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“Is it sweet?” she asks the server.
She glances at me nervously, then says to my date. “It’s sort of earthy, but has black fruits and dried figs infused.”
Elle lifts a shoulder and holds out her glass. “I’ll try.”
Visibly relaxing, the server pours her a glass.
Elle sniffs it and then downs the whole thing in one gulp.
Real classy.
I swirl it around and take a whiff, pleased with the fruit scent but also a small hit of what could only be described as leather. I take a sip and a smile finds my lips.
“Wow, that’s super gross,” Elle says, making a face and setting down the glass.
I’m glad the server had left and Tony is nowhere in earshot.
Resisting an exasperated sigh, I narrowed my eyes at Elle. “I’m sorry you don’t like it, but maybe keep your voice down.”
She wrinkles her nose and picks at her ravioli. “Sorry, it just tastes really weird.”
I sip my wine again. While it isn’t my favorite, it’s not bad. And at five hundred a pop, I am definitely taking it home with me.
“Can I ask you a question?” I measure her with a serious stare.
She beams at me. “Sure!”
“How old are you?”
Her smile falters but she replies, “Twenty-four. Why? How old are you?”
The server returns to the table and asks how the wine was.
“It was delicious,” I say before my ditzy date can embarrass me. “I’ll take the bottle to go.”
“Oh, we can’t let you leave with an open—”
“A new bottle, honey,” I interrupt, just wanting to get the fuck out of here. Is she new?
She clears her throat. “Absolutely. Do you need any boxes?”
Elle points to her food. “I do.”
I shake my head when the server looks at me questioningly.
“I’ll be right back.” She practically sprints off.
I glance toward the bar area again. I want to go talk to Taryn, tell her how sorry I am for ditching her all those years ago. For not comforting her at her mom’s funeral.
“So, you gonna answer the question, or what?” Elle asks from over the rim of her wine glass. Guess she’s going to drink it anyway, as ‘weird’ as it tastes to her.
***
Isit at my desk thenext day when there’s a knock on my door. Briana walks in holding her electronic tablet and points to my computer. “Did you see the email I sent?”
Toggling out of the program I’d been working in, I switch to email. It was dinging all afternoon with notifications, but I ignored them. Squinting, I pull up her email.
“I know you told me to get with HR about an intern but this popped up on Indeed, and she looks like a good fit.”
