Chapter Nineteen
Robby
Appa: I’m outside.
I’m grinning from ear to ear as I lock the front door behind me.
Appa is leaning against the passenger door of her convertible with the top down in front of my house.
The sun bounces off the smooth paint and glimmers on the windshield.
She looks too damn cute in a pair of denim shorts with a tucked-in white tank top and red Chucks.
Her curls rest in a messy bun, and her makeup is her usual minimal.
But that bright red lipstick tinting her lips surprises me.
My Cali girl.
“You drive,” she says and tosses the key at me.
I catch it in midair. “Really?” I ask.
She lowers her sunglasses. “You didn’t expect me not to be a passenger princess, did you?”
I toss my duffel bag in the backseat and put my hands on her hips, one hand circling to her lower back. “Just surprised you trust me to drive your baby.”
“I’ve trusted you to do a lot.” She drapes her arms over my shoulders, and I eagerly kiss her, tasting coffee and feeling her lipstick smear.
And I don’t mind.
It’s Fourth of July weekend, and we’re Napa-bound. It’s at least six hours from LA, and she volunteered her car. I was relieved because I wasn’t sure if she’d be up for that long of a drive in a nearly thirty-year-old Jeep, and my Tesla would’ve needed to get charged midway.
“I hope you brought whatever that red lipstick stuff is,” I murmur against her lips.
She laughs against mine. “I did. I got coffee, too,” she says.
“I could taste it.” I peck her lips quickly.
“Let’s go. I hope we can beat some traffic.
” I pop the trunk, tossing my duffel next to hers and slamming it closed.
She opens the passenger-side door, and I plop down in the driver’s seat next to her.
My legs are squished from how close her seat is to the steering wheel.
“Jeez,” I groan, trying to find the button or lever to adjust it.
Appa looks over and laughs under her breath. “There’s a driver memory setting.”
My fingers find the buttons to adjust the seat. “I’m going to use it,” I breathe as my legs get freed.
We could have flown up to Napa, and I’ve done that flight before, especially during the holidays.
But Appa hasn’t seen much of California outside of LA and San Diego, so it was time to get her exposed to NorCal and let her watch the vegetation change as we go north.
Plus, drive a Mercedes for six hours? Fuck yeah.
Her car is sweet. The engine purrs as I accelerate, and the RPMs spike.
Fuck, I miss my Beemer.
Her Mercedes reminds me a bit of the early two-thousands era BMW I had in college. When we’re stopped at a light and about to get onto the interstate, I switch to manual using the paddle shifters behind the steering wheel.
Appa looks up from her phone. “What are you doing?”
“Manual.”
“Oh! That’s what those are for.”
Come on, Appa.
I laugh, but for a girl coming from a family full of guys, they seem to have failed her.
Once outside of LA, Appa keeps to herself, sucked into a book.
She’s quiet as she sips her iced coffee, and I’m too busy playing with the paddle shifters.
It’s a sunny day, and I wish we could have the top down the entire way.
But it would be way too loud with the wind whipping at the speeds I push the Mercedes to.
We make it all the way to Modesto before needing to stop and grab lunch.
“Home stretch. Two hours to go,” I tell her when she walks out of the gas station with drinks for us.
The smell of gas pollutes the station as the gas pump ticks up and fills the car.
While I still have to fill the Jeep occasionally, plugging in to charge a car makes me feel better about my eco-footprint.
She hands me a chilled water bottle with condensation pooling around the plastic. “This state is way too long,” she says.
“That’s what she said,” I joke.
She rolls her eyes but smirks. “Nope, that didn’t work,” she teases.
Almost home.
North of Modesto, I turn off the interstate. It’s smaller highways from here on out. I finally turn off the last highway and press the button to put the top down again. The motor whirs as the roof lifts to reveal the blue sky.
“Welcome to Napa, baby.”
Appa smiles wide and reaches over to run her fingers through the curls on top of my head. “Welcome home. How much further?” Her voice is sweet as candy and genuine.
Maybe she feels a sense of home, too.
“Not far. Just have to take this road into the mountains, and we’ll be there,” I answer.
This was the best part of the drive. I always loved whipping around the tree-lined, curvy roads of Napa Valley, but I was more careful than my cousins, who rolled their car in high school.
To my surprise, Appa was quiet during the drive, keeping herself entertained with reading or her phone. I thought she’d be chattier, but driving for me is therapeutic and turns my mind off from overthinking. She wasn’t a backseat driver at all and didn’t lift an eyebrow at my driving.
Absolute wife material.
“It’s so beautiful,” Appa murmurs once we get past the neighborhoods and into the hills.
“We’re approaching Tenuta Valenti,” I say.
She perks up in her seat. “Look to your left. The driveway we just passed goes to my parents’ house, but I figured I’d show you the property first.” I put the blinker on and turn off the two-lane road, approaching the official vineyard entrance.
The driveways are gated, but I have a code that works for all of them.
“Wow, that’s where they grow the grapes?” Appa asks as I type in my code.
The gate swings open. “Yeah, most of the property is covered in them.” I drive down the paved path toward the buildings.
“So, to the right past the pond is where the wine is made and aged. To the left is my uncle’s house.
” Appa lowers her sunglasses and squints as I drive past his house.
“Down that long road is my other uncle’s house, but it was formerly my grandparents’ house. ”
“Who’s that?” Appa asks as we approach the stables.
I look to the side and nod. “What up, Big E?” I call out to my cousin.
A horse neighs on cue. He turns and nods but returns to whatever he was doing.
“My cousin. I told you about him. We’re the same age.
Well, he’s two weeks older and doesn’t let me forget it.
Um, he doesn’t enjoy going to Italy because his mom lives there.
It’s a whole thing, but it works since someone has to stay behind to watch the property and make sure the horses stay fed.
He’ll probably run the winery once Dad and my uncles retire. ”
And he’s best suited for it.
My parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and Nonna are in Italy for their annual trip.
Big E, or Enzo, isn’t exactly social, so he stays back to keep an eye on things.
His Sicilian mother lives somewhere in Italy or Sicily, but he was raised in California by his dad and stepmom, who later adopted him.
Enzo’s the black sheep. Everyone else, myself included, is loud, but he’s the quiet observer.
Regardless, I get along with him the best. He was nerdy growing up, but when he turned eighteen, something changed.
He started working out seriously and covered virtually every inch of his body with tattoos.
I shudder at the thought.
He dragged me along to his first tattoo appointment when we were fresh out of high school, and he got a grapevine around his bicep. The buzz of the tattoo gun and his wincing face scarred me for life.
“Does he live on property?” Appa asks before I can think too hard about the needles.
“No, he has a place closer to town. That’s his truck.” I point out the huge red Ram parked next to a couple of SUVs with dual back tires. “Anyway, let’s get settled in,” I say, driving down to my parents’ house. I roll my eyes at E’s choice of car.
For a quiet guy, he has the loudest possible truck he could find.
“Okay, what cult are you guys part of? I mean, am I a sacrifice? Or is this secretly mafia? Please don’t kill me; I won’t tell anyone.” She laughs, but I hear the nervous edge underneath it.
I furrow my brows as I glance at her. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Your uncles and parents all have mansions on property? We drove by like ten Escalades. And you have horses?”
I chuckle, shoulders rolling forward as I park in front of my parents’ home.
“No cult. The wine business has been good. When my grandparents came to Napa in the late fifties, there was nothing here. And I don’t know what’s up with the Escalades.
My aunt got one a few years ago, and everyone jumped on board, including my mother.
” I turn the car off, and Appa opens her door and steps out, studying the property like men in suits might appear.
“You’re going to tell me your cousin isn’t a mafia don?”
I get out of the car to join her. The warm, fresh air feels nice on my skin. It always seems to be cooler in Napa than in LA, and I welcome the eighty-degree weather. “Is there even an Italian Mafia in California?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot on the driveway. “I don’t know; you tell me.”
I walk up to her and rub her shoulders. “I promise we’re just winemakers,” I say.
“So, are you guys like rich, rich?”
I turn to the trunk to get our bags and open the lid. “I never thought we were, but maybe…”
“My mom would die if she were here. My folks have a nice house, but this is another level.” I take both of our bags out, and Appa shuts it.
“You haven’t seen the tennis court or pools yet,” I tease her.
“Is there seriously a tennis court?”
“Yeah, behind my uncle’s place. Come on, let’s get inside. You’re going to burn out here.”