Chapter 20
Jansen
W e drink a bottle of wine. We talk about lots of things. We get into the creek and splash around in the water until I slip on the rocks and fall in. Bianca finds this hilarious and helps me out of the water, laughing so hard she almost falls in herself. And I’m laughing, too, even though my right shoulder is now throbbing.
We take Moose in the water, too. I don’t know if he can swim, but Bianca assures me all dogs know instinctively. We crack up when I lower him closer to the water and his little legs start paddling in the air.
“I think he knows what he’s doing,” I say, letting him go in the water.
He paddles straight to the bank of the creek, climbs out, and shakes himself.
Since there’s still nobody else here, I take off my shorts and shirt and hang them on a bush in the sun to dry. And without any pants on, it’s hard to hide my dick (yeah pun intended) when it eagerly thickens at Bianca’s heated gaze.
So we have more outdoor rolling in the hay. Grass. Whatever.
This time it’s different. We’re both a little drunk and laughing and it’s messy and hot and the most fun I’ve had in…well, forever, I think.
When we’re sweaty and wasted from wine and orgasms, lying slack on the blanket again, Bianca says, “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”
Ugh. A reminder of how old I am. “Arthritis.”
She lifts her head to peer at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. Both shoulders. The right is worse. They get sore sometimes.”
Instead of being repelled, she leans down and presses her mouth to my shoulder in a long, warm kiss. “I’m sorry. I think you worked your body hard playing hockey.”
“Yeah.”
She snuggles in beside me. “What’s your favorite sex position?”
The questions are killing me. Killing me with amusement. I don’t know what to say most of the time. But this one’s easy. “Missionary. And don’t tell me I’m boring.”
“Wow, you didn’t even have to think about that one.”
“Nope. I like being face to face.” I roll my head to look at her. “Especially with you. I like watching you. Your cheeks get pink and your eyes get hazy.” I touch her bottom lip. “Your lips open and you look like you’re dying for it.”
“I am.” Her voice is a trace of sound. “For you.”
Oh yeah . “And I like watching you when you come.”
“Oh God. My O face is probably terrible.”
“It’s not. It’s real.” I pause, searching for words. “It’s open and unguarded. I love it.”
She nibbles her bottom lip, gazing back at me. “That’s the best answer.”
“What’s your favorite position?”
“The butter churner.”
I give her side-eye.
I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. “I think some people call it the pile driver. I call it the butter churner. So I’m on my back, with my legs in the air and you stand over me?—”
“Stop.” Now I’m laughing. “I am not doing that.”
“What? Why not? If I like it, you should try it.”
“You don’t like it. You’re bullshitting me.”
She giggles. “Okay, I am. I used to subscribe to a newsletter that sent out new sex positions and that one was in it. I think it’s only done in porn movies.”
“You might be right.”
“Then there’s the snow angel. It looked okay for me—on my back, but you on top facing away.”
I squint, trying to picture it. “I can’t…the mechanics…”
“I know. I think it’s dangerous for the guy. You could break your penis. And we don’t want that.”
“We definitely don’t want that,” I reply fervently.
“I like your penis.”
“He likes you, too.”
She laughs again. “I noticed that!”
This is silly and probably illegal, but Christ, I’m having fun. My chest is filled with a lightness I haven’t felt for a long time and I think I could do anything right now. Catch light in a box. Slay zombies. Time travel. I don’t feel like a failure. I feel like I’ve won the Stanley Cup and solved climate change and the rise of fascism.
I fucking love feeling like this. And I fucking love being with the woman who does that for me.
On the way home, Bianca lays a hand on my arm. “Can I show you something?”
“You already did.” I smirk.
She giggles. “No. The cave.”
“Right. Yeah, I want to see it.”
She takes me to the Caparelli buildings and leads me through an old oak door and down a flight of stone stairs. She flicks on a light and a few dusty old bulbs flare to life and illuminate the space.
“Wow.” I look around, taking in the arched ceiling, the old bricks, and all the barrels. “I had no idea this was here.”
“I know.” She moves farther into the space. “It hasn’t been used for a long time. We came down here as kids but it was kind of creepy. I was fascinated by it, though. And look at this…” She walks down to the end of the cave. “These are the qvevris.”
She told me about her dream and hope to make the orange wine using these. It seems…dubious to me, but what do I know? I just loved listening to her talk about it with so much passion.
“I’ve been coming down here sometimes to think.” She gestures around. “It’s a nice, quiet place.”
“Except for the spiders.”
“Can you imagine what this would look like all cleaned up? I’ve dusted things a bit, but I think it would be gorgeous with the brick and the barrels cleaned and better lighting.”
“Oh yeah. It would be cool.”
“I’m sure this is another thing Rosa and I will disagree on.”
“You haven’t talked to her about it yet?”
“No.” I wrinkle my nose. “I know what she’ll say. We don’t have money to do anything with this. But I’m not saying we have to do it tomorrow! We don’t have any wine yet. I know what our priorities have to be. But this could be amazing in the future.”
He nods thoughtfully.
“We could have special events down here—it’s not huge, so not big weddings or anything, but special wine tasting events or private dinners.”
“That would be amazing.”
“I picture a round table…over here…with lots of candles, maybe white flowers, beautiful wine glasses. Moody lighting. Instead of those old bulbs, we could put sconces on the walls. And we could fill wine bottles with strings of little white lights! That would be awesome.”
His eyes crinkle up at the corners listening to me.
“The elegant tables with white linens and silver and glass would contrast with the rough bricks walls and floors. And we could serve amazing wines and food. People would love it.”
“You need to be around to make that happen.”
My stomach drops. Right. I won’t even be here. I turn back to him, then make a face. “Yeah. It’s silly for me to have these visions when I won’t even be here.”
“But you’ll still be a part owner. You’re entitled to have visions for what you want it to be.”
I sigh. “We need to make money first. I know that.”
He moves closer to me, sets his hands on my hips, and pulls me against him. “I bet if you talked to Rosa about it, she has visions, too.”
I meet his eyes. “You think?”
“I think…I never had visions about a winery, until I moved here. Now I find myself thinking about it all the time. Ways to improve the winery, things we could do to bring in more visitors.”
I smile at him. “The jock is also a visionary.”
His lips curve upwards in response. “How can you not be? Think about it. Lowly grape juice is turned into art. Liquid art.”
I beam at him, a glow spreading through my chest. “Yes!”
“And it does so many things. I think the most important is that it brings people together.”
My heart flutters as I gaze at him. “You really get it,” I whisper.
“I’m learning.”
I give one last wistful look around the cave. “Maybe some day those dreams will come true. But right now—it’s already a dream come true, owning a winery. Having this opportunity. I want it to be amazing.”
He brushes his mouth over mine. “It will be.”