Beatrice
We walk through the two-story tall front door and into Cole's vast ranch house. There are windows everywhere with a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the ranch and the mountains and meadows beyond it. Actually, he might own the mountains and meadows, too.
We pass the dining room, which isn't gold at all. In fact, the entire house is western antiques and distressed wood. Homey. I love it, immediately. It's John Wayne meets Bill Gates.
"Where are the robots?" I ask.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. I thought... Nothing." I'm not disappointed by the lack of gold furniture, but if truth were told, I was hoping for robots.
"Are you thirsty? Hungry?"
I would kill for a handful of TUMS. I ate a lot of pulled pork, and it's battling its way up my esophagus. But I'm in some kind of romantic
