The fall weather was crisp and the cabernet was flowing on that mid-October afternoon. My friend Lisa and I had traveled north, to California wine country, for an event at Hafner Vineyards. There, we met Gianni.
Gianni was stunning, with his dramatic Italian accent, chiseled chest, and piercing turquoise eyes. He was funny, too, and smart. We chatted over tastings and through cellar tours. I learned that he liked wine, unsurprisingly, and that he lived in Santa Rosa to boot. He had moved from Milan to work for a medical device company. We exchanged numbers before leaving that evening.
When he invited me north for a barbecue a couple weeks later, I agreed eagerly. For some reason, I didn’t trust (him? myself?) enough to join solo. So, I again brought a plus one: Lisa. A security blanket. A buffer.
The evening was hilarious and fun and easy and, at the end of it, I reluctantly squeezed Gianni goodbye.
Our communication waned in the days and weeks following, and I still wonder whether bringing along Lisa that night sent a message to Gianni.
Did he think I wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship?
