The small winery and vineyard my parents owned was about four hours from my home—one of those little towns in the Willamette valley. I didn't visit often for a variety of reasons, but this time had a purpose. Robby, a co-worker at my office, had come with me. I met Robby when he came to work with our company. It seemed like he just kind of showed up for work at our office building one day. He managed to land some kind of informal, part time legal research gig—something about trademarks and copyrights. I just noticed this tall lanky guy I didn't recognize. The second thing was that this tall lanky guy was pretty easy on the eyes.
We got to know each other over water-cooler small talk, and found we shared interests in literature and movies, that kind of thing. Before too long, he would swing by my office on a break to share some new book he had read, or a news story he thought was interesting. We even had lunch once. He was a talkative guy, once you got to know him, and shared a lot about his past life.
It turned out that he had been a bartender for a number of years, in law school and as a barely-paid prosecutor. Why he was giving up that to pursue a teaching degree, in English no less, was beyond me. But, to each his own. He was a little more than 10 years older than me, and currently living at his brother's house and sharing a bunk bed with his nephew while waiting for financial aid to come through.
At the same time, my mom was desperately looking for people willing to babysit the tasting room at the winery for little or no pay. Eventually, I put the two together and asked him to come up for a weekend interview. If Mom wasn't comfortable with leaving him alone at the winery while they were away, then at least he got a free weekend away from his brother's house.
The ride to the winery had been pleasant—long, as usual, but pleasant enough. Like I said, Robby's a lot older than me, so I just enjoyed his company. He's also a committed bachelor, though I never asked for any details. I always kind of imagined that he'd had a torrid affair with some home-wrecker that ruined him. We avoided the subject by mutual unspoken consent, but I was always curious. He developed a habit of calling me "pumpkin" or "princess," which made me think that he thought of my more like a younger cousin than a grown woman. So I dismissed the idea of a potential romance early, but I couldn't help but think that somewhere there was a woman that was missing out.
Saturday morning breakfast was a bit awkward. After all, I had never brought a man home to meet my parents. The fact that Robby was a coworker rather than a boyfriend didn't seem to pass through Dad's thick skull. Not much did, but I tried not to hold it against him.
When Dad finally left to work in the vineyard, Mom asked me and Robby to create some semblance of order to the winery. Dad always left whatever he was working on wherever he was working on it, accompanied by any tools he was using. This left a chaos behind that even the most logical mind would have trouble deciphering.
Pointing Robby in the direction of the work bench, I asked Robby to gather up all the tools and put them in one cupboard. There was everything from screwdrivers to a pipe wrench scattered across the workspace. I started cleaning out and organizing a cupboard across the room. The winery was little more than a refurbished garage, so the room wasn't that large and we were able to chat while we worked.
After a couple of hours, I was satisfied that I had gathered all the racking tubes and hoses I could find. God only knew where the stepladder was, so I climbed on top of a triple layer of cases of wine to hang some hoses on the hook attached to the crossbar. The hook, naturally, wasn't very stable—Dad hadn't taken the time to attach a permanent one—so I had a hard time getting the flimsy hoses and the light-weight wire hook to agree with one another. When I finally had the hoses hung as I liked, I put a hand next to my feet and jumped down.
The drop was a bit more than I thought, and I let loose a small squeak when I didn't land when I expected to. Robby turned at the sound and rushed toward me. In his rush to save me, at least that's what I assumed he was trying to do, he managed to knock me backward just as I was standing up. It was so unexpected that my head whipped back and hit the wall behind me.
"Ow," I said.
"Oh God. I'm sorry. You okay?" He grabbed my arms and tried to steady me.
"I think so." I shook my head to clear the stars.
"I'm sorry. I heard you yell, and I thought you had hurt yourself."
"Thanks for making sure I did," I said with a wry
grin.
A surprised chuckle tumbled from his mouth, but I was close enough to feel it start deep in his chest. Then, "seriously, are you okay?"
"I'll have a little lump, but it's not bad."
"Where? Let me see."
Robby turned me around and gently touched the back of my head. "No blood," he said, uncertainly.
"It wasn't that hard. I'll be fine."
After letting him pat around a little more, I turned to face him again, expecting him to drop his hands and stand back to check his handiwork. But he stood where he was, just a few inches from me, his hand still in my hair. My eyes darted to his.
"Your hair smells really good," he said distractedly
"Thanks." I was going to make some quip about how I hadn't even washed it that morning.
"I always wondered what it would feel like..." his sentences trailed off, and his eyes drifted from where his hand was stroking my hair. I saw him focus on my lips for just a split second before he leaned down and kissed me.
Surprise kept me from moving for a solid second before I automatically responded by returning the kiss. It was gentle and chaste, at first. Then after several breathless moments, we parted.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have..." His words trailed off.
I looked at him for a moment, wondering what he was about. He looked vulnerable, and maybe a little conflicted. Finally, I said, "You're a really good kisser."
