Page 38 of Sweet Escape

“I’m so glad to hear that. Have you tried out the soaking tub yet?”

“Unfortunately not. But I’m hoping to, soon. I’ve been surprisingly busy since I got here. Which is actually what I was hoping to talk to you about.”

Errol puts his pencil in his large black book and then closes it, setting it to the side.

“Is there some kind of community calendar? Or a place I can look up the events going on while I’m visiting? I want to fit in as much as I can while I’m here, and I might try to go to that ... movie night thing.”

“There is!” he says, placing a hand on his chest. “I apologize that I didn’t give you the community hall’s event calendar when you checked in. That was my mistake.”

He turns and tugs a flyer out from a little shelf behind him.

“There’s the movie night this weekend, and the Fall Festival next month. And there’s also information about which vineyards have events coming up. Some of them do more than just wine tasting. Some ofthem host scavenger hunts or concerts. And then there’s always the grape stomping, which is very popular.”

I briefly eye the schedule, then tuck the flyer into my purse.

“Thank you so much, Errol. Time for me to take in what this community has to offer.”

He grins. “Hey, before you head out, I wanted to tell you ... I heard you singing to yourself this morning when you were walking through the lobby, and you have the most beautiful voice.”

The genuine way he says it hits me square in the chest, and my hand raises to that spot to hold his compliment close.

“Oh my gosh, that is ... the sweetest thing to say. Thank you so much.”

“My wife had a voice like yours, one that makes people want to stop and listen, no matter what they’re doing.” His eyes grow wistful, briefly, the little wrinkles on his face growing more pronounced before his bright smile returns in full force. “Make sure you use it as often as you can. Everyone should hear it.”

“Well ... thank you. Seriously,” I reply, my heart panging a little bit for him. “You’ve absolutely made my day.”

“You have a great day, sweetheart.”

The compliment from Errol is a welcome surprise in my day and a pleasant little thing in the forefront of my mind as I take a break to grab a quick lunch. But then I’m right back to work, tweaking my words and playing around with the notes on the bridge. I record my guitar melody on my phone and put in headphones so I don’t disturb any of the other Firehouse guests as I work late into the evening.

On Tuesday, I hit the coffee shop again, enjoying the bit of consistency in my Rosewood routine. Then I finally take time to visit the music store, a little mom-and-pop place called Harmony and Vines. They sell local wines, of course, alongside hand-crafted instruments. I spend far too long perusing everything, ultimately leaving with a bag full of necessary goodies: an array of sheet music, a couple of colorfulpicks, and a shirt with the store name because I can’t handle how cute it is and I’m a sucker for vintage tees.

Then I hit the road, driving slowly along the winding roads and rolling hills of Rosewood, stopping any time it feels right. My day is spent between random parks and lookouts, plucking at my guitar strings, working on the lyrics, and letting the muse speak to me.

There’s something really settling about it. It takes me back to when I was in high school. I’d pull out my guitar during lunch and sit beneath a shady tree with my friends. It wasn’t like I sat at lunch serenading everyone with my guitar every day. I’ve always been a social butterfly, and many of my days were spent laughing and talking and being a bubbly teenager. But there were other days when the mood would strike me, and I’d flutter my fingers along the strings, playing a melody I was still figuring out.

The creative process is filled withfiguring it outmoments, which is why it’s normally so time consuming. I can think about a song over and over again, ad nauseum, and still not find the right words. And then bam, something will happen and I’ll figure out how to say the exact right thing, wondering how I didn’t see it before when it was right there the whole time.

On Wednesday, I arrive early to Hawthorne Vines, hoping to visit with Murphy at the restaurant for a little bit before my semiprivate tour of the property.

But when I get there, the hostess, Enid, says Murphy is still in San Francisco. She won’t be back until the weekend. Surprising, considering she thought she’d only be gone for a night or two.

I take a seat at the bar and greet a bartender I haven’t met before. I decide on a chardonnay before pulling out my phone and sending off a text to my friend.

Me:Everything okay? Enid said you’re still in SF

Murphy has shared plenty with me about Wes, her sexy chef boyfriend who gives her the best O’s she’s ever had. But I haven’t heard much about his mom, so I haven’t a single clue what they’re doing on this trip.

My phone buzzes with a reply as I’m taking my first sip of the crisp white wine.

Murphy:Yeah, the trip is just a lot different than I was expecting. I’ll update you when I get back! But I promise, everything is okay. *smooch*

My shoulders settle a tad, the worry I felt when Enid said Murphy was still out of town beginning to dissipate. She’s not the type to keep things to herself, so if something was wrong, she wouldn’t hide it.

“How’s that wine?”

I look up at the bartender, a handsome man maybe a few years older than me, with a thick beard and a genuine smile on his face.

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