“The tasting room’s there.” Cole nodded toward a modern, rustic white wooden building with a covered outdoor seating area. He parked and got out of the car, slamming Martha’s door.
“I keep feeling like this entire island is too good to be true,” Georgia commented, hopping down from Martha. “Like it’s all actually a movie set I’ve accidentally wandered into.”
“It definitely has its charms,” Cole agreed. “Islanders think it’s the best place on earth.” He led the way to the tasting room. “I’ve been a lot of places in the world, and I can’t say I disagree. This place is special.”
“Oh, you’ve traveled? What were your favorite places?” Georgia asked, intrigued by this glimpse of his life. What had he been doing all over the world?
Cole held the door open for her. “I liked Japan. Paris was great.”
“Paris? When were you in Paris?” Georgia was curious.
“Years ago,” Cole said evasively.
“Did you ever eat at a restaurant called La Pomme d’Or?” Georgia asked as she entered the tasting room, Cole close behind her. Was that why he seemed vaguely familiar? Had they crossed paths somehow in Paris?
“No,” Cole said briefly.
Georgia looked around at the warm wood interior and long white marble counter where staff stood at the ready. Cole approached the counter and perused the tasting menu. “They grow the Siegerrebe and Madeleine Angevine grapes here. I’d recommend you try one of those.”
“Not that it’s going to matter,” Georgia said with a sigh. Bitter was bitter no matter the grape. Still, she tried to think positively. “I’ll try the Siegerrebe.”
Cole ordered a glass for her and a bottle of Perrier for himself.
“You aren’t having wine?” Georgia was surprised.
“I don’t drink,” he said briefly. “Sober five years next month.”
“Oh.” She felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. We could have gone somewhere else.”
“It’s fine. It’s not hard for me to be around it. I’ve been here before. I know these folks.” Cole brushed off her apology. She thought back to the dinner she’d served, recalling that Cole had stuck with water that evening. She hadn’t really paid attention to it then.
The girl who helped them, a cute blonde in her early twenties, flirted with Cole as she handed him their drinks. “Anything else I can get for you?”
“This is fine. Thanks, Kelsey,” Cole replied, either oblivious to the girl’s flirtations or ignoring them on purpose. He paid cash and took both their drinks. Georgia grabbed the napkins the girlhanded them and started to follow him, but the girl leaned over the counter and stopped her. “Is he your boyfriend?” she asked wistfully, eyeing Cole as he headed out the door.
Georgia stifled a laugh. “No, definitely not.”
Kelsey perked up at this news. “Really?” She grabbed another napkin and scribbled her name and number on it. “Can you give him this then?” she asked, handing it to Georgia.
“Sure.” Georgia took the napkin, amused.
“Do you know who he really is?” Kelsey asked conspiratorially, her eyes never leaving Cole as he found a table outside and set their drinks down.
Georgia paused. “No, do you?”
Kelsey leaned closer and confided. “There are lots of theories about Cole. Some people think he was in the CIA. My best friend swears he was in this big TV show about vampires. She said her older sister used to watch it all the time. I guess it was an old show, popular like five or six years ago, but she’s sure it was him. He’s still really hot for an old guy, though, right?”
Georgia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the characterization of Cole as old. “Yeah, I guess he’s not bad for an old guy,” she admitted. “Thanks for the napkins.” She went out to the patio where Cole was sitting, intrigued by Kelsey’s comment. Was it possible one of the theories was true? Could Cole really be CIA or some sort of famous TV star? If so, what in the world was he doing working at an oyster farm on San Juan Island?
Cole had found a quiet spot under the covered pavilion looking out at the grapevines. There were several other groups of customers clustered at tables on the patio. Most looked like tourists, many of them middle-aged, dressed in Lands’ End vacation attire, snapping selfies with their glasses of wine. Georgia satdown in a chair across the small table from Cole and handed him his napkin. “Kelsey left this for you,” she said with a sly smile. Cole blinked and tucked the napkin under his Perrier bottle, face down. He looked uncomfortable. “Does that happen to you often?” Georgia asked. She was enjoying goading him a little.
“More than I’d like,” he responded, taking a sip of his Perrier. His eyes were hidden behind his aviators.
“Must be hard to be so irresistible,” she said with mock sympathy.
“Look who’s talking,” he muttered.
Georgia tasted her wine. Predictably bitter. “What do you mean by that?”
