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“Let me know if you need anything.” Charlie topped off their wine and, with a friendly nod, stepped away.
“I don’t know whether to take a picture or dig in.” Maeve leaned over the steaming dish and breathed in its bouquet. “My mouth’s watering, but the presentation’s perfect.”
“Don’t stand on ceremony. Enjoy.” Leading by example, Luke speared a brisket cube and popped it in his mouth. “Melts on your tongue.” He ate leisurely, savoring the textures of the velvety mashed potatoes and al dente chewiness of the fork-tender brisket as much as the stew’s taste.
She tried a forkful and groaned. “Delicious.” Smiling, she raised her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast for this fabulous meal. May neighbors respect you, trouble neglect you, angels protect you, and heaven accept you.”
After clinking glasses, he leaned forward and cupped his mouth with his hand. “I have a confession to make.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Since Charlie sells our wine exclusively, I feel obligated to bring in new customers.”
Her eyes glistened beneath the chandelier’s muted glow. “This restaurant doesn’t need your help. The food is great.” As she tipped back her head sipping her wine, her delicate neck arched from her sweater’s cowl neckline.
His gaze traveled the length of her torso, and he caught his breath at the swell of her breasts. Clearing his throat, he took a long draught of wine.
“You never finished telling me how you became a vintner.” Stabbing a beef chunk, she attacked her food like a starving model.
“After graduation, I interned at a major winery—didn’t pay much, but it gave me firsthand experience.” He scooped a forkful of the beef.
“What kind of experience?” She met his gaze. “Specifically.”
“Winery design, wine-processing technologies, fermentation, and my personal favorite”—he winked—“flavor chemistry. But the most important takeaway was what I learned about grapevine diseases.”
“Why’s that?” Her fork suspended mid-air, she paused, her green eyes wide.
“Because I learned how to prevent Pierce’s Disease, which attacks grapevines from Florida to California. It’s what destroyed my grandfather’s vineyard.”
“Pierce’s Disease…never heard of it.” She shook her head, her shiny hair swinging with each movement. “What causes it?”
“Insects spread the bacteria, and in my grandfather’s case, sharpshooter leafhoppers destroyed his vines.”
Her brow bunched. “If he knew Texas vineyards sat in the middle of this zone, why did he start a vineyard here?”
“Because…”
She speared another beef cube and used her teeth to slide it from her fork.
Her gesture was strangely arousing; he lost his train of thought. Then covering, he sipped his wine. “Because experts misled him into believing the area’s high altitude and snowy winters would protect his vines from leafhoppers.”
“How sad.” Staring at her cassoulet, she seemed lost in thought. Then brightening, she leaned across the table. “How could he have prevented Pierce’s Disease?”
“The industry’s developed better practices and pesticides.” He scowled at the irony. “If my grandfather knew in the seventies what I know now, he wouldn’t have lost his shirt—or the vineyard.”
She arched her left brow. “What are the workarounds?”
Is she interested or just being polite? “I won’t bore you with details, but prevention boils down to pruning and pesticides.”
Nodding, she peeked through her eyelashes. “So, you’ve hit upon the magic combination?”
He shrugged. “The proof is in the yield.”
Shaking her head, she raised her glass. “The proof is in the wine, as this tempranillo attests. To your continued success.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” As he clinked glasses, he caught her gaze. “You mentioned you were headed to El Paso. What takes you there?”
“Originally, I was going to visit my grandmother.” She shrugged. “But now I’m just relocating.”
