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Proud redwoods rise along both sides of the road while low-key jazz music oozes from the car speakers. The sky above is a perfect blue, and the sun shines sweetly over us as we move farther away from the city. We’re in wine country now, and I can almost smell it in the air. It’s cleaner, lighter, fresher.
Sometimes, I forget how much clarity I can get simply by pulling away from everything. Will was right—the office atmosphere is far from perfect. He’s tried to foster a healthy environment, but it takes a village. Unfortunately, in Bucklow Tech’s case, the village is limited in its endeavor for self-betterment.
It's okay, though. I’m not there for the village.
“What’s on your mind?” Zara asks. She’s in the back seat with me, while Alina called shotgun. Part of me is a little jealous. I’d like to be closer to Will. “You’ve barely said two words since we left Sacramento.”
“Oh, I’m just admiring the scenery. I’ve never been this far north before,” I tell her.
“Seriously? You’ve been missing out. I come out here once a month at least, though this is the first time I’m doing Clearlake with the rest of you,” she replies, smiling.
Will chuckles, and I love that sound coming out of his throat. It’s the first time I’ve seen him relaxed like this. “What Zara means to say is that she brings a girlfriend over to Clearlake every now and then to impress them, but that this is the first time she’s visiting the resort with us mongrels.”
“I didn’t say you were beneath me,” she replies.
“I didn’t say that, either.”
They both laugh, and I can’t help but laugh a little, too. Alina’s busy swiping left on various dating apps, yet to fully disconnect from the bustle of her life. I wonder if I’ll be able to do that myself. To simply plug myself out of it all so I can simply enjoy what’s coming. Will was pretty clear that we should spend the weekend relaxing before we start the working holiday.
“So you guys go out here a lot, then,” I say eventually.
Almost instantly, Will’s gaze locks on to me in the rearview mirror. “That would be a bit of an overstatement. Frequently enough to inspire productivity, but given recent events, it appears there are other aspects in my company that require my attention.”
“You were too harsh on Nathan and Max,” Alina says.
Zara rolls her eyes. “Those two got it into their heads that they were God’s gift to coding and started acting like it, too. No company will ever thrive when its employees put their egos ahead of everything. Not when Will has been nothing but kind and generous to everyone.”
“I still feel kinda bad,” I mumble.
“Don’t,” Will replies bluntly. “You are more important to this company than they ever will be, and if you keep up your end of the hard work, I won’t regret firing them.”
“That’s a lot to put on her shoulders,” Alina says.
“I can take it,” I chime in, prompting another look from Will. I wonder what’s going through his head, because his eyes always have a habit of telling me more than he would, yet I’m never able to understand any of these unspoken messages.
Once we reach the resort, I take a moment to fully absorb the view. The main building is a playful composition of minimalistic architecture and an abundance of glass, splendidly integrated into the lush greenery that envelopes the entire property. Japanese-style gardens adorn the front side with red maple trees and bamboo shrubs, ornamental stone displays and koi fishponds over which narrow bridges extend to give access to the front steps.
“Oh, wow,” I whisper as I get out of the car.
A concierge is already with us, loading our bags onto a cart. Alina and Zara go ahead, both familiar with the check-in and welcoming process. Will, however, patiently waits for me to stop gawking at all of this beauty before he nods at the entrance. “We should go do the check-in so the concierge knows where to take our bags.”
“Yeah, sure…” I follow him across the garden, trying to memorize as much of its simple yet colorful beauty as we cross the bridges and make our way up the front steps. For a second, I feel like I may have underdressed with my jeans and cotton tee, but as soon as the hostess comes out in olive green slacks and a white linen vest, I realize there’s absolutely nothing for me to worry about. This place may look uppity, but everything else about it invites minimalism and comfort.
“Welcome to Clearlake Cellars. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Bucklow,” the hostess says, all smiles as we walk past her and through the open door.
“Thank you,” Will replies, making sure to keep his eyes on me as I stay beside him.
Zara and Alina are busy checking in with one of the receptionists, while the other awaits us behind her desk. The hostess mutters some instructions to the concierge, who pushes our luggage cart across the lobby and into a small designated area while we do our own check-in.
“It’s good to have you here once more, Mr. Bucklow,” the receptionist says with a broad, polite smile. She’s older and not as upbeat as the hostess, but compensates with a calmness that soothes neurotic introverts such as myself. She’s giving me minivan-mom energy, and that is the best energy to have. “And I see you’ve brought your companion over as well. Shall I have you moved into the premium couple’s suite? You’ll have infinitely more comfort throughout your stay, along with privacy features that your current accommodation doesn’t offer.”
Oh, boy.
My face explodes in shades of red as Will looks at me. I immediately look away, staring at my sneakers and biting into my lower lip as he politely corrects the situation. “Thank you, but there’s no need for that. Olivia here is one of my employees. I believe my assistant booked an executive suite for her.”
“I sure did,” Alina chimes in, then signs all the documents required for the check-in to be completed. “First floor, if I remember correctly.”
“Oh, my apologies,” the receptionist replies, laughing lightly. “You two looked so sweet and comfortable just now, I jumped to conclusions. And yes…” She verifies our information on the computer while Will and I give her our driver’s licenses to scan, then smiles softly as she hands them back over to us. “You were right, Mr. Bucklow. Miss MacArthur has the executive suite next to yours.”
