3. Vines of Passion

NAOMI

Trigger Warning: Suicide Ideation

Just my fucking luck.

I couldn’t seem to get anything right, not even a one night stand.

Leave it to me to stumble into a situation like this. Of all the times I decided to be spontaneous and free, it had to be now. Caleb wasn’t just any Caleb—he was Caleb Thompson Jr. The son of the owners of this very winery that had captured my heart with its charm and the hospitality of its owners. What were the odds of this connection?

I wanted to disappear into thin air as I watched him standing there, that stupid grin plastered on his perfect face. His gaze locked with mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was reliving the events of the previous night just as I had been all day. I cringed at how easily I had let my guard down in his bed, foolishly thinking it was ok because I would never have to see him again.

As I sat in bed, rereading his text messages for what felt like the hundredth time, after practically running out of that classroom, I found myself gently knocking the back of my head against the headboard in frustration.

The whole situation felt utterly ridiculous. I hadn’t expected him to text me, but as soon as his first message came through, I knew it was him. Determined, charming, annoying, and undeniably attractive—all rolled into one irresistible package.

How in the world was I going to keep my distance from Caleb for the next two weeks? It seemed like an impossible feat, especially with him facilitating parts of the retreat. But I wasn’t about to bail out. No way. I had to stay strong, keep my cool.

Yeah, I could totally do this, I reassured myself, though I couldn’t shake off the annoyance of knowing he'd be at the luncheon tomorrow. It was like trying to brace for a storm you knew was coming.

To avoid any chance encounters with Caleb, I played it safe and ordered room service, scarfing down my meal before crashing into bed, determined to ace the retreat the next day.

The following morning, I slipped into a green sundress I had snagged during a trip to Greece, my curls looking extra luscious thanks to a touch of my own curl pudding from my line, “Raine Drops”—a nod to my grandmother Lorraine, the queen of kitchen hair concoctions. I couldn’t help but wish she were here now. She always knew how to set me straight without a hint of judgment.

As I stepped onto the estate, a wave of both refreshment and longing washed over me. I missed her more than ever. Despite her non-judgmental nature, the failure of my business weighed heavy on me everyday. It felt like letting her down, like failing her memory in some way. Losing her two years ago was a blow I was still reeling from. Life since then had been a constant struggle against grief, like I was drowning in it. One tragedy piling on top of the other.

But being here in California felt like a brief respite, a moment of clarity amidst the chaos of New York. It was like I could finally breathe again, free from the suffocating weight of my past and present.

Leaving my phone behind on day two of the retreat was a conscious decision. I wanted to be fully present, unburdened by the constant buzz of emails and reminders of my troubles back home. All I wanted was to make new connections, deepen my knowledge of wine, and simply enjoy the moment.

"Good morning, Miss Turner, how are we feeling?" Mrs. Thompson's voice floated over to me as I chatted with Taylor, a new friend I'd made during the retreat.

I excused myself from our conversation and turned to face the queen of the castle, dressed impeccably in another Ralph Lauren creation – this time, a sleeveless dress adorned with blue and pink stripes cinched at the waist, a beige sweater casually tossed over her shoulder. Her sun hat perched elegantly on her head, a gentle reminder that our day would be spent basking in the sunshine.

"Mrs. Thompson, I'm wonderful," I replied, feeling a slight blush creep onto my cheeks as I remembered how tired I must have looked yesterday. "Today feels like a fresh start, and I'm genuinely excited to see what we'll be learning." I offered her a warm smile, hoping to convey my gratitude for her hospitality.

She returned my smile, her eyes holding a hint of something I couldn't quite decipher.

"I hope the commute isn't too bad since you weren't able to stay on site with us," she remarked, her tone gentle and considerate.

"Oh no, I'm at The Wave Hotel," I replied, feeling a tad relieved that my choice of accommodation wasn't too far off.

"Just down the road, perfect," she acknowledged with a warm smile.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen..." Mr. Thompson's booming voice cut through the room, capturing everyone's attention.

As I glanced at him, it suddenly became clear how silly it was that I hadn't pieced together the connection between him and Caleb earlier. They shared an uncanny resemblance, from their stature to the way they carried themselves. While Caleb inherited his mother's complexion and eyes, everything else seemed to be a reflection of his father.

Mr. Thompson stood tall, well over six feet as his son did, and maintained a robust physique, likely thanks to his daily morning runs – a detail Mrs. Thompson had shared earlier. And observing them together, it was evident that they were a well-coordinated pair, their outfits subtly complementing each other without being overly matching.

We started off with a leisurely stroll through the vineyards, the sun kissing our skin as we breathed in the sweet scent of ripening grapes. Mr. Thompson shared nuggets of wisdom about wine-making, his passion for the craft evident in every word he spoke. Mrs. Thompson, with her warm smile and gentle demeanor, made us feel like old friends as she regaled us with stories of the vineyard's history.

After our vineyard tour, we gathered under the shade of a sprawling oak tree for a wine tasting session. Each sip was a journey in itself, as we savored the complex flavors and aromas of the different varietals. Mrs. Thompson guided us through the tasting, her knowledge and enthusiasm infectious.

As the morning stretched into afternoon, we moved to the terrace overlooking the estate for lunch. The long tables decorated with an array of flowers, delicious treats, from fresh salads to artisanal cheeses.

As I selected a few items from the massive grazing board, I sensed a piercing gaze creating a hole in my back. Looking behind me, I found Caleb's intense stare. He was dressed in a linen suit, impeccably tailored, the natural hue of the fabric harmonizing beautifully with his deeply melanated skin. Though he appeared engaged in conversation with his mother, his attention seemed solely fixated on me. Clearing my throat, I turned around and focused on loading up my plate.

"You'll be sitting with me," Caleb's deep voice cut through the air from behind me seconds later as I felt his hand on my waist.

Turning around, I found myself practically nose to nose with Caleb.

Good Lord, I thought they quit making men this fine back in the '90s. There's just no way I'm going to survive the next two weeks without losing my mind, but I'll put on a good show, at least.

"Do you not believe in personal space?" I quipped, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You don't answer your texts?" he inquired.

"I don't have my phone," I confessed.

Caleb arched a skeptical brow, "A millennial without their phone? First the fake name now this. If you don’t want to talk to me, just be honest."

"I'm deadass, Caleb," I asserted.

"Deadass? The New York slang is—"

"I mean it," I interrupted. "I don't want to deal with the ringing, the texts, the voicemails... I just want to be here."

Caleb's expression softened, though there was a hint of pain in his eyes as he reluctantly tucked his hands into his pockets.

"Who or what are you hiding from back home, Naomi?" he probed lowering his voice.

"Who says I'm hiding?" I countered.

"Your lack of phone for one," he stated matter-of-factly.

"You don't even know me like that. How do you know I don't leave my phone at home all the time?"

Without a word, Caleb gently released one of his hands from his pocket and placed it on my elbow, guiding me to the seat beside him at the head of the table.

"Caleb, this isn't appropriate," I protested softly.

"We're just sitting and talking," he insisted, his tone calm but firm.

I let out a heavy sigh, my mind swirling with conflicting emotions as I scanned the luncheon with paranoia. I was convinced that everyone here knew about our sexual encounter. But as I looked around, I realized that Mrs. Thompson was still busy fussing over the decor, Mr. Thompson was engaged in conversation with a small group of retreat guests, and the rest of the attendees were simply enjoying themselves—laughing, sipping wine, and indulging in appetizers while the smooth voice of John Legend filled the air.

"What do you want, Caleb, really?" I questioned, searching his eyes for sincerity.

"To get to know you," he replied earnestly.

I couldn't help but chuckle, shaking my head at his response, feeling skeptical of his intentions.

"You wanted a one-night stand; you never asked me what I wanted," he smirked.

In that moment, I panicked.

"Shh!" I hushed him with a finger over his mouth, glancing around to ensure no one overheard his remark.

Caleb leaned back in his seat smirking, "You’re trying to act like it never happened. Why?"

"I don't want this to be weird," I confessed.

"You're making it weird. We're two grown, consenting adults.You had your plans, but fate and I have other plans that I think are worth exploring too," he reasoned.

"Caleb..."

"Tell me what's going on, Naomi, please," Caleb urged, his hands now holding mine. "I'm sorry. I've been trying not to touch you, but I can't help it anymore. Is this okay?"

This man had taken me on a whirlwind of erotic passion for hours, bending me in every direction imaginable, treated me like an all you can eat buffet, been inside of me, yet here he was, asking permission to hold my hands?

"I think we're past holding hands," I chuckled, feeling a mix of amusement and confusion.

He smiled softly, his eyes full of warmth. "You keep trying to put up these walls, I'm just trying to respect your boundaries."

"It doesn't feel like it," I countered, my voice tinged with frustration.

"I'm doing my best, but it's hard," he confessed. "Hard to see you and not want to talk to you, touch you."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks, causing my breath to catch in my throat. Despite my attempts to maintain a tough exterior, I could feel myself wavering under the intensity of his gaze. Caleb exuded a confidence that was both enticing and intimidating, and deep down, I knew he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. And right now, despite my resistance, it was clear that what he wanted was me.

I scanned the small gathering nervously, then returned my gaze to Caleb, his hands still warm against mine, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Naomi, I just want to make things clear," he began, his words measured and sincere. "I'm not here to pressure you or make things uncomfortable for you during your time here. I genuinely enjoy your company, and I'd like to spend more time with you outside this retreat. But if you need me to step back, just say the word."

With that, he released my hands and leaned back, waiting for my response. Without pausing to consider my actions, I reached out for his hands again, feeling a sudden urgency to keep that connection. I met his gaze, struggling to find the right words. The truth was, I felt an unexpected ease with Caleb, but it also made me feel vulnerable and unsure.

"I just want to know if you're open to exploring whatever this is between us, even if it's just for these next two weeks," he continued softly. "If it doesn’t work out, you’ll be leaving town anyway, we'll go our separate ways and you’ll never have to see me again."

His words hung in the air, the weight of the decision resting heavily on my shoulders.

“A two week trial, huh?”, I smirked trying to keep my voice steady.

Caleb smiled back, “Yea…you can return me to sender at the end if you need to.”

This man was something else. While his offer was tempting, I had to be honest with myself, with him.

"I, ummmm…I’ve been on a break from men. Before the other night, I hadn’t been close to anyone in like a year or so," I confessed, feeling the weight of my admission settle in the space between us.

"Something bad happened?" he asked, concern etched in his features as he tried to meet my gaze, his eyes searching mine.

Something real bad, painful. Flashes of the past replayed in my mind, the screaming, the hurt. I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping to block out the memories, inadvertently squeezing Caleb’s hands in the process.

"Hey…" Caleb's voice was soft, his touch gentle as he cupped my face with his hand, coaxing me to look at him. "I have no intentions of hurting you. I just want to take care of you while you’re here," he said, his words sincere and comforting. His thumb brushed away a tear I hadn’t even realized was falling. "Can you let me do that for you, Naomi? I know you’re running from something, let me be your escape."

I couldn’t find an ounce of insincerity in his eyes, just pure determination and care for a person he hardly knew. I found myself nuzzling my face into his hand with my eyes closed, seeking solace in his touch. His warmth enveloped me, making me feel safe.

"I would like that," I heard myself say softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I looked at him.

"Can I take you out tonight? A real date," he asked, his eyes filled with anticipation.

I didn’t have my calendar with me, but I knew I had a call tonight that was going to shift my mood. The chaos of preparations for it had been consuming my inboxes.

“I have a big work call tonight. I know I won’t want to go out after…it’s gonna take a while anyway,” I explained, feeling the weight of my responsibilities settle over me. “Tomorrow will be better.”

“Tomorrow it is,” he smirked, his expression both understanding and hopeful.

I found myself blushing at his persistence, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and excitement.

“Let’s take our seats everyone,” Mrs. Thompson announced suddenly, bringing me back to the present moment.

Lord, did someone see me coming apart at the seams thanks to Caleb’s touch? I had to keep it together. I cleared my throat and started to get up to go sit next to Taylor, feeling the need to distance myself from Caleb's intoxicating presence.

“Stay,” Caleb said, his hand on my elbow, his eyes pleading. “Please.”

I looked down at him, struck by a sudden realization. Whatever was brewing between us, there was no way it would be over in two weeks—not with the way he looked at me, touched me, talked to me, held me, or wanted to care for me.

But I would leave. And it would hurt like hell, but I’d do it because as much as I wanted to believe Caleb about not hurting me, one day he would, and I wouldn’t survive it. I was already too tender from the past two years—I couldn’t manage anymore heartbreak. But I’d enjoy this time with him, ready for it to sting once I got back on a plane to JFK but knowing I’d get over it.

I deserved this bit of bliss, even if it was temporary. Hell awaited me once this was over the moment I stepped foot back in Brooklyn.

So I sat down and allowed him to discreetly hold my hand under the table until lunch was served, making sure to strike up conversations with others as we enjoyed a delicious meal.

The first course consisted of a refreshing summer salad, featuring crisp mixed greens, heirloom tomatoes bursting with flavor, creamy avocado slices, and tangy balsamic vinaigrette. The salad was accompanied by warm slices of freshly baked focaccia bread, topped with fragrant herbs and drizzled with olive oil.

For the main course, we were treated to a choice of grilled salmon or herb-roasted chicken, both served with a side of roasted vegetables and garlic mashed potatoes. The salmon was perfectly cooked, with a delicate smoky flavor that melted in the mouth, while the herb-roasted chicken was tender and juicy, infused with the flavors of rosemary, thyme, and garlic.

To round off the meal on a sweet note, dessert was served—a decadent chocolate ganache tart topped with fresh berries and a dollop of whipped cream. The tart was rich and indulgent, with a silky smooth texture that melted on the tongue, while the fresh berries added a bright burst of flavor.

The air was filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, as we toasted to new friendships and shared experiences. And amidst it all, Caleb's gaze never left mine, his hand brushing my thigh ever so slightly despite his conversations with everyone within an ear shot.

Later that evening in my hotel room, Kayla's voice cut through the phone like a sharp blade to my heart.

“Naomi, I'm serious. If you don't return soon, we might have to dissolve the company and start fresh.”, Her words were like a sharp gust of wind, extinguishing the candle of peace I'd been carefully guarding.

I was perched on the edge of the bed as I clutched my iPhone, now on speaker. My gaze fixed on the blank white wall in front of me, I felt the weight of the world slowly descending upon my shoulders. Just hours ago, I was basking in the afterglow of a blissful day. My reflection in the mirror had even convinced me that perhaps, I was finally turning a new leaf.

I was eagerly anticipating my first date with Caleb tomorrow, holding onto the promise of a perfect end to another beautiful day spent amidst the vineyards. The scenery, the exquisite wine, the delectable food, and the fascinating people I had the pleasure of meeting had all contributed to a state of euphoria. For a brief moment in time, I had tasted happiness.

But now, as the dark cloud of reality loomed overhead, threatening to engulf me, I felt the ominous presence of my old foe—depression. Like an unwelcome old friend, it was returning, wrapping its insidious arms around me, whispering sweet nothings of despair and desolation.

The illusion of happiness I had meticulously crafted since I left New York was shattering, and I was left grappling with the impending storm, the thunder of my responsibilities rolling in, and the raindrops of reality gently falling, heralding the tempest to come.

“Naomi? Hello? Can you hear me?” Kayla’s voice crackled through the phone, her tone laced with urgency and concern.

“Yes...yes, I’m here,” I managed to stammer out, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Naomi, you have to listen to me. The company is bleeding out, and your personal finances aren’t faring any better. You're hemorrhaging money trying to keep everything afloat, and this...this spiritual journey you're on? It's time to come back down to reality. There are tough decisions ahead, and you can't avoid them any longer.”

Her words sliced through the fog in my mind, and I felt the sting of tears welling in my eyes, grateful that the distance between us concealed my vulnerability. The pain, the relentless, gnawing pain of watching something I had poured my heart and soul into crumble before my eyes, had become too much to bear. I had numbed myself to it, oscillating between flight and freeze, depending on the day's mercies—or lack thereof.

“You need to snap out of this fantasy, Naomi. You're depleting your savings, sacrificing your future—” Kayla pressed on, her voice firm yet laced with concern.

“I can't abandon them. I can't abandon my team,” I interrupted, my voice laced with desperation.

“Your loyalty—it's going to be the death of you. Do you realize that?”

Death. The word hung heavily in the air, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if that might be a sweet escape that I needed, a respite from the relentless assault of life's demands. Yet, each morning, I awoke to the harsh light of reality, forcing myself to find some semblance of purpose in the ruins of my dreams.

“The thought of leaving everyone jobless—I just can't...” My voice trailed off, the weight of responsibility constricting my chest.

“They know, Naomi…that the company is failing. They're not oblivious. They've seen the signs, and they're preparing themselves. They're looking for new opportunities, and you should too. You've been mentally gone for months, physically for weeks. It's time to face reality and look out for yourself.”

Her words, spoken with a careful blend of harsh truth and empathy, were a stark reminder of the solitude in my struggle. The writing was indeed on the wall, and as much as I wished to deny it, I knew deep down that she was right. It was time to salvage what remained of my life, even if it meant letting go of the dream that had once been my everything.

I had failed. I needed to accept that but, I still needed time to accept that and decide what was next.

“I’ll be back in New York in a week or so. We will wrap everything up then. I just need this time. Can you give me till then?”, I asked.

Kayla's exasperated sigh filled my ears, carrying the weight of unspoken frustrations and concern.

“Every day you delay, you’re costing yourself thousands of dollars, Naomi. Thousands,” she implored, her voice a blend of sternness and fatigue.

I was acutely aware of the financial hemorrhage she spoke of, yet, in this brief interlude of peace and self-discovery, I yearned to push away the harsh realities waiting for me.

“I'll be in touch,” I whispered, almost to myself, and ended the call before Kayla could add any more weight to my already burdened shoulders.

I collapsed backward onto the bed, the softness of the mattress in stark contrast to the turmoil swirling within me. The room, bathed in the gentle embrace of the afternoon sun, suddenly felt oppressively dark and constricted. Kayla's words had yanked me from my sanctuary and thrust me back into the abyss I had been desperately clawing my way out of.

I curled into myself, the meticulous makeup I had applied now marred by tears, the beautiful white dress I wore, now a wrinkled mess as I buried myself under the covers, seeking refuge from the storm. I longed for oblivion, for the world to fade away. And for a moment, as sleep claimed me, it did for longer than I’d anticipated with limbs that suddenly felt so heavy, causing me to sleep for so long that I missed Day 3 of the retreat.

To Be Continued…