simon thoughtfully. “I mean, you do clean up pretty nice. I almost didn’t recognize you without the Yankee hat.”
Simon flashed a boyish grin.
“Oh wait ... did you mean that view?” I pointed out the window. I couldn’t believe how smooth I sounded.
You hand a girl an assortment of top-notch beauty products and a blow dryer in a luxury hotel room, and bam—a confident woman is born. It was either that or I was channeling a flirtatious French spirit.
“May I?” Simon said. He pointed toward the empty seat next to me. “Or would you rather be alone?”
“Please.” I couldn’t waste a blowout. Besides, I had promised Tess I’d be nicer to him. I slid my bag over to make some room and patted the seat.
When Simon had settled, he gave me a sideways look.
“What?” I heard the paranoia in my own voice.
That morning I had tweezed a lone piece of wiry hair sticking out of my chin. Thank God for magnifying mirrors. Please, please, don’t tell me I missed another.
“Nothing,” he smiled. “It’s just that ... you clean up pretty nice, too.”
I sighed inwardly with relief and blushed. Good thing I put on my dressier tank top. A little ruffle goes a long way.
“In fact, I’m kind of surprised to see you here.”
“I must’ve sounded like a real diva yesterday, huh?” I cringed and waited for Simon’s response.
“Nooo. Why on earth would you say that?”
“Ugh. I’m so not like that,” I said with a grimace.
“Actually, you sounded more like a woman who had hit her breaking point. No judgment here,” he said, holding up his hands. “The fact you’re choosing to roll up your sleeves and do a little manual labor ... well, that says a lot.”
“You’re here, too,” I reminded him.
Simon waved his hand and smiled. “That’s only because I saw your name on the signup sheet at the concierge desk.”
“Oh, yeah right.” I laughed, but I was blushing. “What guy would choose to spend the day with a woman he witnessed having a nervous breakdown?”
“And,” he said, holding up a finger, “let’s not forget the attitude you copped in London.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve gotten such a bad impression of me. I really am a nice person.”
“I’m sure you are. I asked my brother about you and he gave you a good report.” Simon winked and I blushed again under his gaze.
“You did?” For a minute, I forgot I was trying to play it cool.
“Mm hmm,” he nodded. “What can I say? You intrigued me. Although ... I’m not so sure about those mood swings of yours.”
I chuckled. “I swear those were just backpacking side effects. Let me tell you something, a dirty youth hostel is no place for a forty-two-year old woman.”
Simon’s jaw dropped.
“Oh, yeah. Mark didn’t tell you?” My heart sank, just a little. I felt ancient.
Simon shook his head.
“We’ve been staying in youth hostels. See? I’m not a diva.” I sniffed. “As a matter of fact,”—I sat up a little straighter and continued—“you’re talking to a member of Hostelling International.”
“Wait. I need to get something straight. You’re forty-two?”
I clenched my teeth. A woman should never divulge her real age. Did I just reveal mine unsolicited?
“Yep.” The cougar’s been let out of the bag.
“It’s not a big deal or anything.” Simon shrugged. “You just happen to look a lot younger. I thought you were around my age.”
“And you’re...?”
“Thirty-two.”
I had to laugh out loud at that one. “Aren’t you quite the charmer? I wish I was your age.”
“I’m only ten years behind you. That’s nothing.”
“Maybe in dog years,” I snickered.
“Well, I’m still intrigued by you.”
My palms were sweaty. “Speaking of intrigue, I think this belongs to you.” I reached into my bag and fished out his book. “I didn’t look in it,” I lied.
It wasn’t like I had any idea this volunteer program was on his list of things to do. Nor did I know he wanted to climb to the top of Notre Dame. Or bring home healing waters from Lourdes. Or see a sunset from the top of the Eiffel Tower. I especially had no clue he planned to take an evening bike tour that night. I swear I hadn’t read it.
Simon took the book. “Oh man, I was looking all over for this.” The bus suddenly made a sharp turn, and my journal slid from my lap into his hands.
“Good catch,” I exclaimed.
“That’s what the ladies tell me.” He winked. “I know you’re vacationing with Tess, but are you also traveling for business?” He looked down at my book, and our fingers brushed as he handed it back to me.
I hesitated. “No. This is just a little writing book, and if I were here for business, I’d be up a creek.” I flipped through the empty pages and laughed. “However, as of yesterday I may have become a freelance travel writer.” I told Simon about the recent email from Janice and also filled him in on my previous job at the parenting magazine.
“A-ha,” Simon said. “Sounds like a little inspiration is in order. Another reason why you needed a good view.”
“What about you?” I smiled. “You mentioned you work at a camp? Are you a counselor?”
“Something like that.”
“What do you do during the year?”
“Oh, you know ... the summer takes up so much time and mental energy that I kind of need to take the rest of the year to recharge.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking, but he looked pretty serious. Who knew that a camp counselor ranked high on the list of America’s most stressful jobs? I didn’t. And I sure as hell didn’t know anyone over twenty-one in the field. I hated that I was judging him, but I couldn’t help it. What thirty two-year-old man still worked as a camp counselor? I bit my lip.
“How long do you plan to travel?”
“Camp starts in three weeks, so we’ll hit a few more places and then head back to reality.”
Maybe you should step into reality, Mr. Hardly-A-Care-In-The-World. I politely smiled back. But as I listened to the world’s oldest camp counselor talk about his life in Chicago, I actually began to enjoy myself. So much so, that I began to open up as well.
As we rolled onward, I found myself telling him about my own life in New York City. I told him about my apartment, my obsession for romantic comedy films, my addiction to Chinese take-out, and my love-hate relationship with the treadmill at the gym. I confessed that I ended up in physical therapy after running a half marathon with zero preparation, and Simon admitted to needing shoulder surgery after doing a triathlon without swim training.
“Ok, so basically we both rush into things.” I laughed, as the bus finally pulled into Chateau Les Artistes. I heard the sound of gravel crunching underneath the bus tires.
“Good one.” Simon poked me in the ribs and smiled, deepening a dimple in his cheek.
My face flushed, and I bent down to adjust my shoelaces, which didn’t need any adjusting, whatsoever. “So, there you have it,” I said, once my composure returned. “You now know my life story. The abridged version, anyway. Lucy-Lite.”
“You know what?” Simon said as he stood up and stret
ched. “I like Lucy-Lite.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and looked at him in earnest. “Have I redeemed myself?”
“Oh, about two hours ago.” Simon winked as he held out his hand to help me out of my seat.
I walked ahead of him, suddenly self-conscious that he had a view of my rear. I quickened my pace and hurried off the bus steps. Once my feet hit the ground I gasped at the idyllic scenery that lay before me.
“Wow,” Simon exhaled as he approached me.
I nodded and looked around. The vineyard could’ve been used as a set for a movie. An eighteenth century castle stood off in the distance, and rows and rows of grapevines stretched on for as far as we could see. The trees were all the same height and were filled with green leaves and purple grapes that stood out against the clear blue sky.
I drew in a deep breath, and as the clean country air filled my lungs, I knew I’d made the perfect choice for the day. Simon’s sleeve brushed against my arm as we stood together in a moment of blissful silence. I turned my head to look up at him, and he smiled back at me.
Suddenly, feeling a bit anxious, I grabbed the wooden bucket and immediately headed off to pick grapes. My legs were wobbling oddly beneath me.
“Lucy, wait up!” Simon called.
I turned around and watched him walk towards me.
“That’s it? You’re done with me?” he said.
“Of course I’m not done with you. I mean, well, you know what I mean,” I mumbled.
The look on Simon’s face told me he had no idea what I was trying to say. How could he? I hadn’t a clue myself. I was so out of practice talking to men.
“I just wanted to get a head start. There are a lot of grapes out there that need to be picked. I also wanted to get a good spot. As a matter of fact, this looks like a good one.” I took a break from my babbling to pluck a few grapes from the tree. Simon was staring at me, and I grew warm under his gaze. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth...
“Well, is there room for one more over here? I’d hate to crowd you out.” Simon said, tilting his head to the side.
I looked around to see that we were the only two people in that row. “Ha, ha,” I said and tossed a grape at him.
Simon got to work, and we immediately fell into a good rhythm. I discovered more about Simon and also learned that working on a farm in Bordeaux is not all red wine and olives. It started off as therapeutic. However, as the hours passed, the sun grew hotter and the dust grew dustier. A layer of grime formed on my face, and I paused on top of the ladder.
“By any chance, do I look as dirty as I feel?” I asked Simon. “I feel like I see something dark on my nose.” I closed one eye and used the other to look at the side of my nose.
“Dirty, no. Silly, yes.” Simon smiled and leaned over his ladder to wipe my nose with a paisley handkerchief.
“Thank you,” I laughed. “You know, I’m really impressed you carry a handkerchief.”
“It comes in handy with the ladies.” He winked.
“Yes, you never know when you might encounter a dusty gal in a vineyard.” I rubbed my hands together to remove some of the dirt stuck to my palms.
Simon watched me with a half-smile.
“What?” I said, feeling paranoid.
“Nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m having a nice time with you.”
“Me too.” My heartbeat quickened as I reached for a cluster of grapes. “Who knew picking grapes could be so much fun? My ex would never have done this.”
“Why not?” Simon popped a grape into his mouth.
“Oh, a number of reasons. Manual labor, dirt...finger cramps.”
I paused to stretch out my hands. After a few hours of picking those slippery suckers, my hands were starting to feel rather tight.
“A little manual labor is good for the soul,” Simon said.
The whistle blew for lunch. “As is a picnic. I’m famished.” I started to step down the ladder, but whether it was because of Simon’s presence or because I was so tired, I missed a step going down.
“Shit!” I cried. I fell to the ground and knocked over my bucket in the process.
“Lucy, are you okay?” Simon rushed over to help me.
“Talk about grapes of wrath,” I grimaced. I slid the bucket out of the way.
“Don’t worry about the damn grapes.” He looked worried. “Let’s get you up.”
He bent down to help me, but as I stood, I realized I couldn’t bear any weight on my ankle. “Oh my Lord,” I groaned. “I feel like such an ass.”
“Put your arm around my waist,” Simon directed. As I grabbed on for support, I could feel the firm muscles under his shirt, and all I could think about was that his hand was wrapped around my muffin top. I sucked in my stomach with such a vengeance that I was pretty much gasping for air as we hobbled over to the picnic area.
“Hang in. We’re almost there,” Simon said, apparently mistaking my gasping for pain.
When we got to our destination, an attractive blonde woman with a bag of ice ran over to us, her long floral skirt bellowing behind her as she ran.
“I saw you coming and made you a pack. Please, sit down.” She ushered me over to a white Adirondack chair.
“I’m Charlize. My husband and I own the vineyard. I’m so sorry about this. Our daughters ran up to the house for some pain reliever and wrapping. There they are now.” Her face broke into a smile, and I followed her gaze to see three little Asian girls running towards us.
“They’re adorable,” I smiled.
“Are they triplets?” Simon asked.
“Thank you,” Charlize smiled at me again. “And yes, they are,” she answered Simon. “We fostered them back in San Francisco, and they officially became our daughters one year ago yesterday. We moved to Paris and bought the vineyard shortly after. I guess you can say it’s been a wonderful year for us.”
“It also happens to be their fourth birthday tomorrow,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Charlize held out two very toned arms and opened them to greet her daughters. “Group hug!” she cried.
The girls fell into her arms and gave their mother a tight hug. A knot formed in my throat, and I actually had to put on my shades.
Simon cleared his own throat. “Looks like you girls brought enough supplies to open a hospital. Thank you.” He took the first aid materials from their hands. The three sisters smiled proudly.
“And here comes Daddy with the food, so we’re all set,” Charlize said.
A husky man on a tractor pulled up, and we watched him unload picnic baskets from the back. He called out to the girls in French, and they ran towards him to help out.
“Do you need anything else?” Charlize asked.
Simon held up his hand. “Thank you, but we’re all set. I’ve been doing this for years.”
As Charlize joined her family at the tractor, Simon turned to me with a wrap. “Ahem. It’s a good thing you’re with an Illinois certified emergency medical technician.”
“Thank God for that,” I said. “I fall so easily. And when I fall, I fall hard.”
“Thanks for the warning. I used to be like that. I’m trying to take my time now. I mean, you can’t rush into love, right?” Simon’s eyes twinkled as he waited for me to respond.
I laughed, then turned my head and watched the three little girls. They were happily handing out lunch bags to the volunteers.
“Those three are adorable, eh?” Simon said as he followed my gaze.
“Beyond,” I said with a sigh. “Charlize and her husband are very lucky.”
“Seriously. Three sisters. It doesn’t get any better than that. I would love to adopt when I...”
“Grow up?”
“Cute. Get settled was what I was going to say,” Simon corrected. He pulled the wrap tightly around my ankle. “You better take it easy or Dr. Evil is going to come out.”
“Do you really? You would adopt?”
“Sure. Why not?” Simon shrugged.
/> I stared at him in silence. That didn’t sound to me like someone who had a Peter Pan complex. Maybe Simon had a few more layers of depth than I had given him credit for.
“Why do you seem so shocked?” he said.
“Why do I seem so shocked?” I sorted through the many thoughts whirring around in my head. “Well, for one, what I didn’t tell you in the Facebook version of my life is that my ex-fiancée basically said if we couldn’t have kids, for whatever reason, there was no way he would adopt.”
“What?” Simon grimaced. “So he’s opposed to giving a child a better life?”
I actually felt goose bumps on my arms as Simon spoke. I wondered if there were other men out there who shared his thinking.
“I don’t know. He wants to keep his name going, pass down his genes...” My voice trailed off.
“Sounds like he has some set of genes,” Simon said dryly. “Not to mention, balls.” He looked at me pointedly.
He must have seen the mixed emotions crossing my face because he backed down and reached out to touch my shoulder before saying, “I’m sorry, but the guy sounds like a real tool. Especially, if he let you go.”
“Thanks.” I gave him a closed-mouth smile and tried to ignore the heat from his fingers as they brushed my upper arm. “It got pretty complicated.”
Simon paused to look me square in the eyes. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find better.”
My stomach did a flip as he turned his attention back to the wrap he was now winding around my ankle. He secured it tightly with a piece of tape.
“You’re good to go.” He looked proud as he assessed his handiwork. “Ready to get back out in the field?”
“I guess,” I said doubtfully. I couldn’t help but wonder which field he was talking about.
Each time Simon came to check on me, he told me about the antics of the other visitors out in the vineyard. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with the grace and balance of a hippopotamus. I wasn’t sure Cooper would have been as amused as Simon was. Coop tended to equate clumsiness with carelessness, and he certainly wouldn’t have laughed at smudges of dirt or sweat marks on my face. Not that he would have ever seen them there in the first place, since I was pretty sure Cooper’s alleged allergy to anything resembling dirt would have kept him far from these fields.
Tales From a Broad Page 8