by Hayes, Lane
Wes still knew people in the tech industry. I could ask a few questions and maybe learn something of interest. And it wouldn’t be mixing business and pleasure because Wes wasn’t in the business anymore, and we weren’t destined for a relationship. Genius!
I called the winery the next day and finagled Wes’s cell phone number from Geordie. I mentioned something about returning his sweats, and though he chuckled at my lame excuse, he cooperated. Then I leaned back in my office chair and typed a quick message.
Hi, this is Nick. Want to meet for a drink?
I pushed Send and set my phone on my desk then turned my attention back to the wall of computer monitors in front of me. There. Done. It wasn’t my smoothest message, but the ball was in his court now. If he was interested, he’d text. I was about to turn my cell off when it buzzed in my hand.
You’re up to something, Nicky. Do you need another bottle of Pinot?
My heartbeat doubled as a sappy grin pulled at the corners of my mouth. I stared at the text, wondering crazy things like…what was he wearing? Who was he with? Was he in the same state as me or was I having an obsessive episode worthy of a teenage girl with the hots for Harry Styles?
The last thing I need is your Pinot. I hesitated for a second then added, But I do want your ass.
My phone rang a moment later.
“Is this a ‘yes?’ ” I answered.
Wes’s hearty laughter was contagious. I chuckled as I swiveled my chair and rested my feet on the chair next to mine, waiting for his laughter to subside.
“You’re a charmer, Jorgensen.”
“Thanks. So…drinks? Sex? Does either sound appealing?” I asked in an exaggerated professional tone.
“Both sound immensely appealing.”
The low timbre of his voice sounded like the act itself. I gulped and clandestinely adjusted my dick, mindful of the gaggle of engineers on the opposite side of the lab.
“Good. When will you be back in the city?”
“Not for a few weeks. We’re busy wrapping up harvest. But you could always come here.”
“To Napa?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. I had a very traumatic experience on my last visit. I’m not sure I should chance it.”
I kept my tone light, but the gears in my brain had started turning. Fast. Should I get a hotel room or was he inviting me to spend the night? This seemed premature. After all, we hardly knew each other. And I hadn’t been in a “more than once or twice” sexual arrangement with a man in a while. When I was, I hadn’t exactly been good at it. Actually, I sucked at it with women too.
Wes’s chuckle pulled me back to the present. “The weather forecast says clear skies and seventy degrees. Should be a different trip than your last one here. No pressure. Just think about it. In the meantime, tell me about your day.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I’m working in the lab.”
“I haven’t been in a research lab in a while. Has anything changed much in the last nine years, or is it the same sterile, windowless environment with monitors everywhere and a geek squad oohing and ahhing over interface network chips and connectors for the optical drive?”
“God, that turns me on. We’d better change the topic before I get caught jacking off to Javascript protocol. Geek talk is my weakness.” I chuckled and glanced over at my personal geek squad hovering over a monitor at the other end of the room while the lead engineer typed magic code into his keyboard.
Wes barked a quick laugh. “Fine. Then tell me something I don’t know…TV or movies? Salty snacks or sweet? And what’s your favorite band?”
“Uh…Both and salty. And Radiohead. How about you?”
“Let’s see…TV over movies, salty tortilla chips, and Radiohead.”
“Yeah? What’s your favorite song?”
“I have too many to answer that. It depends on my mood.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were dissecting our favorite concert experiences and had ventured into making a short list of all-time best songs. We’d just agreed it had to be done by era when one of the engineers tapped me on my shoulder to get my attention. I glanced at my watch and signaled I’d be right there.
“…if you break down the 1970s, you have to separate disco from pop and—”
“Isn’t disco technically pop? Wait. Don’t answer. Or save your answer for later. I have to go. I’m supposed to be working.”
“Me too. Come to Napa this weekend. Or don’t. It’s up to you.”
* * *
“Go to Napa and have kinky sex with the wine farmer.”
Josh and I were sitting at a long, battered farmhouse table at a SoMa Starbucks with at least ten people we’d never met in our lives. This was typical of any San Francisco coffee shop regardless of the day of the week or the time. A little less volume would have been appreciated, though.
“Shh.”
Josh flipped me off and continued in a louder voice. “You like him.”
I glanced across the table at Josh’s smug expression and let out a huff that could be taken as agreement or an “Oh, please.” Josh read it as the former and howled with laughter before smacking his hand flat on the surface, startling a couple standing in line as well as the white-haired, bushy-bearded man meticulously arranging coffee stirrers and packets of sugar in a straight line at the opposite end of the table.
“Yeah, I like him. So what?”
“So have fun. What else are you going to do this weekend?”
“Work. In fact, I should get on the road soon.”
“You’re hopeless.” Josh sipped his coffee then flipped his phone over to check the time. “I have ten minutes. Want to come in and check out the installation? It’s amazing. I’m hoping to be done tonight.”
Josh was a junior curator at the Modern Museum of Art. He liked to complain about spending the better of his days in the office writing grants, so I knew being part of a major contemporary art installation was a big deal. It had to be if he was willing to work on a Saturday night.
“No hot date?” I asked offhandedly.
“No, but guess who called?”
I furrowed my brow. “Who?”
“Finn.”
“How? I thought you didn’t exchange numbers. I haven’t talked to him, and Eric definitely would have said something if he had.” My voice went up an octave as I tried to puzzle Finn’s motive.
“I probably gave it to him and forgot about it. God, I’m a genius sometimes.” Josh made a face as he scooted his chair out and stood. “Walk me to the museum. If you’re sweet, I’ll let you hold my hand.”
“Did he say what he wanted?” I asked, dodging a jogger as we made our way down Third Street.
“Sure. A chance to get to know me better before we fly to Ireland to meet his family, get married, buy a house next to yours, and find a surrogate to carry our babies. What else would he want? Sex? Don’t be so gauche,” Josh quipped, slipping his hand into mine for no reason other than to make me nuts.
“You’re a riot this morning.” I growled, swatting his hand away.
Josh chortled merrily. “It’s not morning. It’s after one o’clock. You’d better get on the road. You have an equidistant choice to make. Are you driving south or north? Personally, I recommend north, but—”
“Yeah, but I can’t leave you with Finn now. Maybe I should stay.”
“I thought you wanted me to pump him”—he made a lewd gesture with his fist—“for information. I’m a giver, Nick. I told you I don’t mind taking one for the team.”
“He’s up to something. I don’t trust him.”
Josh stopped at the red light and nudged my arm before lowering his sunglasses. “But you do trust me, right?”
“Sure, but—”
“No buts. What’s with you? If you don’t have a problem, you make one up and spin it until you find a solution. Do you ever just relax and let life unfold without guessing the outcome first?”
“I—”
“That wa
s a rhetorical question. Do yourself a favor and drive north. No strings attached. Just you and the open road and maybe a sexy guy who’ll meet you with a glass of wine at the end of the journey. It’s a no-brainer, smart guy. See ya.”
Josh flashed his badge to the young woman collecting tickets at the front door and disappeared into the museum, leaving me with a coffee I didn’t want and a headful of quandary. He was right. A trip to Napa was a good idea.
Chapter 6
The day was as beautiful as Wes predicted, and it only got better as I drove north on Highway 29. Warm temperatures with a light breeze and not a cloud in the sky. It felt like summer. I wended my rental car up the long drive and veered into the visitor lot before parking as far as possible from the row of tour buses at the front.
A boisterous group was just leaving the winery, clutching bottles of Conrad’s finest reserves and other goodies purchased in the gift shop. I waited patiently for slower-moving patrons to step outside before finally slipping through the grand entrance. The same young woman from my last visit was standing in the foyer, directing traffic. Her long brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail and tied with a black ribbon to match her sundress. I didn’t remember her name or if I’d asked it when we’d met. Then again, I hadn’t been at my best.
“Hi. I was here two wee—”
“Hi. I totally remember you! I’m Lauren.” She took my offered hand and flashed a megawatt grin. “Are you back for more wine?”
“Actually, no. I’m here to see Wes.” I stuffed my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, hoping the gesture looked casual because I was feeling pretty damn self-conscious.
“He’s in the process building working on one of the machines. Was he expecting you?” Lauren’s happy-go-lucky demeanor dimmed slightly as she ushered me into the tasting room. I could tell she hated being the bearer of bad news.
“Not exactly. But maybe.”
“Um…all right. If you’ll wait here, I’ll let—”
She halted midsentence when a booming voice sang my name as we entered, effectively silencing the crowded room. A nervous twitter broke the quiet before the noise level returned to normal. Not that Geordie seemed to mind. He ignored the people gathered around the long bar and the high barrel-topped tables and glided toward me like a butterfly in midair with the generous sleeves of his black silk shirt fluttering artfully at his side.
“Nick! You’ve returned! Enchanté.” Geordie presented his hand to me like royalty.
I squeezed his fingers and smiled. “Yes. I’m here to see Wes.”
“Are you now? That’s all kinds of adorable. I’d offer to escort you to him, but—”
“I can take him, Geordie,” Lauren said with a helpful smile.
“I’m afraid I need you, dear. It’s far too busy, still.” Geordie’s tone conveyed an unspoken prompt for her to return to her station in the foyer.
Lauren obeyed, giving me a cheery wave before leaving me with an unabashedly curious Geordie.
“I’ll text him.” I pulled out my phone as proof, but Geordie batted my hands then hooked one of his fingers through mine and steered me through the arched door near the bar.
“Nonsense. I’ll point you down the yellow brick road, and you can find him yourself. Follow me.”
Geordie pushed open a glass door around the corner and sucked in a dramatic breath when we stepped outside into what looked like a private herb garden. Puffy white clouds hung like stage props in the impossibly blue sky. The air smelled sweet. Rosemary and lavender…or maybe it was Geordie’s cologne. He raised his face skyward as though basking in the sun for a moment before pointing toward a modern barn with a stone façade and a metal roof in the distance at the edge of the vineyard.
“He’s with a bunch of sweaty shirtless men getting down and dirty…with a de-stemming machine. Have fun. If for some reason, group scenes aren’t your thing, you’re welcome to join me back in the tasting room. My next performance will begin”—Geordie yanked his voluminous sleeve away from his wrist and consulted his red watch—“now.”
“Your performance?”
“Oh, yes! People come to Conrad Winery hoping to be treated to an impromptu performance by yours truly. I’m listed as a ‘must-see’ under Napa Valley winery recommendations and attractions.”
“O-kay. What are you performing today?”
“The Phantom of the Opera,” he answered, pointing toward the barn. “Now sing!”
“Huh?” My forehead creased in confusion as Geordie broke into an operatic melody while gesturing wildly for me to get moving.
I smiled weakly before heading down the gravel path with Geordie serenading me like he was re-enacting a high school drama. He didn’t stop until I reached the open barn door. When I glanced over my shoulder, he gave me a stone-faced royal wave and stepped backward into the shadowed doorway. That was one weird dude, I mused as I entered the giant space.
It wasn’t a warehouse, but it had the same cavernous feel with cement floors and high ceilings. The interior was filled with stainless steel equipment ranging from giant vats with sophisticated gauges to machinery with wicked-looking blades. Oak barrels were stacked neatly throughout, giving a good indication this wasn’t an ordinary storage facility. The smell alone was strong enough to make my eyes water. This was where wine was made. Cool.
I stepped further into the building and was met with the grating sound of heavy machinery and a country song blasting through the overhead speakers. I heard faint conversation coming from somewhere in the back. I followed the voices and immediately stopped short. Holy crap. He got hotter every week.
He stood with his hands on his hips, speaking Spanish with a tall, slim, middle-aged woman with short gray hair and three dark-haired men. The others were dressed similarly in jeans, plain white T-shirts, and sturdy work boots. Wes was the only one in low-riding khaki cargo shorts, Timberland boots, a baseball cap and no shirt. If the silver-streaked temples, twinkling eyes and ripped abs glistening with sweat weren’t enough to make my mouth water, it turned out Wes was bilingual too. My jeans suddenly felt a little snug as I moved toward the group.
The woman noticed me first. She smiled as she stepped away from the men to greet me.
“Hello, sir. This area is closed to visitors. The tasting room is just up the drive.”
“I know. Geordie told me to—”
“Look who’s here.” Wes strode forward a moment later. His amused gaze and friendly grin should have put me at ease, but I couldn’t stop staring at his chest.
Actually, that was only part of it. I felt awkward as hell and very out of my element. My plan had run its course. I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t told him I was coming, and I didn’t know how to act now that I was here. This wasn’t a chance meeting. This was me deliberately seeking out a man I was very attracted to. I could tell myself I wanted to know about Wes’s ties to the tech industry, but the truth was, I was here because I had a crush on Wes Conrad.
“Yeah, I…” I swallowed hard and hoped my blush faded quickly. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“Imagine that,” Wes drawled in that low sexy tone that made me dizzy as fuck.
We shared a heated look that made my nerves subside. It was good to know I wasn’t alone here. Wes felt this too.
“I see you two know each other.” The woman cleared her throat and offered her hand. “I’m Margaret.”
I shook her hand. “Nick Jorgensen. It’s nice to meet you.”
Wes took a step back and inclined his head meaningfully in my direction before turning to address Margaret. “I’m going to find my shirt. I think Miguel knows what the problem is here, but I’ll check in later. Hasta luego.”
Margaret nodded and looked like she was about to say something, but Wes was already walking.
“Do you work shirtless all the time?” I asked, letting my arm brush against his.
“Rarely. It was hot.” His lopsided grin was laced with heat and an unmistakable sexual energy that made my mo
uth feel like I’d swallowed cotton balls.
He led me to a small room at the opposite end of the building filled with barrels. The temperature dipped at least ten degrees here, and the strong scent of fermenting wine was offset by the smell of oak. I moved toward the round table in the middle and glanced up at the tower of barrels. Each was labeled and dated, but as far as I could tell, the order wasn’t chronological. I categorized and filed the numbers in my mind in an attempt to solve a mystery that probably wasn’t so mysterious after all.
“These are special reserve wines. The best of the best. Theoretically anyway,” Wes said, picking up the long-sleeved plaid shirt draped over one of the chairs at the table.
“What do the numbers mean?” I asked, running my fingers over the printed tag on the barrel.
“It’s an internal code that basically tells us exactly which vines yielded the harvest. Some have information about soil disruption or weather flux. Of course, once the wine is fermenting that information is no longer significant but—”
“Where are the dates on these labels? Isn’t timing everything in the wine business?”
“Some might argue timing is everything in every facet of life.” Wes regarded me curiously before pointing out the dates in the middle of the tag. “It’s all here. See?”
“I don’t understand your system,” I said, stuffing my hands into my back pockets and staring up at the barrels.
“It’s an internal system. You’re not meant to understand; it’s for us only. The same way you wouldn’t explain the science behind how an advanced operating system works to one of your clients. They might say they’re fascinated, but they aren’t really interested in the details. Same goes for wine. People come to tour the winery every day. They want to know about grape varietals and blends and some even ask about topography, weather, and the fermentation process. But the true science of wine making confounds them. At the end of the day, the truth is in the bottle.”