Page 13 of Merlot Marriage

My mind flashes to the idea of having Ophie for dessert before I push it away. The last thing I want is to say something that might drive the only stable thing in my life away. Just because I’ve found her attractive since the day we met, and she’s technically my wife, doesn’t give me the right to fantasize about her like that.

Not when I don’t think she feels the same way about me.

“Welcome to Sunshine Cellars, folks. What can I get for you?” Nate says the right words, even if his tone isn’t exactly friendly. It reminds me of the boys in my standard five class reciting the poems our teacher insisted we learn—they never could do it with feeling.

“Hi. We’ve never been here before. What do you recommend?” the woman answers. “Our friends were raving about this place, but I don’t remember what wine they had.”

Nate gives them a pained smile, and I fight back a snort. We have nothing to drink yet, or I would hide it behind my glass. Instead, Ophie raises an eyebrow at me, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“Would you like to start with a flight, then? Today’s flight is…” He looks over his shoulder at the board, silent as he studies it. The couple waits without asking, also reading the board behindhim. The guy gives his date a meaningful look as Nate struggles to find the information. “Apologies, I’m usually out in the field, not in the tasting room.”

Ophie’s amusement turns sympathetic as Nate continues with his wooden speech. “Oh my god, this is painful.” She shakes her head and sits back while we watch him. After a moment, she waves her hand in that direction. “You would be really good at that. What was that thing your mom said?” Tipping her head, she scrunches her eyebrows. “Right. You could charm the pants off a priest.”

We both laugh at that, drawing the attention of the couple and Nate. Our laughter subsides, and Ophie shrinks in apology when Nate glares at her. I raise an eyebrow in his direction when he makes eye contact, and he quickly looks back at the couple and starts his speech again about the chablis-style chardonnay he’s pouring.

He can be an asshole to anyone he wants except Ophelia.

We enjoy the entertainment of Nate struggling to stay friendly as he pours the couple’s wine. I’ve been to wineries where they pour them all out at once, but Nate is pouring them a single glass. I assume he’ll bring them each new wine as they finish.

It’s a great tactic for increasing customer engagement, and I can see how it would be successful with the right person behind the bar, but the constant need to make small talk with the customers quickly reveals that this is not Nate’s forte.

Chatting with customers as I pour wine for them? Sounds like a great gig to me.

Eventually, they take their glasses and wander off to one of the other tables. Ophie’s staring out the window, her chin resting in her hand. “You want a glass? Or a flight?” I ask as I push to my feet.

“Hmm? Oh, just a glass, please. Can I have the off-dry riesling?”

“Sure thing.” I drop a kiss to the top of her head, her flicker of a smile at the action sparking warmth in my chest.

Seeing the sweat breaking out on Nate’s temples, I contemplate taking it easy on him and just ordering our glasses without making him small-talk. But what’s the fun in that?

“I saw you two come from the cottages,” Nate grunts as I approach, leaning down to tuck the open bottle in his hand beneath the bar. “Did you get lost?”

Any notion that I was going to take the high road disappears with his first sentence.

“We were in the area.”

Nate’s head snaps up at my words, suspicion written all over his face. The pair of wine glasses he’d pulled out rattle as he sets them down on the counter. “Camping? You were camping on the vineyard? This is private property.”

“I didn’t say we were camping on the vineyard.” This is going to be more fun than I thought. He’s so easy to rile up. Internally, my hands are rubbing together in glee.

A deep furrow creases his forehead, and Nate drops his voice low as he leans forward, his pouring forgotten. “Where were you camping?”

“We slept nearby.”

This is too easy.

“What the fuck does that mean, nearby? You look a little too clean to be homeless. What are you, fucking hippies?” Nate’s face is bright red, and his tone edges louder. “This isn’t England. You can’t walk through people’s property here.”

“Not from England, mate.” I enunciate a smidge more than usual just to make it harder for him to place my accent. Although I am impressed he knows anything about right-to-roam. If this asshole wants to accuse Ophie and me of being vagrants, I’ll let him go ahead and dig his own grave. I don’t blame him for not recognizing me, but surely he’s met Ophie before?

Nate opens his mouth to answer, but then the tasting room door opens, and four women walk in. Immediately, his shoulders go rigid, his jaw clenches, and his eyes roll so hard I think they might flip backward in his eye sockets. Apparently, what I thought was him worked up was just a warm-up.

“Jackie!” A statuesque brunette barrels through the doors. Hot on her heels is a short and curvy blond with the biggest smile on her face. But it drops as she takes in who’s behind the bar top. “Oh. Hello, Nathaniel.”

“Great,” Nate mutters under his breath, quietly enough that nobody can hear except me.

The women stop in the doorway, deep in discussion. Tearing my eyes away from the drama, I look back over my shoulder at Ophie. She’s staring at the scene as well, eyes ping-ponging from Nate to the women.

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