Page 47 of High Season
“I’ll be honest with you,” says Nic as soon as he’s out of earshot. “I know absolutely nothing about wine.”
He holds the leather-bound list out toward her and she shakes her head.
“Me neither,” she says. “Do you think that they’ll look down on us if we just order the cheapest one?”
“Or two of their cheapest, finest lagers,” Nic says.
“Whoa.” Josie holds her hands up in mock horror. “You’re meant to be ordering a drink, not getting us kicked out of this place.”
She likes making him laugh. She likes the way his whole face floods with warmth when he does. She has to remind herself, as she often does in these scenarios, that this cannot lead anywhere. She cannot let herself like Nic, even in spite of his laugh, their shared history. Like so many other things, the luxury of attachment is not something that Josie gets to have.
“Can I get you started with any drinks?”
The waiter’s return is so smooth that it makes Josie jump.
“Erm… maybe this one?”
Nic stabs a finger at the wine list. “The… Montepulci… d’Abrusso?”
“The Montepulciano d’Abruzzo?” the waiter says, with a perfect Italian flair, one eyebrow raised.
“Erm. Yeah. That one.”
“A few more minutes with the food menu?”
“That would be great.”
“Just let me know if there’s anything that you don’t…” The waiter’s eyes flit up and down, taking them both in. “Understand.”
As he hurries away with the wine list, Nic’s face flushes.
“Is it just me or was he…”
“A complete snob?” Josie says. “Yeah.”
She picks up her menu, her eyes automatically skipping to the row of numbers that line the right-hand side of the page.
“Jesus. This place. These prices are crazy.”
Nic is scanning the menu, too, his eyes flitting back and forth.
“Mmmhmm,” he says.
“Are you…” Josie lowers her voice. “Are you sure you can afford this? Seriously. I’d be just as happy with somewhere a bit cheaper.”
“No,” Nic says, sounding uncertain. “It’s fine.”
“I don’t mind. Really.”
“It’s fine,” Nic says.
He runs his fingers along his shirt collar, sticking too close to his neck.
“I just wanted to take you somewhere nice,” he says, in a smaller voice.
“It is nice. It’s just. Well… I don’t actually know what half these ingredients are.”
He glances up from the menu, meets her eye across the table.
