Page 25 of The Sweetness of Life

“Close to eighty,” I say proudly.

“That’s great! I love the idea that you’re guaranteed monthly sales.”

“Us, too.”

Michelle leans over and tosses a few frozen grapes in Shelby’s glass before filling it. The grapes help keep the wine cold without diluting it. She turns the bottle my way, but I hold my hand out, covering the top. It’s been a really long day in the sun and I don’t need any excuse for one of my headaches to kick in.

“Water, please.”

She nods and pulls out a fresh cold bottle.

“You tasted all the whites tonight?” I ask, turning back to Shelby.

“I did.”

Just to see if she’s been paying attention, I ask her, “Which one are you drinking now?”

She brings it to her face, smells it, and then sips. Her eyes sparkle at me; she knows.

“The pinot gris.”

“Correct.” I grin at her.

“What’s the difference between pinot gris and pinot grigio?” she asks.

“The gris is more full-bodied, spicier, less floral, and has great durability when it comes to being stored in the cellar. I appreciate wines that age well and hold their own.”

“I can imagine having a weak wine with a short life span is not ideal.”

“No, not really. It creates more of a sense of urgency to get it sold.”

“I see.” She nods her head in understanding.

“So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Kyle asks her as I unscrew the cap on the water and guzzle it.

“I think I’m going to run out, get some food, and start planning the pairings for the other whites, come up with a few different possibilities.” She turns to Michelle to include her in the conversation. “I made a frittata yesterday morning and Zach approved, so match made. Do either of you have any favorite dishes that come to mind?”

“Oh, I know—Zach’s mother makes the best fried chicken.” Kyle smiles at me. “When she isn’t away vacationing, she cooks a giant Sunday dinner for the staff, and we all sit together and eat.”

Those dinners were my favorite growing up. It was the only time my dad slowed down enough to sit and talk with us.

“That sounds really nice,” she responds, smiling along with him.

“It is. If you’re ever out this way when they’re back, you should come. I’m sure she’d love to meet you,” he says.

Shelby glances my way, and when she doesn’t get a reaction out of me, she shrugs. Neither one of us has any interest in continuing this forced arrangement after she leaves. I think this might be the first thing we both agree on, but in the meantime . . . stick to the plan.

“I think I’ll go with you tomorrow. What time were you thinking?” I ask her.

She blinks a few times and her forehead wrinkles a bit before a sly grin I don’t understand flits across her face. “How about nine thirty?”

“Sure. I’ll be ready.” I return her grin with a cautious one and say, “I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.”

“I have some ideas already, but I need to see what’s available at the farmers market first. Lightning will strike and the creativity will rain down, I know it.”

Lightning.

There’s only one thing—well, one place that comes to mind; I hesitate then think, Why not?