“Yup.”
“The one filled with layers of mascarpone cream and raspberry compôte and then covered with white chocolate buttercream?” She lights up like a kid about to blow out the candles of a birthday cake.
“The one and only,” I mock. Thank God, a woman who enjoys food.
“I don’t know if I can survive this experience,” Allison declares dramatically. “I tried to make it at home, but it looked nothing like Riley’s. Her version is regal while mine was just sad.”
“Yeah, she’s really talented in the kitchen, but when it comes to technology, she’s lost. That’s why you’re here.”
“I don’t understand.” Allison furrows her brows and wiggles her button nose, surprised by my revelation. I don’t know if she could be any more adorable.
“She can type and she’s learned some of the basics of blogging, but I’ve shot most of the photos on her blog and more recently, Cynthia has been helping. Cynthia has also been the one doing all her videos for her YouTube channel. Luckily, Cynthia has a good eye or else Food TV would never have called.”
“I’m surprised. Those photos are so amazing I assumed they were hers. You took most of them?”
“Yeah. I’ve always loved to take photos. Riley tells me you’re talented behind the camera,” I say, curious to know more about her. “Forgive me, I’m being so rude. I’m asking you all these questions and I’m preventing you from eating your food.” She’s trying to take a bite of her wrap.
“No, it’s okay.”
“You look young. When did you have time to develop such skills? You’re clearly gifted.” I know it’s a bit of a personal question, but I’m hoping she’ll open up more.
“I’m not that young. I’m twenty-three,” she answers, raising her chin defiantly.
“I was twenty-three once,” I retort, rolling my eyes.
Allison bursts into a genuine laugh that catches me off guard. Her light-heartedness is contagious and I join her. “I also love photography—always have. My dad taught me how to use a camera before I could walk.”
“Are you a photographer in New York?”
“I’m not. I’m a graphic designer, or should I say I used to be.”
“Oh? What happened?”
She pauses for a second before answering. “There have been a lot of changes in my life in the past few months and I’ve opened myself up to new opportunities.”
“Is that your way of saying you lost your job?” I ask, amused.
“Gosh, I didn’t realize I was so transparent.” She blushes.
“I used to own a large tech company. I recognize the corporate lingo.”
“You caught me.”
“So you haven’t always been a cowboy?”
“Oh, God. If I were to call myself a cowboy, I’d be insulting a lot of good men who come from a long line of cattle herders. Hunter and I own this ranch and this magnificent land, we’ve learned how to ride horses and we take care of a few daily chores, but we hire people who know what they’re doing—they’re the real cowboys. We’re just two geeks who needed a change of pace and ended up out here playing the roles of tough guys in the Wild, Wild West.”
“You’re pulling my leg.” She squints and pinches her pouty lips. “You were wearing the mandatory cowboy boots,” she says, pointing to the entrance of the house.
“Have you ever heard the expression, ‘Dress to impress?’”
“Of course.”
“In New York you impress people with an expensive tailor-made suit. Preferably made with imported Italian wool. Out here, you need to dress the part to be taken seriously. That explains the boots, jeans and hat.” I wink.
“Well, you could’ve fooled me.” She crosses her arm beneath her boobs and fixes me with a smile.
I shake my head vehemently. “Look around you,” I say, waving my hands above my head. “You can take a man out of California, but you can’t take Cali out of the man.” I grin.
Over the next hour Allison tells me about her life in New York and her childhood in Chicago. She’s so animated, I find myself more fascinated by her tales than by the food in front of me. She asks me tons of questions about my tech company and I fill her in on my former life. She also seems dead set on learning as much as she can about the ranch. We’re both laughing at a story about one of her clients at her retail job and this guy’s incurable obsession with pricey white sheets when the front door swings open and my best friend enters the house.