“One hundred exactly. I’m good to go.”

“What do you do when it’s too high or too low?”

“Well, my ever-curious little kitten, I’ll tell you all about that tonight when we go sailing. You’ll need to know.” He winked.

That little tidbit made me nervous. “Why will I need to know?”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the restaurant, ignoring my question. “Come on, I’m starving.”

The restaurant had a bar stretching around the open kitchen. Jamie explained that it was designed so guests could get an up-close experience with the chefs, who prepared their signature dishes and offered the guests wine pairings. The restaurant, called Beijar, was finely decorated and lit, with dark, rich booths and muted lighting against the stark light from the kitchen. The effect highlighted the clean, stainless-steel counters and drew my eyes to where the magic happened. I had no doubt Beijar was an experience as much as it was a meal.

We took our seats on the stools at the kitchen bar. Before Chef Mark came in, I swiveled toward Jamie. “Where did they get the name from?”

“It means ‘kiss’ in Portuguese.” When I was with Jamie I forgot about everything else. Just the word “kiss” coming out of his mouth could freeze time.

“Oh.”

“Food is like love, you know?”

“Yes,” I said breathlessly.

“We need it to stay alive.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And wine is like poetry.”

His words, his warmth, were like a stun gun to my brain. I was conscious of nothing but his words. “Oh?”

“If it’s good wine.” He revealed his dimple. “If not, then it’s a tragedy.”

I realized that he had dimples on both cheeks, but his smile was always just a little crooked so it only showed up one side. Adorable.

“Is it Portuguese food?”

“Not really. There’s a little inspiration, but it’s traditional American, farm to table.”

Chef Mark entered. “Hi, Kate.” He reached over and shook my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Chef.” He wore the standard white chef’s shirt and a black bandana across his hair, tied at the back of his neck. He was an average-looking guy of forty, at least, but his presence was strong. I imagined that he could command a busy kitchen of chefs and servers.

Jamie reached over, shook his hand as well, and said, “Chef.”

“Hey, buddy.” Clapping once, he suggested, “Why don’t we start with a salad trio?”

“That sounds fabulous.” Jamie got us glasses of water and opened a bottle of the Pinot while Chef Mark got to work. He poured me a glass but only poured himself a quarter of the amount.

“Why so little for you? Are you sick of the wine?”

“No, I love the wine, but I can’t have too much because of the diabetes. I can taste it, though. I’d like to have some with you later, so I’m saving up.” My heart did a somersault.

Chef Mark set a plate in front of me, describing each of the four salads as he pointed them out. “Heirloom tomatoes. Avocado and corn in a light vinaigrette. Quinoa with mango and red peppers. And, finally, beet and kale with goat cheese. Enjoy.”

I took a bite of the avocado coated in dressing. Jamie watched my mouth as I chewed.

“What do you taste?” he asked.

“Shallots and lemon and avocado.” I took a bite of the tomato. “That is perfection.”

“We grow those in a hothouse on the estate. The big tomatoes are harder to grow outside in this region.”

Chef Mark asked me how I was enjoying the salads. He mentioned that there weren’t a ton of vegetarian dishes on the menu but that he would try his best to make accommodations.

“Well, I eat seafood, too.” Jamie and Chef Mark both jerked their heads back.

Leaning in, Chef Mark spoke in the gentlest voice. “You are not a vegetarian, sweetie. You’re a pescetarian.”

“That sounds like a religion.”

Jamie laughed and looked over at me with a pitying expression. It was funny how I had berated Stephen on the very topic of being a vegetarian, but here I was getting lectured myself.

“This opens up many possibilities for us. Halibut or salmon, which would you prefer?” Chef Mark asked.

“Surprise me.”

“This opens up possibilities for me, too,” Jamie said, turning his body toward me.

“How’s that?”

He took my fork and stabbed the last piece of avocado off my plate and held it to my mouth. I opened for him. “I like feeding you. I want to take you into the city tomorrow night for dinner. Will you let me do that?” I had swallowed the avocado and now my mouth was hanging open. I must have looked like a moron. He shook his head and ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “There’s no more. It’s all gone, angel.” I shut my mouth and shook my head, inhaling through my nose deeply to clear my head. I still couldn’t believe his effect on me.

“So, will you let me take you to dinner tomorrow?”

“Okay.” Positively, undeniably, absolutely, emphatically, definitely, one hundred percent YES!

We finished the lunch, which I could only describe as erotic, although I don’t think Jamie was intentionally trying to make it that way. He fed me the last little bites off my plate, clearly a stickler about wasting food, but it was the attention that he gave me that lit my insides on fire. Never in my life had anyone given me that kind of attention. I sat there trying to commit each moment to memory so I could relive it later when I was . . . alone. Ahem.

Jamie was still a mystery to me. Even though it felt like I had known him forever, I hadn’t asked him one real question about his life, his family—nothing. I made a mental note to do that and then I scolded myself for getting tongue-tied around him. I could not let that happen anymore. He practically hypnotized me with his looks alone. Add to that his words and his sweet mannerisms, and he fully entranced me. I thought about his thumb on my lip and how at ease I was with him. When we parted ways after lunch, I glanced at my phone and calculated the hours until I would see him again.

Susan and I met in her office for the facility tour. She basically took me through each of the buildings and explained the inspiration for the architecture and décor. She informed me that the inn and restaurant were legally on a separate piece of property from the winery itself. She said R.J. had gone to great lengths to make sure that the entire operation abided by all of the strict rules handed down by the Napa County Board. She said that he had paid more than the winery was worth, and it wasn’t a matter of him throwing his money around so much as it was his passion to give the pleasure of this beautiful place to others. She referred to the winery as his escape. I couldn’t see that at all. He seemed barely involved. When I tried to pry deeper into the dynamic between the employees and R.J., she skirted the issue.

“I just didn’t see one redeeming quality in him, but I keep hearing about all of the wonderful things he’s done. Jamie called him a ‘douche’ on the first day and you said yourself to forget about him.” She studied me intently as I spoke.

“Let’s just say he was having an off day. I would recommend that you focus on the winery and operations, not whether or not R.J. is living up to his reputation. If he wants anonymity, what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s not in my nature to give anyone anonymity. I came here to get the story on him.”

“I can see that. I left his e-mail address on a note in your room. You can send him any more questions you have, but I really believe you will get the best information here, on the grounds.”

We left each other abruptly. I got the sense that Susan liked me but was perhaps frustrated with R.J.’s distance and lack of participation.

I went back up to my room and began to draft an e-mail to R.J.

Dear R.J.,

I’m sorry our first interview didn’t go as well as we both hoped. I think e-mail will be a better platform for us. I’ve listed a few questions. Please answer at your discretion.

All the best,

Kate Corbin

Chicago Crier

1. Can you give me any details about your personal life? Are you single? Do you live alone? What are your hobbies? Is your family involved in your business ventures?

2. Why did you decide to buy a winery?

3. Why did you sell J-Com Technologies?

When I hit SEND, an error message popped up reminding me that I still wasn’t connected to the Wi-Fi. I fiddled for twenty minutes with it before finally resorting to typing the e-mail on my phone and sending it. Within half an hour, he responded in complete narrative form.

Kate,

I’m really sorry about yesterday. I didn’t conduct myself professionally and I apologize. I’m trying desperately to keep my personal life private. I’ll give you some background and then try to answer your questions as efficiently as possible. I was in the public eye from the age of thirteen when I graduated from high school. By sixteen, I had a degree from MIT and a brand new company, J-Com Technologies. After patenting new server technology, I was coined “The Boy Genius” in the media. It was a tough role to live up to. I was under a great deal of pressure, even with the unwavering support of my father, who essentially ran the company.

Although my love for discovery and science never died, my interests and focus began to change back then. There was a night when I realized that all of the glory of my early success translated into money, but the money only made me feel empty. I had to teach myself to look at it differently, to look at the money as representing something more basic: clean water, food, vaccines, shelter, and for the very lucky, education. It was the realization that a third of the world’s population is poor, hungry, and dying of preventable diseases that pushed me to sell J-Com. I did not want to waste my time on what I felt were frivolous things, and that’s why I got out when I did.