We have road snacks packed because we're both chefs and therefore constitutionally incapable of going anywhere without proper provisions. There's sparkling water with lime, a mini cooler with three different cheeses and crackers, fresh strawberries and grapes from the farm down the road from Solstice, sandwiches with prosciutto and fig jam and arugula wrapped in parchment paper. And a bag of sour gummy worms because we both have the same weakness for sour candy.
"So, not even a super serious girlfriend?" she asks, fishing a gummy worm out of the bag and biting it in half before handing me the other half.
We've drifted into dating history somehow, sussing out eachother's romantic pasts on the drive, and Isabelle is clearly enjoying herself, asking pointed questions.
"Mildly serious ones, but no one super serious, no," I say, chewing the gummy worm. "Last serious relationship was about three years ago. We dated for seven months and broke up amicably when she hated how much I worked. I still see her at the farmer's market in Dark River sometimes, actually. But just some casual dating since then. Nothing that stuck." I glance over at her, unable to help the smile. "Well, until you."
She smiles, looking pleased. "Smooth save there."
"It wasn't a save," I say. "Now, what about you? Last boyfriend? Dating history? Let me guess, boring corporate type who didn't understand why you cared so much about food?"
"Don't tease," she laughs, swatting my arm lightly. "But yes, okay, he was kind of boring. His name was Jake. We met through mutual friends in New York City and dated for about two months. Even went to Paris together for a long weekend."
"Why didn't it work out?" I ask. I glance over at her and watch as she wrinkles her nose at the memory.
"He told me he loved me," she says, laughing at herself. "Like, full-on romantic declaration over dinner at this beautiful restaurant overlooking the Seine. And I just... completely panicked. Couldn't say it back because I didn't feel it, and it became painfully obvious to both of us that we were on completely different pages about what we were doing."
"Tsk tsk," I say, shaking my head in disappointment. "And he didn't know that you hate overt displays of affection and vulnerable emotional declarations? What was he thinking?"
"Some men don't read the room quite as well as you do, apparently," she says dryly.
"Clearly," I agree. "I mean, with you, you have toslowlychip away at the walls brick by brick. Not being a boring schmuck definitely helps too."
"You'resoooooofull of yourself, huh?" she says.
"Only because I won you over," I say smugly. "So I think I've earned a little cockiness about it."
I reach over and grab her hand, bringing it up to my mouth to kiss her knuckles, holding it there for a moment, and she smiles, leaning closer to me as much as the seats and seatbelts will allow. I don't think I've ever felt more content than this, driving down the California coast with her, sun streaming through the windows, her hand in mine.
We drive in silence for a while after that, just enjoying each other's presence, the music washing over us. I hold her hand in my lap, stroking her palm with my thumb while my other hand rests on the wheel lazily, following the winding road according to the directions on my phone mounted on the dashboard.
"You know," she says suddenly. “The longer I'm here in Napa, the more I almost want to tweak the NYC menu a bit. Make it a bit more seasonal, less rigid. Maybe a tiny bit less tweezers-and-microgreens precision plating, just incorporating some of what I've learned here. I mean, we can't change it completely—that would be business suicide. But maybe little things here and there. Could be cool, you know?"
I grin at her. "Well then I think you'll like where we're going tonight. It might give you some ideas."
We crest a hill and suddenly the view opens up before us—the ocean stretching out to the horizon, deep blue and sparkling in the afternoon sun. And nestled into the hillside is the inn, a beautiful sprawling building with white-washed walls and terracotta roof tiles, classic California coastal architecture with climbing roses and bougainvillea covering the entrance.
"Oh my god!" She gasps, pressing her hands against the window. "Alex, this place is stunning! And the ocean! I can see the ocean!"
She's practically bouncing in her seat and I smile, pleased that I managed to surprise her.
"Inn and spa for tonight," I say, pulling into the longdriveway lined with cypress trees. "They have a pool in the back with ocean views. We can walk down to the beach if you want, it's private access."
"Yes, beach, absolutely," she says immediately. "I've been in California for weeks and haven't made it to the ocean once. God, it's so beautiful. I think you're not going to be able to get me to leave." She grins, her eyes bright with excitement.
I reach over to squeeze her thigh. "Well, I also set up a wine tasting for us at a small vineyard nearby that's supposed to be incredible. Then dinner tomorrow at a restaurant that’s supposed to be this perfect blend of French technique and California ingredients, which I thought you might appreciate."
She leans over the center console and kisses me, soft and sweet. "This is perfect. I can't believe you did all this."
We spend the rest of the day exactly as planned—walking the beach barefoot, jeans rolled up and holding hands as waves crash around our ankles. Then the wine tasting at the tiny family vineyard where the owner talks passionately about his vines and we taste five incredible wines, buying two bottles to bring back. A brief stop at a quirky vintage movie theater playing French New Wave films that we both get excited about. Then floating in the infinity pool as the sun starts to set, the water warm and her body pressed against mine as we watch the sky turn pink and orange.
I've never been so completely happy, I think. Never felt so settled and right about something. Part of me gets nervous that if I bring up the future too much, too directly, she might shy away, might retreat back into those walls she's finally let down for me. But maybe she wants this as much as I do.
We finally return to our room in the inn, with its ocean view, huge bed and french doors that open onto a privatebalcony. We make love slowly. I fall asleep with her in my arms, her back to my chest, my face buried in her hair, and I think I never want to let her go.
I’m falling in love with her, and instead of terrifying me like it probably should, it just feels right. Like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
CHAPTER 19