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“Go ahead and bring her the wine now. In fact, we will have a bottle of whatever Syrah-based Côtes du Rhône my grandmother has available.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Côtes du Rhône?” I ask after the server leaves us.
“It’s from the southern Rhône region of France, using the great varietals of Syrah and Grenache, mostly. Syrah is a bold grape, with spicy characteristics that pair well with the best Creole cuisine.”
“You know a lot about food and wine.”
“I know a lot about Creole food and the wines that complement it. I don’t know a lot about Scottish food, because frankly, Scottish food isn’t that exciting.”
“You mean haggis?”
His lips curve upward slightly. “There’s a lot more to Scottish cuisine than haggis. It’s not as spicy and vibrant as Creole cuisine, but it’s good in its own right. We get some great salmon from the coasts. And of course our shortbread is to die for.”
“One day maybe you can take me out to a Scottish meal.”
“I think I’d have to take you to Glasgow. Perhaps Edinburgh. If we go in the next month or so, we could catch the military tattoo.”
His words should send me running. I’ve known him for how long? Two days? But already I crossed state lines with him. And the thought of him taking me to Scotland?
I kind of like it.
“What’s the military tattoo?”
“It’s a big festival with Scottish military bagpipes.”
“That might be fun.”
But I feel my cheeks burn. I don’t want him to think I’m asking him to take me on another trip—this time overseas. He’s already gifted me with this trip, which feels strange, but also good.
So I stop talking and finish my shrimp.
The server comes to take our plates, and then he brings the next course.
And God, it smells amazing.
“What is this?” I ask.
“The pièce de résistance,” Ronan says. “Crawfish étouffée.”
“I’ve never tasted crawfish.”
“They’re like mini lobsters, and they’re succulent and delicious. You’re going to love this.”
I inhale the savory fragrance of onion, garlic, and seafood. “It smells wonderful. Very peppery.”
“Three different kinds of pepper. Black pepper, white pepper, and cayenne pepper.”
“So it’s going to be spicy.”
“Absolutely. But don’t take a bite until”—he eyes the server, who’s carrying a bottle of wine toward us—“we have some wine. Good man,” he says to the server.
“Would you like to taste, sir?” the server asks.
“I think the lady should taste.”
I widen my eyes. “Really, Ronan, you should taste. I don’t know anything about wine.”
