“This is our beach house,” he says. “Welcome to Big Sur, Sara.” He smiles. “Or, I guess, Big Sur adjacent—they won’t let you build on the national park.”

He shakes his head, and I nod like I understand. Ah yes, I encountered the same problem when I tried to build my hunting lodge in Yellowstone, I think.

“Are you hungry?” He checks his watch. “I guess it’s a little late—sorry about that.”

“No problem.” Now that he mentions it, my stomach does ache a little bit, but it wasn’t like I noticed while I was in a freakin’ helicopter. “Do you wanna order pizza or something?” I ask. I doubt there’s much food here, since no one’s been living in the house. “Does anyone deliver this far out?”

He laughs. “I had something else in mind.”

We walk through the house, past a grand dining room and another large sitting room that opens onto a big back porch. Or maybe porch is the wrong word. It’s more like a giant balcony overlooking the ocean. On it is a table, set with clean white linens and tall candles.

“This is amazing,” I say as I step onto the balcony. I shiver a bit but don’t mind; the air smells of the ocean, crisp and fresh like salt and citrus fruit. “How did you set this up?”

“Our housekeeper did before she went home.” He picks up a set of matches from the table and lights a candle. It flickers from the wind off the sea.

“That’s so nice.”

“It’s her job.” He shrugs. “Shall we have some wine?”

Inside the house is an industrial-sized kitchen and a large pantry that seems to be solely for wine. I pick out a bottle based mostly on the picture on the label.

“A nice choice,” Braden says, when I hand it to him. “I think this wine is older than us.” He uncorks the bottle and pours me a glass. “My parents offered to have a chef come over, like they do when they’re here. But I thought it might be more romantic if I cooked for you. So I had some groceries delivered.”

I take a sip, and it doesn’t burn like I was expecting. It tastes heady and warm, like the heat of summer or when you are cuddled up by the fireplace in the winter. It is the kind of flavor that overwhelms your senses.

Braden opens a large stainless steel fridge and pulls out a plastic-wrapped tray of cheese and meats and sets it on the counter. “In case you’re hungry while I cook.”

The wrapper crinkles as I peel it back. I don’t know anything about cheese. I mean, I love mozzarella sticks of course, and Parmesan on my pasta. But I don’t know fancy cheese any more than I know fancy wine. Although, I guess I like the latter now.