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“Jake, how come you didn’t say anything about Bernardo? I mean, why not tell me right away?” She rotated her head on the headrest to get a clear picture of his face, watching as the corner of his mouth flinched downward, his eyes securing on her, blinking as if writing a speech in his head. “Jake, why, why didn’t you…”
He pressed his thick finger firmly against her lips, halting her speech. “I think you know the answer to this, but I’ll clarify,” he said, letting an audible sigh escape before he continued. “I didn’t want that to be in your head when you auditioned. He’s my issue, but I knew if I blew up about Bernardo, it would affect you. Yeah, I wanna beat his ass, but I didn’t want to be party to tripping you up…”
She wondered as she stared at him if he hoped she’d get the part. Did she dare ask him, or was that incendiary? Would she be purposefully starting a fight? Would she ask Matt that? Yes, she didn’t guard herself with Matt. With Jake, she thought, his presence made her feel like she was in her own skin, but there was still a fortress around her psyche. Sometimes, there were things she had to play out in her head before they burst from her mouth. Reaching up, she took his finger in between hers and moved it slightly away from her mouth before kissing it, watching his face soften. “Thank you,” she murmured against his finger, swallowing the knot in her throat, his sincerity evident in his gaze. She kept her voice tender so he would know she meant that basic thing that seemed to roll from people’s lips without thought, the phrase you are taught almost before you can speak, never really stopping to think about how important it is. She wanted to say that ubiquitous saying laced with as much meaning as possible. “Thank you, Jake,” she reiterated, emphasizing his name before her lips touched his finger again, keeping her focus on him the whole time.
His eyelids blinked in appreciation; in tandem with the subtle upturn of his lips, she noted the embers of shared understanding passing between them before he pulled his finger away. He cupped his hand around her neck, pulling her toward him, his thumb pressing down on her jawbone. Her jaw fell open as she watched his lips move to hers, pressing against her mouth. He murmured, “Sweets, now that’s how you say thank you.” The chuckle in his throat vibrated on his lips, his mouth soft against hers. She heard his seatbelt pop open and then he was on her, his torso against her side, his hand reaching around. Feeling her own seat belt unbuckle, she was caught up in the fervor that swirled around them like they were in some lovestruck play, like the guy had waited an eternity to touch the girl. Jake’s mouth forced her lips open, his tongue diving in, their tongues dueling as if their hunger could be diminished with a fight. For a moment, she remembered Larry, but then Jake’s other hand was up her dress, resting on the crotch of her lace panties, likely considering his next move. Her pelvis curved into his hand as she parted her legs. She gasped at the feel of his large finger finding her wet folds, the growl that spilled into her mouth from his lips a sign he liked what she knew was her need for him. This guy's touch intertwined with his emotional availability was too much to resist.
Her clit lit up from the brush of his finger; his mouth grew even more aggressive, just as she heard the crunch of the tires, the SUV hitting gravel.
In a low voice, Larry said, “Huh, Mr. Skyler, Jake, sir, we are about to park.” Jake slid his fingers from the exploration of her wet folds with a quiet groan.
She jerked away from his mouth, shaking her head while giving Jake a demonstrative glare.
“Sounds good, Larry. Thank you,” Jake said, staring back at Rakell, slowly lifting his fingers to his lips, dipping them into his mouth, sucking her juices, then running his tongue over his lips like he was licking ice cream, enjoying every drop.
Leaning into his ear, she said, “You’re impossible, Jake Skyler. You know that?” She feigned a disappointed tone, yet she couldn’t stop the small laugh that jumped from her mouth.
He caught her hair in his fist, speaking into her ear: “And you love it, bad girl. ’Cause you know how hungry I am, and I know what I want, so getting just a taste of that cream makes me want the whole fucking pie now. Let me get your door,” he stated, moving from the back seat to the passenger door that Larry held open.
She heard him and Larry talking about getting sundries for the picnic while she and Jake were doing a cave tour, then Larry’s last line: “It’s a very scenic, private spot, so after I get you set up, I’ll return to help carry things back to the car once you text me.” Rakell was pretty sure he was wiggling his eyebrows, gesturing to Jake, their coded message: so you two can end what you started in the back seat.
Hearing Larry, heat rushed to her chest, then crept up her neck. When Jake opened the door and extended his hand to help her, he smirked and said, “Someone’s excited about the private wine tour.”
She bounced back with her own gesture, her middle finger to her chin, but had to smile at his loud guffaw as he wrapped his arm around her, then led her toward an arched wooden door on the side of a hill. Jake stood behind her, both his hands rubbing up and down her arms. The cave tour and barrel tasting was like going back in time. Joe, who gave them the tour, was the owner and original winemaker. Rakell guessed he had to be in his eighties, but he moved like a much younger man. He explained that he’d passed off the winemaking job to his grandson, who had graduated from UC Davis with a degree in biochemistry. After a few years working in biotechnology, he’d returned to the family farm and taken over for his grandpa.
Joe had scraped the money together to buy the land when he was in his late twenties, after realizing he hated working in the city. He told them the story about getting the land, then showed pictures of the first shed he’d put up and the small A-frame house his hippie girlfriend, now his wife of fifty-six years, had moved into with him. He reveled in how much Jake knew about the history of Napa Valley, explaining that he’d bought the land eight years before The Taste of Paris, which had elevated Napa Valley in the eyes of the “elite wine snobs,” as he referred to them. He pulled generous pours of their premium cabernet and syrah blends from a giant glass siphoning tool, all the while discussing the tasting notes with them.
Rakell took a sip of their famous cabernet mixed with ten percent petite verde, puckering at the subtle hints of black cherry and currants swishing in her mouth. “Oooh, that one, it’s so approachable but complicated,” she fussed. “That’s my favorite, I think, but they are all so good.”
“Well, young lady, you have excellent taste,” he crooned, smiling, his eyes crinkling as he looked at Jake, as if Jake were another example of her keen eye for excellence.
Jake swallowed his sip. “Yes, Joe, she does. Isn’t this the one that’s ranked 98 by Wine Spectator?” he said just before tipping the glass of purplish red liquid to his lips again.
“Yes, son, it is, but that doesn’t matter. You know that we wanted something that would hold up to that Texas BBQ you sent us last year for Christmas,” Joe said, stretching up to clap Jake on the shoulder.
“Well, it doesn’t need BBQ to be excellent. Are you selling futures yet?”
“Yes, to you, of course. I also have a few bottles of the 2018 saved for you. I'll get them to pack it up for you today. Let me know how many cases you want of the futures. It won’t be out until 2026, and you know the drill. Lay it down for another ten, ready to enjoy about the time your first child is finishing kindergarten.” Joe chuckled as he looked at Rakell.
Rakell’s throat constricted; she had to concentrate on swallowing.
She noticed Jake’s eyes on her when he said, “I hope it’s not that long away.”
She shifted her focus to avoid Jake’s steady gaze, taking the last sip in her glass. Her tongue coated with tannins, her head swimming with wine, she breathed in through her nose, squelching the panic that his casual words evoked in her.
It was clear to her that the older gentleman legitimately seemed thrilled to see Jake and talked to him like he was part of the family. From the conversation, she knew Jake and Joe’s grandson had spent time together. Apparently, the family had season tickets to the Sacramento Condors; his “hippie” wife had been raised in Nevada City, a couple of hours from Sacramento, in the mountains between Sacramento and Tahoe. Joe had joked that is where all the Berkley dropouts live.
“Thank you, sir, for taking the time to give us a personalized tour. I knew you’d help me impress this girl,” Jake said, taking the opened bottle of cabernet that Joe had just uncorked for him.
“Certainly, Jake, anytime, son, but next time, we’d love to have you and Rakell for dinner—you know Diana loves to entertain. We are all so appreciative that you introduced our family wines to the owners of the Condors, and now they buy them for all their hotels. It’s been such a blessing to have that added assurance.”
It struck Rakell when she watched Jake and the older man hug that elder people were drawn to Jake. He led with natural deference when he was around people older than him, like he had something to learn even if he were a big superstar athlete, and the thought scampered in her head: My dad would have really liked you, Jake. She shuddered. Jake wrapped his arm around her shoulders and said, “Let’s get you outside where it’s warmer. I should have warned you that the cave tours are chilly.”
When they reached the top of the hill, they found a red and black checkered blanket spread out between two Sequoia trees providing shade; intermittent rays of sun seeped through the large branches that swayed above them as if they were holding hands while slow dancing. Larry had also placed nice dishes and cutlery at the edge of the blanket, just beside a large wicker picnic basket and the small cooler Jake had brought with him; sitting on top of it were two wine glasses with pale-yellow liquid, which she guessed was sauvignon blanc from its color. Larry and Jake exchanged a look before Larry repeated his earlier instructions to Jake: “Just text when you’re ready. Merryvale is not expecting you for an hour, and if you need longer, I can always call them.”
Rakell took off her hat before kneeling on the blanket, as Jake handed her the glass of white wine. “Palette cleanser, then we can enjoy some of that eighteen cab, but you have to eat because we still have one more winery,” he explained, turning toward the picnic basket. She eyed the food that Jake was slowly taking from the basket, first unwrapping a sandwich. “This is turkey with light pesto, no cheese, on sourdough. It’s pretty clean.”
Her mouth watered as she looked at the sandwich; strategically, she could eat the turkey, maybe a few bites of the bread.
