Wild Abandon (23 page)

“No.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because I’ve been dying to do this my entire life.” He lets out a megawatt smile and gets out of the car.

I release a deep breath of nervous energy and follow him out of the car.

We stand back as the burners roar, inflating the giant balloon. The lump in my throat is still there, growing heavier with every inch the balloon expands. As it grows, it rises from the ground, pulling the basket into an upright position. Nate grabs my hand and pulls me toward the basket. When it is at maximum capacity, he helps me as I place a shaky foot on the footrest and am hoisted over the side by the pilot.

Nate climbs in and holds on to me tight. Clearly, I look like I need the support.

The burners continue to roar and then silence.

Gently, we are lifted into the breeze, and I bury myself into Nate’s chest, so I can’t see the ground beneath us become smaller and smaller. I focus on everything Nate—the hard planes of his chest, the smell of cotton from his shirt, and the way his hand is stroking my back, calming my nerves.

Nate leans his head down and whispers into my ear, “If you don’t look now, you are going to miss out on something spectacular.”

I lift my head from his shirt and look up into the sky. “It’s pretty. It’s blue.” I bury my head back into him, satisfied with the amount of time I was able to lift my head.

Nate’s chest rumbles with the light laugh he’s giving me. “Give it one more chance.”

I peek my left eye out of the confines of Nate. I hold on to him tightly as I lean to the side just a touch and peer outward.

We are flying, gliding over the corridors of grapes and over the magnificent valleys. We drift between the mountains and sail peacefully into the heavens. There is no wind. We are the wind. We are the sky and the earth and everything beautiful in this world.

I release my hold on Nate and look down at the treetops and stunning panorama of Napa Valley.

Nate has a look of elation. Like a kid in a candy store, he takes in every sight, inhales every bit of fresh air, and basks in the intense silence of the moment.

The pilot points out various locations down below and even fires up some history of the valley. I’m sure Nate’s heard it all before, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows I want to learn it all.

Our trip is over before I know it, and we head back toward the field.

A red structure below catches my eye. “There’s Russet Ranch!”

It looks so beautiful from up here. From the vineyard to the garden. Even the old garage looks great. I’m looking down, beaming, and I smile when I catch Nate staring at me.

“You really love that place, don’t you?” he asks.

“It’s magical,” I say. I go back to looking down as we head closer to the field.

When we gently touch ground, I look over at Nate and say, “We should do that again!”

He laughs and tips the pilot.

I’m still beaming at the experience when we get into the car and drive back to Nate’s house. I put my hand over his, more to get his attention than anything romantic. He turns to me.

“Thank you. That was amazing.”

Nate blushes. “It was my way of saying I’m sorry. Are we even now?”

“Most definitely,” I say.

My tummy decides to growl, causing his eyes to dart to my screaming stomach.

“I should have fed you first. Come inside.”

I follow him in, and before I know it, we’re moving about his kitchen, gathering ingredients for dinner. For a man living alone, he certainly has a stocked fridge. I assume his girlfriend keeps it stocked, but I don’t bring her up. The last time I did, he didn’t talk to me for two weeks. I don’t want to ruin the moment. If this is the relationship we’re going to have, then I’m okay with that.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t been eyeing every corner of the place, looking for a photo. I mean, how serious could it be if he doesn’t even have a photo of her lying around? Then again, he doesn’t have much as far as decor.

Nate is sautéing garlic, and I dice the onions as he asked. He’s making his grandmother’s Sunday sauce. A tradition he grew up with and still keeps every week. I look in the refrigerator and grab the ground meat. When he tells me to start on the meatballs, I just stare at him with uncertainty.

“You’re making that face again,” he says.

I snap my lower lip away from my teeth. “I don’t know how to cook.”

“You love food! How do you not know how to cook?” He’s bemused.

“Never had a reason to.” This is the first time I actually wish I did know how to cook.

Nate puts his arm around my waist and pulls me in front of him by an open area of the counter. His fingers pin me at the hips. “Today, you have a reason to.” He places a bowl on the Formica and hands me an egg.

“What are we making?” I say. I’m a little breathless.

“Meatballs.”

Yes, meatballs. I knew that.

Nate’s an excellent teacher. He hands me the ingredients and tells me what to put in the bowl and when. I don’t mind getting my hands messy, so I dig in, knuckles deep, and grind the meat.

When I mention to him that I’m pretty sure my dad’s meatball recipe calls for day-old bread, he leans into the pantry cabinet and pulls out a stale loaf of Italian bread with a huge smile on his face. “Mine, too.”

We talk about our favorite foods and how I love to travel, having been all over the world. Nate’s experiences have been minimal, only traveling the two years after high school before landing in San Francisco, but he definitely has his fair share of culinary discoveries.

“Lobster in Boston,” Nate shares.

“Chocolate lobster bisque in Paris,” I counter.

“You didn’t eat snails, did you?”

“It’s called escargot. And, yes, they were delicious!” I lick my lips, and he makes a mock vomit face.

“Kansas City Barbecue. Hands down.” Nate is frying the meatballs as I roll them.

I nearly moan out loud at the thought of my favorite barbeque joint in Kansas City.

“Arthur Bryant’s,” we say in unison before laughing.

Small world and all.

Our conversation is flowing comfortably, like two old friends who’ve gotten together for Sunday supper for years. That is, until we get into the great pizza debate.

“Chicago? Are you kidding me?” I hold the salad tongs up at him, mid toss.

“Deep dish or no dish. It’s the only way.”

I feel like a knife has been stuck in my chest. Okay, I’m being dramatic. But you cannot tell a native New Yorker that any pizza other than New York pizza is the best. And you certainly, most definitely, cannot compare it to
Chicago-
style pizza.

“There are three things New York does better than any other place in the world.” I hold up my hand. “Pizza, bagels, and hot dogs.”

“Aren’t they called dirty-water dogs? And they’re sold from a cart.” Nate is making a face of disgust, more because he knows it’s pissing me off than anything else.

“A street dog is the most amazing thing on the planet.”

“How can a girl who ate spaghetti bolognese in Rome call a hot dog from a street vendor
the most amazing thing on the planet
?”

I laugh at him. “Unlike some people, I am not a culinary snob. I like the finer things in life, but I also know how to appreciate the basics.”

I’m waiting for him to look back up at me with a witty remark. Instead, he just smiles as he drains the pasta in the sink.

“I know. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

I would contain my blush if I were the blushing type of girl. I’m not. At least, I wasn’t. I turn my back and take a seat at the table.

Nate takes out a bottle of cabernet and has a seat as well. “I know you’re not crazy about wine, but I really want you to try this. It’s from a vineyard here in Napa.”

I take my glass and do my perfect ritual for tasting, à la Big Ed. “It has good color.” I lift the glass to my nose. “Nice bold aromas of black cherries, mocha, tobacco.” I take a sip and swish it around my mouth for a second. “Full-bodied and expressive. Sweet tannin and a good underlying structure,” I add with a little affluence to my voice.

Nate blinks at me a few times, his mouth open and brows crinkled. “Oh my God, that was so pretentious.”

I let out a loud laugh. “I know. Aren’t I remarkable?”

He laughs, and it makes my insides dance. His smile is large and bright, the chip of his lower tooth only adding to the charm. If I’m not mistaken, there is a little twinkle in my eye.

“Where did you learn so much about wine?”

“My boss. He’s this amazing man with a big, round belly and a cane and a pissed off attitude when you first meet him, but when you get to know him, he’s the most insightful, sweetest, and most endearing man you’ve ever met.” I gush and take a peek at the roses sitting on the table, so vibrant in an apartment devoid of color.

Nate’s chest rises, and he offers me a closed mouth smile, lopsided and understanding. “You care about him deeply then?”

“I do,” I say.

Then, I tell Nate about Russet Ranch. I don’t leave out a thing. I tell him about the first day I went there and Ed’s ridiculous wine test and the reason he hired me. I tell him about the rose garden and my talks with Ed, everything I’ve learned. I tell him about the restoration of the ranch, every single detail. And Nate hangs on to every word. He asks questions and is genuinely interested.

“Why are you doing this on your own? Did he say if he has family?”

I swirl my fork around my pasta. “He has a daughter who lives in San Francisco, but I don’t think they have a good relationship. She is sick or troubled of some sort. At first, I thought drugs, but now, I’m not so sure. I don’t ask. It’s a sore subject for him.” I ponder for a moment. “I don’t know how anyone could stay away from there.”

“Tell me about your family.” Nate snaps me out of my melancholy.

I wipe my mouth with a cloth napkin, unsure of where to start. So, I tell him about my parents, “Well, their names are Georgie and Melanie. They met at a rally in college where they found a mutual love of saving the world.”

I laugh to myself, thinking of how many protests my parents go to a year. They are like their own caped crusaders, saving the world one cause at a time. “My parents run a foundation for inner city youth. They didn’t think you could help inner city kids if you didn’t live in the city, so they moved to Manhattan at a time when people were fleeing. Crime was high, and drugs and homeless people were taking over the streets. I grew up on the Upper West Side, not far from Harlem. It was a good life. My brother and I spent our weekends in parks and at museums and shows. What we lacked in space, we gained in culture.”

“They sound very admirable. Do your parents still live there?”

“Oh, yes. They’ll never leave. People have offered them millions for their apartment, but they love where they are. They love what they do and the people they have surrounded themselves with.

“My mom has become quite the pillar of the community. She makes speeches all over, advocating for inner city development. Over the last thirty years, she has accomplished so much. I can’t see what else she could possibly need to change. But she always finds something.

“My parents care more about helping others than retiring in a sunny climate and playing golf all day. Anyway, the do-gooder gene skipped me.”

“You have a lot of your parents in you.” Nate leans his arm on the table, his body closer to me.

I look up at him in confusion. I am nothing like them.

“Russet Ranch was your way of fighting for something that was once neglected. You helped an old man who couldn’t help himself.” His intense green eyes focus on mine, holding my attention.

I want to argue with him, but he has so much conviction in his words that it’s hard to deny them.

“And you worked for a music school that provided free music education to children. You could have worked anywhere, and I’m sure you could have made a lot more money elsewhere. But you chose to be there, helping the less fortunate.”

I offer Nate a smile at his words. They are very sweet.

My mom told me about the position at the Juliette Academy. I know I could have worked somewhere else, but I did like the idea of helping kids who wouldn’t have the opportunity if we weren’t there to provide it.

“I often wonder if I’m flighty.” My admission is making my stomach rumble with unease. “I play the cello for a living but don’t take it as seriously as I should. I go on vacation by myself once a year. I date men but don’t stick around long enough to make a commitment. And when things weren’t going as planned, I quit my job and hopped on a plane to Napa on a whim.” Just saying the words out loud makes me sure I’m the flightiest person on the planet.

Nate’s hand moves to my chin and pulls my attention back to him. His warm skin sends tingles across my jaw.

“Hey, stop focusing on those things like they’re negatives. You’re an amazing musician who doesn’t need to make money. Traveling alone is amazing. You’re talking to someone who’s done it as well. You date because you haven’t met the right one. You only live once. Why waste it with the wrong person?”

His recitation of my words to him the first time we met leads me to smile into his hand.

“And moving here was bold. You needed to make a change. Some people sit in their lives, caged by the choices they made and the decisions someone else made for them. Hell, some people are trapped by fate.” His eyes skim his glass for a moment and then look back up. “Why don’t you focus on what you are committed to? What do you love?”

What do I love? Nothing. So many things. Everything. “I love my family. And I love my friends.” It’s an easy first answer. People are the most valuable to me. This might be the first time I’m truly realizing it.

“That’s all you need.” He releases his hold on me.

As gentle as it was, I feel the weight of its loss. I reach my arm across the table and grab his hand.

When Nate looks up at me, he lets out a deep sigh and starts to talk, “Crystal, you still haven’t told me how delicious my balls are.”

Thank God I didn’t have anything in my mouth because I would have spit it out with the large gasp I just took. I start coughing, holding my chest, while Nate leans over, laughing and patting me on the back.