One Fine Day

She wondered, for example, how much longer he would put up with her lack of communication? She asked only that his patience lasted long enough for her to get Elizabeth, her new charge, placed in a suitable situation. After that, she was going to resign from the organization.

Hopefully that shouldn’t take more than a few weeks. Eunice had assured her they were working hard to get Elizabeth placed.

She smiled brightly up at him. Their lower halves were pressed firmly together and she, being highly susceptible to his nearness, was becoming more and more aroused.

“Are we going for that ride you promised me?” she reminded him.

“Yes!” His teeth flashed in a gorgeous smile. He loved their rides together in the moonlight. “I’ll get dressed.”

He gave her a quick buss on the lips and was gone.

Sara went to the kitchen to see what that divine smell was that had been enticing her since she’d stepped foot in the house.

The house was made of very thick stone and was cool in summer and drafty in the winter months. There was Mexican tile, a different shade in each room, throughout the house. Handmade rugs offered some relief from its stark beauty. The furnishings were good solid wood and leather pieces, the colors in earth tones with splashes of bold color here and there. Simone Bryant had truly designed a beautiful family home over the years. Sara could imagine living there and putting her own stamp on it.

The kitchen, Simone’s pride and joy, obviously, was equipped with everything a chef could want—durable and reliable cookware, lots of counter space, a double oven, and a restaurant-size Sub-Zero refrigerator.

Sara walked over to the stove and lifted the lid on the Dutch oven. The aroma of stewed chicken made her mouth water. There was something very appealing about a man who could cook. She supposed some of his mother’s culinary talent had rubbed off on him. Come to think of it, his brother was a chef, too.

She went and got a fork from the cutlery drawer and dipped into the stewed chicken, spearing a nice chunk. She closed the lid and blew on the steaming treat.

Jason came into the kitchen just as she was putting it in her mouth.

“Caught you!” he said, laughing. “A little hungry, are you?” He had put on a long-sleeve shirt, a denim jacket and his brown leather boots.

Chewing, Sara said, “It smelled so good, I couldn’t resist.”

Being the gentleman he was, Jason offered to forgo the ride and feed her instead.

“No, no,” she cried. “I’m looking forward to our ride.”

A few minutes later, Sara was sitting astride Indigo behind Jason with her arms wrapped around him. They were riding through the vineyards, which were bathed in moonlight.

Indigo’s gait was slow enough so that they could talk comfortably.

“These grapes are going to become what kind of wine, again?” she asked. She was woefully ignorant about the wine business but was willing to learn.

“Zinfandel,” Jason told her.

“That’s a red wine, right?”

“Right, red or rosé, which is a light red.”

“How old were you when you had your first glass of wine?”

“Five or six,” Jason told her. “Every Christmas we were permitted one glass, up until we were eighteen, at which time we were considered old enough to determine how many glasses we wanted and when we wanted to drink them. Of course, when we were kids the Christmas glass of wine was perhaps only large enough to hold half an ounce. And the moderation with which our parents treated wine made all of us into near teetotalers. None of us will have more than a glass of wine with dinner to this day.”

The side of Sara’s face was pressed to his back and his voice vibrated in her ear. She liked the sound of it. “Are you glad you came back home?”

She’d never asked him that question. She was afraid he would say he wasn’t happy here. She closed her eyes and hoped for a positive reply.

“I’m happier than I ever thought I could be,” he said without hesitation. “I told you how I mentally fought against going into the family business?”

“Yes, you said you didn’t want to be like your father, so you excelled in school and became a lawyer, a profession so removed from being a gentleman farmer, as you like to think of your father, that no one in the family would ever presume to ask you to take over.”

She laughed when she was finished.

“What’s so funny?” Jason wanted to know.

“Then, your sister came along and talked you into it.”

Jason didn’t want to tell Sara that she had also been a determining factor in his decision to come back home. He was already smitten with her at the time and wanted to get to know her better.

“I was unhappy being a divorce lawyer, too. I was tired of seeing so many marriages go up in smoke.”

“You don’t miss being a lawyer at all?” Sara asked, incredulous.

“Nah, I had my fill. Now that I look back I realize I was just running from the inevitable. I belong here. This place is in my blood, no matter how hard I try to deny it.”

Sara hugged him tighter and with a broad smile on her face, sighed happily.

“Does that make you happy?” Jason asked.

“Yes, it does. I’m glad you love it here. So do I. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”

“After living in New York City?”

“I love New York. I always will. But Glen Ellen is home. After Mom died and Dad moved to Florida to live with Uncle Ed, I didn’t even think of selling the family home and moving away.”

“I’m grateful you didn’t.”

“There are not that many black folks left.”

“There weren’t that many to begin with,” Jason said. “According to the African-American historian on this area, my mom, the Bryants were the first blacks to live here. And it was lots of years before anyone else black moved here.”

“My mom and dad came in the late seventies when Mom inherited a lot of money and bought property here. She was the one who loved farming, not Dad. When she died he couldn’t go on without her. Yeah, this is definitely a lonely place for black folks,” said Sara. “I bet there aren’t twenty African-Americans living in this area. The high school kids have to go to Santa Rosa to attend school, and last I heard Claude and Rosaura’s two kids were the only black students at the elementary school.”

“But Santa Rosa’s not that far away, and it has a sizable African-American community. We’re not that isolated from our culture,” Jason said reasonably.

“Hasn’t that always been the place to go when you wanted soul food, or had to get your hair cut, or your hair styled? Or actually wanted to date a sister or a brother? I didn’t date anybody from here when I was in high school.”

“I know. The first guy who kissed you came from Santa Rosa. I remember Kyle Bailey, that little pipsqueak, he was two grades behind me.”

“That little pipsqueak shot up several inches over the summer of his junior year and led the basketball team to the state finals his senior year. For a hot minute I was the most popular girl in school because he was my boyfriend. Then, he dropped me for Susie Kent, and my moment of fame fizzled so quickly it made my head spin.”

She laughed at the memory now, but back then, like most sixteen-year-old girls would have been, she was devastated. She’d wound up going to the senior prom with her father. Her mom had insisted that she would regret it if she did not go. She’d been right.

Her father, a big, handsome brown-skinned man made the girls swoon with envy. Some of them had even asked him to dance with them, but he told them his dance card was filled. He and Sara danced every dance together.