Low cumulus clouds piling up in great heaps like meringues scudded across the sky over the Pacific. Underlit by the sun, they were the color of an old bruise. Above they exploded in soft gold that faded to creamy yellow, like the skies on my French grandmother’s prayer cards portraying the Blessed Virgin ascending to heaven. “I have an idea,” Quinn said. “What?” “We ought to get an early start tomorrow. It could be a long day in Napa.” I glanced at him. “Yes, I suppose it could.” “So … well, I was thinking.” He seemed to be frowning at his feet. “How about if you checked out of the hotel now and spent the night on the houseboat with me? Sausalito’s already on the other side of the Bay, so we could beat all the city traffic and head straight up from there.” “It would save time, wouldn’t it?” My heart raced. “I guess it makes sense.” Was he asking me to spend the night with him in his bed, or was this really just about traffic and getting an early start?
