Page 76 of Wild Abandon

“Lobster in Boston,” Nate shares.

“Chocolate lobster bisque in Paris,” I counter.

“You didn’t eat snails, did you?”

“It’s called escargot. And, yes, they were delicious!” I lick my lips, and he makes a mock vomit face.

“Kansas City Barbecue. Hands down.” Nate is frying the meatballs as I roll them.

I nearly moan out loud at the thought of my favorite barbeque joint in Kansas City.

“Arthur Bryant’s,” we say in unison before laughing.

Small world and all.

Our conversation is flowing comfortably, like two old friends who’ve gotten together for Sunday supper for years. That is, until we get into the great pizza debate.

“Chicago? Are you kidding me?” I hold the salad tongs up at him, mid toss.

“Deep dish or no dish. It’s the only way.”

I feel like a knife has been stuck in my chest. Okay, I’m being dramatic. But you cannot tell a native New Yorker that any pizza other than New York pizza is the best. And you certainly, most definitely, cannot compare it to Chicago-style pizza.

“There are three things New York does better than any other place in the world.” I hold up my hand. “Pizza, bagels, and hot dogs.”

“Aren’t they called dirty-water dogs? And they’re sold from a cart.” Nate is making a face of disgust, more because he knows it’s pissing me off than anything else.

“A street dog is the most amazing thing on the planet.”

“How can a girl who ate spaghetti bolognese in Rome call a hot dog from a street vendor the most amazing thing on the planet?”

I laugh at him. “Unlike some people, I am not a culinary snob. I like the finer things in life, but I also know how to appreciate the basics.”

I’m waiting for him to look back up at me with a witty remark. Instead, he just smiles as he drains the pasta in the sink.

“I know. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

I would contain my blush if I were the blushing type of girl. I’m not. At least, I wasn’t. I turn my back and take a seat at the table.

Nate takes out a bottle of cabernet and has a seat as well. “I know you’re not crazy about wine, but I really want you to try this. It’s from a vineyard here in Napa.”

I take my glass and do my perfect ritual for tasting, à la Big Ed. “It has good color.” I lift the glass to my nose. “Nice bold aromas of black cherries, mocha, tobacco.” I take a sip and swish it around my mouth for a second. “Full-bodied and expressive. Sweet tannin and a good underlying structure,” I add with a little affluence to my voice.

Nate blinks at me a few times, his mouth open and brows crinkled. “Oh my God, that was so pretentious.”

I let out a loud laugh. “I know. Aren’t I remarkable?”

He laughs, and it makes my insides dance. His smile is large and bright, the chip of his lower tooth only adding to the charm. If I’m not mistaken, there is a little twinkle in my eye.

“Where did you learn so much about wine?”

“My boss. He’s this amazing man with a big, round belly and a cane and a pissed off attitude when you first meet him, but when you get to know him, he’s the most insightful, sweetest, and most endearing man you’ve ever met.” I gush and take a peek at the roses sitting on the table, so vibrant in an apartment devoid of color.

Nate’s chest rises, and he offers me a closed mouth smile, lopsided and understanding. “You care about him deeply then?”

“I do,” I say.

Then, I tell Nate about Russet Ranch. I don’t leave out a thing. I tell him about the first day I went there and Ed’s ridiculous wine test and the reason he hired me. I tell him about the rose garden and my talks with Ed, everything I’ve learned. I tell him about the restoration of the ranch, every single detail. And Nate hangs on to every word. He asks questions and is genuinely interested.