Page 20 of Intoxicating Pursuit

Creekside

I woke up at the hotel in Creekside, well rested and glad to be done with driving for a few days. After a good stretch to ease the kinks out of my back, I opened the curtains to a bright sun climbing over mountaintops in a cloudless sky.

Twenty-four hours had now gone by, and I felt no trace of panic yet, no pressing urge to flee. I took a deep breath of gratitude—a moment of peace—then made the rounds. I called Mom and Meghan and texted Tina to check in.

Thankfully, everyone seemed to be managing themselves fine. If they were okay, I should be, too.

Thoughts of Gabe filled my mind as I dressed.

I slipped on a favorite, navy-blue sundress and applied a little makeup despite the warm blush already creeping into my cheeks.

Thinking about Gabe was so delicious, like a dessert I couldn’t resist taking bite after bite of, whether or not it was good for me.

Marveling at my body's response to the mere idea of him, I headed into the growing heat of a North Carolina summer morning and hopped in the car.

The directions sent me out of town on a sunny two-lane road.

Eventually, the homes thinned out, the surroundings became wilder, and I crossed a wide, churning creek before heading up into the foothills.

The road climbed a serpentine path through a blanket of forest, but the trees gradually thinned to a hedge, and field crops, apple orchards, and open pasture sprung up across gentle slopes.

When the road finally ended at a country lane, I made the final turn of the journey and started looking in earnest for Gabe’s place.

A few hundred yards later, a white farmhouse came into view, sitting on a wide swath of land uphill from the road, looking just like the pictures online.

An antique two-story home with weathered-brick chimneys and a wide wrap-around porch anchored the property, surrounded by pergola-shaded patios.

A burnt wood sign proclaimed “La Fermata ~ farm fresh wine, cider, & cuisine.” I’d found the right place.

At least a dozen cars had already parked in a dirt lot surrounded by large shade trees and a split-rail fence.

Groups of people milled about, wandering in and out of the old home, perusing the patio, the porch, and the grounds.

I found a space and killed the engine, eager to get out and enjoy the fresh morning air.

A huge man stood up from the front stoop and ambled my way. While he wore plain clothes today, his bald head, salt-and-pepper beard, and enormous arms made him easy to recognize as one of the security guards from the rooftop bar.

I smiled and waved hello as he drew near. “Hey. I think I remember you from Philly, right? I’m Sammy.”

“Hi. I’m Oscar.” He nodded, all brusque efficiency, his voice a deep smoker’s rumble. “Listen, there’s a tour here today. Gabe wasn’t expecting it. He’s back at the cabins. Can you bring your car and follow me?”

“Sure. Of course.”

Oscar’s Jeep led me toward an inconspicuous gate in the split-rail fence.

He pressed a button on his car’s visor, and the gate swung open, letting us through to a long dirt road.

My Subaru bumped along the dusty path, through a dense tract of fruit trees, then across a gently sloping hill covered with sunlit grapevines.

The plants stretched skyward in parallel rows as neat as a pin, splayed on high trellises crafted from wood and heavy wire.

After a quarter mile, we seemed to reach the edge of the property, and the dirt road ended at a collection of cedar log cabins nestled against the tree line, their ample porches facing the ripening crops.

Gabe sat on one of them, picking a guitar in an armless rocking chair. He waved as we approached.

Oscar pulled away, and I once again unfolded myself from the car.

“Hey, Sammy.” Gabe’s foot must have healed, because he stepped down from the porch and headed my way without a limp. He gave me a strong, warm hug. “Thanks so much for coming.”

He walked to the back of the car to help with my bags, only to be greeted by the clunky bike rack. “Oh my gosh! You brought the bike!” A guileless smile burst across his face. “I figured this thing was sacrificed to the forest.”

He was funny—and handsome as hell.

“Well, the gods of the forest were angry when I took it back, but they’ll have to manage. It’s a nice bike.” We untangled it from the rack, and I opened the hatchback to retrieve my bag.

Gabe walked me over to the cabins. “Oscar stays on the far end, but this one’s all yours.” He unlocked the door and dropped the keys in my hand. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Anything you need?”

“Ugh, honestly, the only thing I need is to not get in another car for a while.”

His face crinkled in an odd expression. “About that.” He looked around, clearly uncomfortable.

“I had planned to take you on a tour of the grounds first thing—walk you through the orchard and vineyard, show you the restaurant—but there’s some sort of Regional Commerce tour here this morning.

I’d prefer to lay low. I was hoping to maybe drive you around town instead?

Creekside’s really cool, and I thought it might help you get a vibe for the area. ”

I struggled to keep my face from dropping but undoubtedly failed. Being smashed inside a car again sounded awful. “Um. Is there another option?”

He thought for a moment. “Well, now that you’ve brought an extra bike with you, maybe there is.

Any chance you’d want to pedal into town?

It would be a bit of a workout, which I know isn’t everybody’s cup of tea, but the way you powered up that hill a few weeks ago, I’m guessing you like to sweat a bit.

Frankly, I’ve been pretty cooped up in a tour bus all week, too. I’d love to move a little.”

I looked down at my short sundress. “A big bike ride actually sounds awesome. Just give me a second to change.”

***

A few minutes later, we saddled up and pedaled away from La Fermata.

After making the turn onto the steep road to town, the bikes picked up speed, screaming down the long incline.

Cool wind blasted against the grin I couldn’t keep off my face.

No matter how old you are, riding a bike downhill is always a thrill.

We’d have to pay it all back when we climbed the road later, but for the moment, it felt fantastic.

We reached the base of the hill quickly and crossed the creek on an old, arching, iron bridge.

Gabe led the way as the town of Creekside slowly emerged, spread out across a broad green valley.

Steep, wooded mountains provided a majestic backdrop behind the west side of town, and rolling hills surrounded it in all other directions, with larger mountains perched in the haze of the horizon beyond them.

As the population center drew near, evidence of tourism popped up everywhere.

Restaurants, coffee shops, and establishments offering everything from hand-dipped candles to fine art lined the main thoroughfare, enticing visitors to spend money.

Several shops intrigued me, and I made a mental note to come back before I returned to Philadelphia.

As the blocks fell away, Creekside College’s distinctive limestone architecture began peeking above the surrounding tree line, and the offerings shifted from high-end purchases to spirit gear and bars.

We turned off the commercial road and hopped onto campus, where walkways and grassy lawns surrounded huge stone buildings.

Few students remained at this time of year, but we saw a handful of people going about their business, a good sign of some lingering campus life.

Up ahead, the road disappeared into the hills.

Gabe brought his bike to a halt under the shelter of a maple tree, and I pulled beside him to catch my breath and take a long drink.

“How you feeling?” Sweat dampened his brows.

“So much better. This is just what I needed, and the town is super cute.” I took another swig from my water bottle. “How about you? Is your ankle all right?”

“Almost like new.”

We continued resting and cooling off for a minute.

“Is there anything specific you want to see?” he asked. “If not, I thought we might bike over by the creek. There’s a ton of shade and lots of little stands and shops. It’s a nice place to grab lunch.”

I popped my water bottle back in its cradle. “Sounds fantastic. Lead the way.”

We pedaled back through the residential neighborhoods tucked behind the main road. Tall chestnut and hickory trees protected rows of well-kept homes, most with tidy lawns, some with quaint signs advertising bed-and-breakfasts.

Eventually, we reached the road we came in on and headed back in the direction of the creek.

The soothing sound of water tumbling over rocks drew nearer as we pedaled, and before long, we turned down a wide dirt road running alongside the waterfront, blanketed on both sides by enormous shade trees.

Brown water churned in the creek beyond, but its width allowed sunlight through, and its surface sparkled like magic.

To the right of the lane, small creekside shacks with simple dirt parking lots abounded, offering kayak, inner tube, and paddleboard rentals.

Many advertised white water rafting excursions as well.

We continued pedaling, and a powerful spicy aroma filled the air as we approached a tiny house and the unmistakable scent of homemade barbecue.

Gabe brought his bike to a stop in the bare dirt lot and looked back at me. “Do you have an appetite? They make mind-bogglingly good barbecue here, and they never blow my cover.” His expressive face was so funny, and the scent of smoking meat was irresistible.

“Sign me up,” I said. “Sounds terrific.”

***

H alf an hour later, our bellies were full, and I piled praise on the chef, who would be welcome in my kitchens any day. I loved a good southern barbecue, and she had nailed it.