ETHAN

I guide the Maserati along winding roads, not going as fast as I want to, but still getting a good thrill out of it. Ava is rigid in her seat, white-knuckling the armrest. Apparently despite holding back, I’m going a little too fast for her anyway.

I point over the crest of redwoods, where they just begin to thin out. She follows the line of my arm.

“It’s just over there,” I tell her. “Do you see it?”

“No, wait… oh, what? Is that your house?”

“More of a cabin,” I murmur modestly.

“Oh, stop! It looks like a hotel!”

I don’t know why; it’s stupid to brag. But I like impressing her.

“It’s in the chalet style, built in the nineteen-thirties by some movie executive who wanted to be away from it all. Like seriously, far away from everything.”

“It’s gorgeous,” she breathes. I hear the interest in her voice, the anticipation. I have to remind myself that I’ve sworn to go slow with her, to take my time. It’s getting more difficult by the moment.

“Secluded too,” I note. “You can walk around naked on the beach. You’d never even run into another person, most likely.”

“Seriously?” she asks. She sounds intrigued, I am happy to hear. Then she adds: “You wanted to be this out of the way? This isolated?”

I turn into the driveway, gunning it to hit the big hill and loft slightly over the top. I can’t help it. Maseratis are just a lot of fun to drive. I park at the end of the smooth concrete and trot around the back of the car to open her door. She places her hand in mine, staring in wide-eyed wonder at my house as she rises from the low-slung seat of the sports car.

“It’s nice to have some privacy,” I admit. “It can get to be a little much, sometimes… maybe. But who am I to complain? You want the tour?”

“Absolutely,” she nods avidly.

Ben comes out, ready to take our bags to the bedroom. He salutes me smartly as I lead Ava toward the foyer.

“Who’s that?” she whispers.

“That’s Ben. He manages the house when Perry is unavailable. You’ll never know he’s here. He’s very discreet.”

“He saluted you?”

“Oh, that. We served together,” I explain, trying to figure out the best way to pack the whole story into a carefree, ten-second summary. Quickly I realize it’s impossible and just brush it off.

“I met a lot of good people in the Marines.” I start again. “After I got back, Mom and Dad set me up with a day-trading account and a little seed money… I made some good—well, some lucky decisions—and suddenly I had enough to start a small venture capital company. Soon as I was made like that, I wanted to find my buddies and make sure they were okay too.”

I realize we haven’t actually gone anywhere. We’re still standing in the foyer. She is staring up at me with a dreamy half smile on her lips.

“You mean to tell me that you struck it rich, then went to go find your military buddies to give them jobs?”

“Best guys in the world,” I shrug. “Not sure I could ever trust anybody the way I trust these guys. So, there’s Perry and Ben managing my life and a couple of houses. Then there’s Tabitha and Willie running my legal department... Nathan keeping an eye on my trades… Digger runs out to bark at the startups to make sure they’re actually on task… It’s a whole thing. My crew.”

“That’s kind of… well, it’s kind of awesome!” she smiles, her cheeks dimpling sweetly. I lean forward and press my lips against the top of her forehead, inhaling the scent of her caramel-colored hair. It feels good, the way that she approves of me so completely. I guess I still care what she thinks.

“Come on, let me show you around,” I whisper into her hair, tugging her by the hand.

The house is impressive, I have to admit. I can’t take much credit for it since it was built eighty years ago or so, other than I had the foresight to buy it before somebody tore it down to put a hotel up here or something.

California has always had secret mansions in secluded places, so they’re not that hard to find on real estate websites. It’s always been fashionable for famous people to complain about being famous and wanting to get away, I suppose.

Once you’re at ground level here, there is a very nice kind of protected castle feeling. It seems like at some point, every actor and studio executive and musician thought it would be a cool idea to build themselves a castle and moat, somewhere out here in fairytale land.

I take her through room after room of terrazzo floors and plaster arches, fluted columns and hidden cupboards behind mahogany panels. She’s appropriately delighted, clapping her fingertips under her sweet, round chin.

In the grand, oval-shaped living room, I lead her toward the semicircular row of windows that seem to almost hang in space, facing the Pacific.

“Oh, the black sand beaches,” she sighs. “Haven’t seen them since I was little.”

“You remember?” I ask her.

She turns to me slightly, her eyelashes fluttering, her expression vague. “Remember?” she repeats.

“We were here once. Our families. Well, not exactly here, but somewhere along the stretch of this beach. We rented adjoining cabins and just hung out for a weekend. Ring any bells?”

I search her eyes, watching her struggle. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but even then, she always got my attention. While I hung out with Aden, she left and cartwheeled along the surf like a fairy princess. She never even needed anybody to play with. She was always just full of joy, seemingly entertained by the very act of breathing.

“I think I remember the beach,” she says quietly, staring at it. “But nothing else. Nobody else. I almost felt like I was alone. That’s so weird!”

“I guess you were always kind of in your own little world.”

She wrinkles her nose shyly. “Yeah, that’s what everybody says. I was always kind of a daydreamer. Bea says I’m uptight.”

“Are you hungry, daydreamer?” I ask her, unsure what else to say. Somehow, she’s just a little too charming. Maybe I just know her too well. Sometimes looking at her is confusing. I need to remember to keep things light.

“Starving,” she confesses.

“Perfect,” I smirk. Behind us is the chef’s kitchen which I strategically left for last anyway. I figured we would end up here in this room. She gazes admiringly at the Viking range, the Sub-Zero freezer. She knows it’s the good stuff, so I don’t have to explain it to her as part of the house tour.

Delicately, she perches on a leather stool at the end of the counter, folding her fingers underneath her chin. I pull a couple of fat, juicy tomatoes from the bowl and hold them up.

“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

She opens her eyes wide. “Wait a second, you’re going to cook?”

“Well, not these if you’re allergic to them. That’s why I’m asking.”

“No, I’m not allergic… but, what I mean is, are you actually planning on cooking those? Yourself? You don’t have a personal chef or something?”

“Of course I have a personal chef,” I sigh. I pull a knife from the block and start dicing the tomato, followed by a zucchini and Japanese eggplant. “But I like to cook. It’s nice. Are you impressed? You should totally be impressed.”

“Oh, I really am!” she coos. “I’m just a little surprised. But the impressed kind of surprised, I promise!”

“Good,” I sniff. “I didn’t want to waste my dazzling culinary skills on you if you would rather get a frozen pizza in the oven or something.”

She shrugs. “Yeah well, frozen pizza has its good sides too, you know.”

“That’s true,” I admit, setting two pots of water on the big burners. They’ll be boiling shortly and I season them generously with handfuls of sea salt. “I think one of my startups is in the pizza business, as a matter of fact. They’ve got some kind of flash freezing technology that improves storage and flavor. They make a pretty good pizza.”

“I’d like to try that too!”

I take the plastic bag of mussels from the fridge and set them on the counter. Smashing the head of garlic in my hand, I season the water with bay and garlic to steam the mussels and then retrieve some fresh pasta from the fridge. Normally, I would make my own pasta from scratch, but she doesn’t need to know that. I’ll save a few tricks for later.

In just minutes, I ladle a ruby-red sauce with tomatoes over the pasta, then top it with the mussels and torn shreds of basil. The fragrant bowls drift steam between our faces. Opening a bottle of local Chardonnay, I sit next to her, ready to hear her sweet voice again.

She breathes deeply, closing her eyes and flaring her nostrils as the scents of herbs and garlic dance through her sinuses.

“This is amazing,” she sighs. “Really amazing! It’s so sweet of you to do this for me.”

“My pleasure,” I smile. The first bite is perfectly al dente, the farm-fresh vegetables still crisp and earthy. Not a bad effort, if I do say so myself.

“So, the pizza guys? Is that where I’ll be working?” she asks carefully, keeping her eyes down.

It takes me second to remember what she’s talking about. “Oh, right. Your, um, internship. Well, I guess I’ll let you pick? Or I’ll give you a tour? Figure out where you fit best?”

She glances up at me, her eyes suddenly innocent again. I love how she goes back and forth from determined fighter to uneasy ingenue over and over again.

“So that’s a real thing? You meant it? About the job?”

“Of course I meant it. You can see it all around me… I rely on people I can trust. Are you someone I can trust?”

“Because I sort of thought that maybe you just brought me here so we could have sex,” she says matter-of-factly, daring me with her eyes.

I pause for a beat, measuring her expression. She’s a little defiant, but a little frightened too.

“I mean, I think I could be a good fit,” she mutters stubbornly, pushing her jaw forward. “In anything. Any kind of job, I mean.”

I reach out and take her hand, forcing her to drop her fork, nudging her until she faces me.

“I asked you if you trusted me, do you remember?” I ask her in a low voice.

She nods uncertainly.

“I didn’t just abduct you to have my way with you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I smirk. I can’t help it. Any other girl, she would be right. But somehow, I mean it. Having my way with her is something definitely on my list, but it’s a very long list with a lot more stuff on it.

“You don’t have to say these things to me,” she insists. “I’m not a little girl anymore. We’re both adults. Whatever happens, happens.”

I lean in, kissing her gently, stroking my thumb along the line of her downy jaw. She tastes like wine and garlic, punctuated by the savory tang of the mussels.

“Drink your wine, baby,” I tell her, finally forcing myself to let her go. There’s time for more, I tell myself.

We resume eating slowly, savoring each bite as the sun goes down. After the plates are cleared away, I take her hand again.

“Time for the rest of the tour.”

Slowly I lead her upstairs to the master suite, the one with windows on all sides, looking out from the redwoods to the bright blue sea and quickly darkening sky. It’s a magnificent view, but not as magnificent as what I see when I begin undressing her. The rose petal-pink tie of her dress slips away under my fingers, the fabric falling open to reveal her lush, ripe curves. She catches her breath, drawing her lower lip between her teeth and staring at me intently. I undress her slowly, savoring every moment of seeing her in these beautiful last rays of sunlight.

It’s not late, but suddenly I’m so tired. We undress silently, falling across my enormous bed and gathering the luxurious blankets over us. Her body curls against mine, fitting me perfectly. I hold her tightly to me, satisfied just to embrace her, to feel her skin completely connected with mine.

Kissing her gently on her neck, I listen to the sound of her breathing deepen and decelerate, smiling as I realize that she’s falling effortlessly into sleep, here in my arms. So trusting, so pure.