Page 58 of Swiped
“A votre santé, Nat Lane.” Thom winked and met her glass with a crisp clink.
* * *
Rami leaned against a bike rack on the sidewalk. His feet hurt in his sneakers because he’d been standing just that long. He craned his neck to scan the long line ahead of him, grumbling to himself at all the snuggling couples and frazzled parents and rowdy groups — the typical brunch crowd, and him, a single man alone. Not weird at all! But Rami did have a book —Walden, or Life in the Woodsby Henry David Thoreau, in a hunter green leather hardback edition he’d swiped from Ian’s library on his way out. It had seemed like reading about a man’s escape from modernity inside a tiny New England cottage would provide some like-minded solace. But now he was dealing with the reality of hefting around over three hundred pages of that like-mindedness. He shifted the book to his other hand to give his wrist a break.
A couple approached him. “Hey, man, how much do you charge?” the man asked in a brisk, businesslike tone.
Rami took in the man’s grunge rock bob and all-black outfit of cargo culottes, leather shirt jacket, and platform boots. “Excuse me?” he said.
“To wait in line for us? You’re one of those taskers, right?” His eyes darted over Rami’s lone figure. “My phone’s dead, so I have to book this old school.”
“You pay people to wait in brunch lines for you?”
“Yeah. What is it today, like two hours? Three?”
Rami snapped his book closed. “Where’s my cabin?” he muttered. The couple gave each other confused looks as heleaned off the bike rack to literally take his stand. “Well, as much as I would love to make a few bucks—”
“Fifty bucks,” said the fashionable man.
Rami blinked. “Seriously?”
The man produced a turquoise-studded money clip from a leather belt bag and counted out the bills. Rami watched and debated whether accepting the task would weigh on his dignity for the rest of his life, or just for a few weeks.
“Remy!” a voice called down the line. “Ray-mi? Party of one!”
“Sorry, that’s me.” Rami waved the cash away. “Kind of.”
The man shrugged and squinted down the line.
“Live long and pancakes,” he said as he maneuvered toward the door.
* * *
Rami followed the host as they scream-spoke over the din of chatter in the restaurant.
“Had to put you with another solo,” they called over their shoulder. “Can’t justify a whole table for just one, you know?”
Rami rolled his eyes. He’d brought the book specifically to ward off awkward small talk. Even if this was his favorite brunch in the city, and even if he’d stood outside for over an hour, a man had to take a stand sometimes. He clutchedWaldenand trudged behind the host, his mind forming his eloquent refusal to accept this modern compromise. “Sharing is not acceptable!” he yelled over the din.
Then he saw his potential tablemate.
She sat nervously in front of an open paperback. Loose coppery curls framed her round face, creamy fair skin, upturned nose, and watermelon-pink lips.
“Sharing is totally fine!” said Rami, as the host dropped a menu on the table. Rami smiled and took the seat across from the beautiful stranger. “Hi, I’m Rami!”
She looked up at him with a shy smile. “Allison. Nice to meet you.”
* * *
Nat followed Thom with slightly tipsy steps on the trail out into the vineyard. Seeing his lean frame moving in front of her, with his rumbly baritone voice dancing in her ears and the wine buzzing in her temples — it all felt natural, like everything she had waited for was finally falling into place. She held out her hand, letting the tips of the leaves kiss her fingertips.
“God, this view beats the hell out of London.” Thom threw her a lidded glance over his shoulder. “For a few reasons.”
“Napa is adult Disneyland.” Nat sighed.
“Bang on, it is.” He stopped in front of a rusted iron gate and turned to her. “Except now, instead of being full of sugar, we’re full of fermented sugar.” He flashed a grin. “Full circle, that.”
Nat laughed. “I like the way you think.”
