“After that, we’ll serve the two of you a light lunch out on the patio of your suite.” Heather checks the computer. “No food allergies? Oh, and should I arrange for a wine tasting in the oak barrel hot tub?”
“Is all this written down anywhere?” I ask. I feel like I felt on the first day of high school at Ephron High—lost. Like I’m bound to show up in the wrong classroom at the wrong time, and forget where my locker is when it’s time to change out of my gym gear.
“Well, no,” Heather frowns. “But don’t worry. Our staff will be on hand to escort you and answer any questions. Shall I show you to the suite now?”
“Thanks, Heather,” Rafe nods. “It all sounds so delightful, rightMorticia, darling?”
“RightDoug,” I say.
As I turn to follow Heather, Rafe walks behind me, massaging my neck and shoulders. “Try to relax,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re here already, so you may as well enjoy it.”And I do. So much that I wish he wouldn’t stop.
“So this is the Chardonnay Suite.” Heather gives us a quick tour of what is essentially a mini-apartment, complete with a living room, two changing areas with bathrooms, and the aforementioned sauna and steam room. Out past the patio, I spy a hot tub framed to resemble a wine barrel. It occupies pride of place on a covered deck that is shaded by grape-laden vines. I don’t even have to venture outside to see that it has a great view of the vineyard.
“There are robes for you in the closet. Make yourselves completely comfortable. You are our most special guests. You won’t have to worry about encountering any of our other guests during your stay today.” With this last bit of information, Heather slips silently out of the room, leaving me alone again with Rafe … aka Doug.
“Doug?” I splutter. “Doug and Morticia Adams? Shouldn’t you at least have been Gomez?”
“What can I say? I’m a fan of theHitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” Rafe says with a playful smile.
“And Morticia?”
“Come on, you’ve met Lorelei.” Rafe chuckles.
“Yeah, but she’s more Wednesday than Morticia,” I argue.
“Fine, fine. Next time, we’ll make the reservations for Doug and Wednesday,” he concedes.
“Aren’t you afraid of feeding the rumor mill about you and Lorelei?” I ask.
“Not really. If we give them something tame to speculate about, they’re less likely to dig around for a juicier story.”
“Oh,” I say. I hadn’t considered that angle.
“Guess we better slip into something a little more comfortable now.” Rafe crosses to the closet. The clean scent of fresh lemons and eucalyptus wafts out as he swings the door open and pulls out two snowy-white, waffle-weave bathrobes.
“Here, take the smaller one.” He hands the robe to me and turns toward one of the changing areas.
“Rafe, wait!” I stop him. “Are you going to … um …” I swallow at the thought of him stripping naked on the other side of the pocket door.
“Take it all off?” he says, eyes flashing at me.
“Um … yeah?” I say, willing my toes to uncurl.
“Probably,” he says. “But you should just do whatever is comfortable for you. If it makes you feel any better, I like to leave my socks on.”
* * *
“You were totally snoring.” Rafe does an imitation of me passed out on the chaise lounges, post-massage. We’re sitting on the patio, eating our lunch.
“I was not!” I pull my robe tighter and smooth the oversize napkin on my lap, admiring my newly polished nails. I hope the gel polish lasts, though it’s hard to imagine myself serving drinks and washing dishes with these glittery, glamorous hands.
“Yes, you were. And talking in your sleep, too.” Rafe raises an eyebrow at me, teasingly.
Oh, shit! I don’t usually snore, but Iamfamous for talking in my sleep.
“Lorelei talks in her sleep, too.” Rafe dips his fork in the cruet of artisanal honey mustard dressing and spears a strawberry slice with his lettuce. I can see the pleasure crossing his face as he tastes the flavorful combo. “Wow, these strawberries are so tart and sweet! Almost as good as the ones in Finland. Must be local.”
“Pretty sure it’s all grown on the premises,” I say. “Most of the local vineyards serve farm to table. A few of them even make their own cheeses. I’m pretty sure they have goats here.” I slice a lump of chèvre and drizzle it with honey before popping it in my mouth. Bliss.
