Page 42 of Awakening
She tilted her head, a playful smile on her face. “Only when the client’s this charming.”
We exchanged numbers, and she gave me a wink as she packed up her bottles.
“If you’re free right now, I’d love to give you a proper tasting,” she said, innuendo heavy in her tone, “One where you’re not stealing glances while pretending to enjoy your ceviche.”
I raised my glass. “Let’s do it. Let me settle my check, and you can lead the way.”
“I’ve taken care of your check already,” she winked as she walked out. I couldn’t help thinking there was something oddly familiar about her. But I brushed it off.
We made our way to the Maison Noire test kitchen, a sunlit loft above an art gallery downtown. She pulled out countless bottles of wine, her heels clicking against the polished concrete like punctuation, reds, whites, and everything in between. I greeted her with two sets of glasses, one for the white wines and one for the reds, along with the kind of smile that had gotten me into trouble before.
“Figured I’d earn my pour this time,” I teased, holding up a corkscrew.
Dana smirked, “Oh, you’ll earn more than that if you keep looking at me like that.”
There it was again, that spark. Playful, but beneath it? A tension I couldn’t quite name. Familiarity wrapped in flirtation.
As she poured the first bottle, our fingers brushed, and the contact lingered longer than it should have. My skin prickled. She noticed, too, her eyes flickering to mine.
“This one’s a bit unruly,” she said, swirling the glass before lifting it to her lips, “But that’s kind of its charm.”
I watched her mouth wrap around the rim, her throatwork as she swallowed. It shouldn’t have been erotic. But it was. She was sexy, and she knew it, owned it, and relished in it.
“That your way of saying it’s a wild ride worth taking?” I asked, voice dropping a bit.
Dana leaned in, her voice velvet, “I only ever bring wines I believe in.”
The room grew warmer. We moved through the tasting slowly, too slowly, and by the third bottle, we weren’t talking about wine anymore. Not really.
She told me about her start in the wine world, where she gained the education to understand what a good wine was and how to enjoy it. Her background in finance helped her understand the financial aspect of it, and a generous gift from people she loved was the final piece that allowed Maison Noire to take off. I told her that I was the executive Chef of a Michelin-starred restaurant in Greece. I discussed my plans for the sister restaurant I was opening here and how I wanted my restaurant to feel like an embrace, not a transaction.
“You strike me as someone who feeds people from more than just your kitchen,” she said softly.
“And you strike me as someone who doesn’t let anyone pour into her unless they’ve earned it,” I replied.
That made her pause. Her smile faded into something gentler. Curious.
We didn’t kiss. Not then. But the air between us was dripping with want.
“Let’s do this again,” she said, cleaning up, leaving a few bottles for me to take with me.
“Soon,” I answered.
“Soon,” she echoed.
As our spontaneous wine tasting adventure ended and she walked away, I couldn’t help wondering, how would Ajaih look at me if she walked in just then?
How would Maverick feel?
Because I could feel something twisting in my gut.
Something that felt like fate was already laughing in the background.
And I had no idea what kind of story I’d just stepped into, but I had a feeling Dana wasn’t going to be just another vendor. I just didn’t know yet how close she already was.
I got back to Maverick’s place later that evening, the sunset lighting up the windows like a welcome sign. As I walked up the steps, I could already hear laughter, deep, warm, familiar. The kind that makes a house feel like home.
I followed the sound to the living room and paused at the entrance. There they were: Ajaih curled on the couch, barefoot and radiant in a backless halter dress that clung to her like a second skin, her curly ponytail swinging every time she laughed. Maverick was still in his scrubs, but he looked relaxed; the tension of the day eased by her presence. They were angled toward the phone propped up on the coffee table.
