The engine light on Nate’s rental car starts flaring alarmingly on the 101 just south of Healdsburg. He’s due for a friend’s wedding rehearsal dinner in an hour and a half. He doesn’t have a date, which Amanda was bugging him about from the minute she sent him the wedding invitations, the shoddy rental is about to explode, and he doesn’t understand why anybody would have a wedding in this burnt out part of the country anyway.
He gets off at the first exit, burnt grass and highway detritus giving way to acres of vineyards. There’s a little turn off with a sign, and he pulls off in front of it.
“Jesus,” he says, getting out of the car to inspect the damage. The engine is smoking under the hood. He’d only had the car for two hours from the Hertz rent-a-car at San Francisco airport—if it could’ve just waited the last few miles to Healdsburg.
“Everything all right?” a voice comes from behind him.
Nate pulls of his sunglasses and turns around. Walking towards him with two rangy golden retrievers at his heels is a tree of a man. Nate knows intellectually the other guy can’t be that tall, but something about him just seems to take up space.
Nate scrubs at his face with his hand. He feels horribly out of place in his charcoal dress pants and cream dress-shirt in the face of the guy’s jeans and red t-shirt. “I’m sorry if I’m on your property. As soon as I call for a tow truck I’ll be out of your way.”
The man looks amused, slightly longish blond hair falling into his eyes. “Do you have cell reception?”
Nate pulls his blackberry out of his pocket and sighs. “Just my luck.”
“You’re fine,” the guy says, “I have a landline in the main house if you want to use it.”
He skirts past Nate up the driveway, the dogs following behind obediently. Nate swallows, watching the man’s jeans mold tight over his ass and thighs as he walks. He rolls his eyes up to the sky and then takes off behind him.
“I’m Nate by the way,” he says, catching up to the guy and offering his hand.
“Brad Colbert,” the guy replies. His grip is strong and sure, callused from work, and Nate’s hand is left tingling when he gets it back. It’s a long walk up the drive with Brad occasionally tossing a tennis ball for one of the dogs, Shadow and Fox, but somehow the silence feels more companionable than oppressive. Nate guesses Brad just doesn’t feel the use for filling the air up with pointless conversation. He can get behind that.
The main house had conjured images of a barn type compound but what Brad actually meant was a sprawling Spanish style ranch house with rugged red cliffs soaring up behind the house and vineyards. Nate has to take a second to stare. When he turns back to Brad, the other man is smiling at him.
“It’s beautiful,” Nate says.
“Thank you,” he shows Nate through the front door. He calls back to one of the dogs. “C’mon, Shadow.”
Winery, Part 1
He gets off at the first exit, burnt grass and highway detritus giving way to acres of vineyards. There’s a little turn off with a sign, and he pulls off in front of it.
“Jesus,” he says, getting out of the car to inspect the damage. The engine is smoking under the hood. He’d only had the car for two hours from the Hertz rent-a-car at San Francisco airport—if it could’ve just waited the last few miles to Healdsburg.
“Everything all right?” a voice comes from behind him.
Nate pulls of his sunglasses and turns around. Walking towards him with two rangy golden retrievers at his heels is a tree of a man. Nate knows intellectually the other guy can’t be that tall, but something about him just seems to take up space.
Nate scrubs at his face with his hand. He feels horribly out of place in his charcoal dress pants and cream dress-shirt in the face of the guy’s jeans and red t-shirt. “I’m sorry if I’m on your property. As soon as I call for a tow truck I’ll be out of your way.”
The man looks amused, slightly longish blond hair falling into his eyes. “Do you have cell reception?”
Nate pulls his blackberry out of his pocket and sighs. “Just my luck.”
“You’re fine,” the guy says, “I have a landline in the main house if you want to use it.”
He skirts past Nate up the driveway, the dogs following behind obediently. Nate swallows, watching the man’s jeans mold tight over his ass and thighs as he walks. He rolls his eyes up to the sky and then takes off behind him.
“I’m Nate by the way,” he says, catching up to the guy and offering his hand.
“Brad Colbert,” the guy replies. His grip is strong and sure, callused from work, and Nate’s hand is left tingling when he gets it back. It’s a long walk up the drive with Brad occasionally tossing a tennis ball for one of the dogs, Shadow and Fox, but somehow the silence feels more companionable than oppressive. Nate guesses Brad just doesn’t feel the use for filling the air up with pointless conversation. He can get behind that.
The main house had conjured images of a barn type compound but what Brad actually meant was a sprawling Spanish style ranch house with rugged red cliffs soaring up behind the house and vineyards. Nate has to take a second to stare. When he turns back to Brad, the other man is smiling at him.
“It’s beautiful,” Nate says.
“Thank you,” he shows Nate through the front door. He calls back to one of the dogs. “C’mon, Shadow.”