Page 39 of Gone With the Wine

Blending is the craft of winemaking, and it excites me.

“Are you going to change the name of the vineyard?” I ask.

“Yeah. I want to. I haven’t come up with anything, though.”

The timer on the oven sounds.

We look at each other.

“You can help me brainstorm ideas over dinner.” Jansen rises and heads back to the kitchen. “Since you helped so much with Jack. I mean, Moose.”

I follow to see if I can help, with Moose again clicking along the floor behind me. Jansen asks me to set the table in the dining room off the kitchen, and I poke around and find plates and cutlery and set two places while he prepares the polenta to serve with the ratatouille.

With the last of the wine in our glasses, we sit down to eat. Moose sits quietly but hopefully beside Jansen’s chair.

“This is fabulous,” I say after a couple of bites.

“Like I said, really simple.”

“You know, it’s the fresh ingredients that make it so good. The local veggies, the craft sausage—it doesn’t have to be fancy to be amazing.” I fork up another chunk of eggplant.

“It is good,” he agrees. “I like food.”

I grin. “Me, too.”

“I have to get back to healthy habits. I kind of got off track when I retired.”

“You look great.” I close my eyes briefly.Sure, Bee, just admit you’ve checked him out. Repeatedly.

That coaxes a smile from him. “Thanks. I feel better and I’m healthy, and that’s what matters.”

“Absolutely. Well, this is a healthy meal. I like food, but I do try to eat well. I mean, I love junk food, too. Burgers and fries? Yum. What’s your biggest food weakness?”

“Potato chips. I’m not into sweets.”

I nod. “Same! Although a little bit of really good chocolate is worth the calories.”

Stop. Just shut up.Babbling about calories. That isnotinteresting dinner conversation. “Oh yeah! The new name for the winery.”

“Right.” He forks up a piece of sausage. “I’m not creative enough to come up with something good.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know if I am, either. Lots of names are already taken. Oak Creek, Redwoods, Olive Grove…” I heave a sigh. “What about something hockey themed? I know nothing about hockey, though.”

“Hmmm. Five hole? That doesn’t sound appealing. Hat Trick? Maybe. Top Shelf…”

“Taken.”

“Of course.” He purses his lips. “Body Check? Nope. Offside? Icing. Nah.”

“What position did you play?”

“Right wing.”

We look at each other. At the same time, we say, “Nope.”

I laugh and his lips curve up into a half-smile.

Heat shimmies up my thighs and my heart flips.

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