Page 46 of Wild Abandon

“You look fine,” he chastises, the phone still in his hand.

“I don’t want to look fine. I want to look hot and sexy. Not for you. For me. I want to look good. And I don’t unless I’m wearing bronzer. And some eye shadow would help. I feel naked without it.”

Nate lowers his phone and just stares at me for a moment. “I think you look pretty. You have freckles on your nose. They’re cute.” He puts the phone back up in the air. “Now, I’m taking a picture.”

I certainly don’t need blush anymore because I can feel my cheeks redden. I roll my eyes and give him a smile. He takes the photo.

I say, “Just don’t post that anywhere.”

“Trust me, I won’t. I don’t want anyone to think I’m hanging with a hag.”

I stick my tongue out at his lame joke, and we head inside for our final two tastings.

We walk back to the car and head to our next stop—Sterling Vineyards.

Further up Highway 29 and onto St. Helena Highway, we pass the road I turn on to go to Naomi and Jeremy’s house, and we drive up into Calistoga. The entire drive, we listen to my pop music and take in the views around us.

Nate fills me in on Napa history, including the Judgment of Paris, an event that put Napa winemaking on the global map, and about the illustrious Robert Mondavi Estate that is 11,570 square feet with an indoor swimming pool, two tennis courts…and one bedroom.

“One bedroom?” I shriek-laugh. That sounds impossible.

“They liked to throw parties but, apparently, didn’t like house guests.”

I can only imagine how the late Robert Mondavi would feel about me sleeping on Naomi’s futon.

We’re about to get out of the car when Nate suddenly turns to me and asks, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“No. Why?” I ask cautiously.

I am not given an answer as Nate just walks out of the car, and I follow. I’m looking for an entrance to Sterling Vineyards but do not see one. Instead, there is an aerial tram, and looking at Nate’s back, I see him walking straight for it.

“Where’s the winery?” I ask when I catch up to him.

“Only one way up,” he says. Then, he turns to face me. “I thought you’d like the view.”

“Oh,” I answer.

I stop behind a couple who is waiting in line to get on the gondola.

To the right is a giant chalkboard with the words, Before I Die, written in giant font on the top. Below it are places for people to write in what they want to do before they die.

I grab Nate’s hand and walk him over to the board. I pick up a piece of chalk and hand it to him. He walks to the opposite side of the board, looking for an open spot to write.

With my own piece of chalk in hand, I look for a free space where it says Before I die, I want to with a long line next to it for me to fill out. I think about what I could write. There are so many things I want to do—see the pyramids, run a marathon, write a novel. I lean down and write in pink chalk, make a difference.

Nate walks up behind me and takes a look at what I wrote. “That’s a dumb answer.”

“Why is it dumb?” I put my hands on my hips, getting pink chalk on my skirt.

“Because it’s not what you really wanted to write.” He grabs an eraser and erases my writing.

I clench my teeth at his audacity to think I don’t want to actually make a difference. He takes the chalk out of my hand and holds it up to my face.

I grab it, lean down, and write an honest thing I actually want to do before I die—fall in love.

Satisfied, Nate grabs my hand and walks me over to the gondola line that has died down. There is only one couple in the line in front of us.

“What did you write?” I ask, looking back at the board where he was writing.