Page 47 of Gone With the Wine

“Mr. Beck.” I roll my eyes.

He laughs. “Kidding.”

I slide my feet into my loafers and stand, pulling out my wallet.

“Those are nice shoes.” Nolan nods at my feet.

“Thanks.”

“They look expensive.”

I purse my lips. “Uh. I guess they kinda were. They’re Ferragamo.”

“Huh.” Nolan frowns. “Betty, you got any Ferragamo loafers?”

Betty snorts from behind the counter where she’s ringing up my purchase. “Yeah, they’re right behind the Christian Louboutin Oxfords.”

“I know some people here wear Louboutins.” Nolan shrugs. “I guess they go to San Francisco to buy them.”

“Louboutins would get messed up working in the vineyard,” Miles says.

I approach the counter and pull out my credit card to pay. Betty hands me a bag. “Here you go!”

“Thanks. I appreciate your help.” I turn. “Nice to see you guys again.’

“Hold up, don’t run off,” Miles says. “We’re going for a beer after this. Join us.”

“Uh.” I pause. Once again, I’m not used to this spontaneous sociability. I planned to buy my boots, go home, and jerk off thinking about Bianca in purple silk. I can’t exactly tell them that. And I don’t have any other excuse. I glance at the time. Nearly six. “Okay. Sure.”

Betty brings Miles his sneakers. He tries them on, although they’re exactly the same as the pair he’s wearing, pronounces them good, and buys them.

“You must run a lot,” I say as we walk out of the store.

“Yeah. I try for three or four times a week. About five miles.”

“Shit. I need to start doing that again.” I haven’t been doing a lot of activity since I retired. I’d probably feel better if I started running again.

“Run with me,” he says immediately. “I go at different times, depending on my shift, but I like doing it first thing in the morning if I can.”

I used to like running in the morning, too. Only I ran by the ocean in Long Beach.

“I’m not that fast,” he says. “You can probably outrun me, but that’s okay.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

“Okay, tomorrow morning. Meet me at Oak Creek Park at seven. Bring water and wear sunscreen. A hat, too. There’s no shade there. That’s why I go early.”

Great. No shade. Hot. Definitely not the Pacific Ocean.

We’re walking down the sidewalk along Laurel Street. We pass the store with the purple silk slip in it. I glance at the window, but the display has changed to a pale pink lace garment with a silk and feathered robe. I swallow. “We’re going out for beers and you plan to run at seven in the morning?”

He laughs. “Beer. One beer. Maybe.”

“Miles can run a marathon the day after a bender.” Nolan claps a hand on his buddy’s shoulder. “He’s famous for that.”

I have to smile. “Okay, then.”

“Great! It’ll be good, not too hot at that time of day.”

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