11 Chapter 11

To break my tongue-wagging stare, I said, “I have one bag by the door. Do I toss it into the back of your truck?”

“It will be my pleasure,” he shared, yanked my overnight bag off the floor with his firm and bulky grip, and manhandled it over his right shoulder.

In a matter of seconds, I locked up my apartment, followed him to his Nissan Frontier, climbed in its comfortable cab, and anticipated a thrilling and fun-filled two-day trip with the man.

11: Sloppy

June 2. Rothshire Vineyard along Lake Erie, and just a few miles east of Erie, was one of the most beautiful and elegant properties in northwestern Pennsylvania. The nine hundred acres of grape-covered arbors rolled splendidly along the gold-pink-purple horizon. Just and I arrived shortly after six in the evening. We pulled in the property’s gravel driveway, parked in front of an ivy-covered Tudor, exited his Frontier, and stretched.