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Actually...I do.
Surprised, I nod.
He looks pleased by my willingness to learn. “What do you think?”
Hmmm. Good question. I’m not sure.
“I don’t hate it,” I admit sheepishly.
He laughs just enough for his broad shoulders to shake. The sound is deep and rich.
I take another small taste to see if there are other flavors that stand out.
This experience is so different than being at a crowded house party and watching college kids pound cans of beer or play drinking games. Their end goal is always the same—to get hammered. Sampling this wine feels more like a challenge to discover the ingredients that went into making it.
When I take a third sip, still trying to figure out the flavor combination, he says, “Please don’t feel as if you need to finish it.” He lifts his hand to catch our waiter’s attention. “I can order you a water or coke instead. Whatever you want.”
My gaze fastens on him before sinking to the glass still clutched in my fingers. It’s almost a surprise when I find myself admitting, “No, I kind of like it.”
There’s a moment of silence before he says, “You never mentioned the reason for your abstinence. From what I’ve heard about this particular campus, it seems more like a rarity.”
I take another swallow before setting the drink down and running my fingers over the thick fabric of the tablecloth. I hate talking about what happened with my father and how it irrevocably changed all of our lives. No matter how much time passes, I have to steel myself for the wave of grief that will crash over me. It doesn’t feel like a heartache that will ever dissipate.
“About four years ago, my father was hit in an accident.” I jerk my shoulders, forcing myself to finish. “It was a college kid who had drunk too much at a party. He got behind the wheel of his car and struck him in a head-on collision. They both died instantly. That one stupid decision caused so much destruction in all of our lives. I was only fifteen when it happened, but I’ve avoided alcohol ever since.”
Dr. Holloway’s dark blue eyes cloud with sympathy before he reaches across the table and lays his palm over the top of my hand. “I’m sorry, Elle. That’s a tragic loss for any child to suffer, especially one so young.”
I will away the wetness that stings the backs of my eyes. My father has been gone for a long time. Normally, I can get through the story without getting overly emotional. I think seeing my mother with another man has forced all of these unresolved feelings to the surface. She’s moving on, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
“Thank you.”
My gaze falters, dropping to our clasped hands as a heavy silence falls over the table. Just as it turns awkward, a waiter arrives with two steaming plates. A rush of breath escapes from my lips as I carefully slip my hand free from his.
The server sets the plates down in front of us before asking if we need anything else in heavily accented English.
My gaze flickers from the delicious looking pasta to the man across from me. “I didn’t realize we’d ordered our meals.”
His lips quirk. “Dante knows I always request the linguine. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of ordering for both of us.”
I shake my head, relieved to have my dinner to focus on instead of our previous conversation. “Not at all. It smells delicious.”
He gives me a wink to go along with the easy smile. “Trust me, it tastes even better.”
Taking his word for it, I wind my fork around a few strands of pasta before bringing the utensil to my lips. A symphony of favors explodes on my tongue as I make a little hum of pleasure deep in my throat.
“It’s good, right?” He asks with a grin.
My eyes widen as my appetite rushes back and I realize that not only did I skip dinner but lunch as well. “Oh my god, it’s amazing!”
Even though my thoughts and feelings surrounding alcohol have always been non-negotiable, I find myself sipping from my glass of golden-colored liquor as I finish my meal. The flavors of the wine and the pasta seem almost complimentary. Drinking isn’t something I can see myself doing often, but tonight, with Dr. Holloway, it feels strangely right.
Chapter Seventeen
Elle
By the time my professor pulls up to the curb outside Sutton Hall and cuts the engine, it’s after nine o’clock.
Before I can say a quick goodbye, he swivels toward me, breaking the companionable silence that has fallen over us on the ride from the restaurant. I’m in no way drunk, but I feel pleasantly buzzed.
“I’m glad we could do this. I always enjoy getting to know my students and discovering who they are on a more personal level.” There’s a pause as his gaze searches mine. “And this evening, I feel like we were able to scratch beneath the surface and do just that.”
