a little pervy banter to start the day.
“Thanks for the heads-up. My tongue might be my most treasured body part. Professionally speaking, anyway.”
He’s smirking again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I hear it’s the best in the business. Although I, for one, am not convinced that’s true.”
“It’s not my job to convince you. My tongue is reserved for our guests and our guests only.”
He lifts a brow. “You won’t share? How ungenerous. Me, I’m the opposite. I always make sure to give before I receive.”
Oh, God, he’s talking about oral without talking about oral, and I can’t help but fucking smile.
This is not appropriate. It shouldn’t be fun. But it is.
It really is. And considering the only fun I have these days is in chat rooms on the internet, I am ripe for the picking.
“Somehow I doubt your tongue is as skilled as you think it is. Takes a lot of practice to get where I am. A lot of time, effort. Trial and error. Classes, tests, tastings…”
“You think I don’t practice?” He shifts on his feet, leaning the tiniest bit closer to me. “I taste plenty, Emma. So much and so often I’ve been told I’m a connoisseur.”
My turn to smirk. “I think you might need some new friends, Beauregard. Ones who tell it to you straight.”
“I think you might need some new friends.” He ducks, lowering his voice to a teasing growl. “Ones who give it to you right.”
Oh, no, no, no, I want to say. I’m the one who’d give it to you, hotshot. And you bet your bottom dollar it’d be right.
Thankfully, Chef Katie appears. She’s wearing a puffer vest over her chef whites and a big smile.
“I don’t think y’all are ready for how delicious this paella is gonna be.” She rubs her hands together. “I love mixing things up this way—been a spell since I brushed off my tapas skills. Great idea.”
I tip my head toward Samuel. “I’m told he’s a connoisseur.”
His eyes flick to meet mine.
“What?” I ask. “I give credit where credit is due. Team player, remember?”
“Right,” he replies. “I remember.”
Only I don’t feel right at all when he turns and stalks across the pavilion, the heels of his red-soled shoes marking a solid beat against the floorboards.
I want.
I want. But I won’t allow myself to have.
Sipping my coffee, I’m glad I waited. It’s still too hot.
“This,” Elijah Jackson says, swirling the Albariño in his glass before tipping it back to drain what’s left, “is fuckin’ delicious. That green apple note? Damn if it don’t play off the cheese and ham croqueta beautifully.”
“Really nice combination of sweet and savory,” Greyson Montgomery adds, holding out his glass for another pour. “What’s the story behind this deliciousness?”
I smile as I refill their glasses, a bloom of lightness spreading through my center. I love this part of my job.
“I was lucky enough to meet the winemaker on a trip to Spain last year,” I say, cradling the bottle label out so Chef Eli and his friends have a good view of it. “Carmen Garcia’s vineyards date back to the fifteenth century—apparently, the nuns in a nearby convent liked to throw down while guzzling Garcia family wine by the barrel.”
Luke Rodgers shakes his head. “Nuns. Gotta love ’em.”
“If you had to wear hats like that every day, you’d drink your face off too. Anyway, when Carmen inherited the vines from her father, they were in pretty bad shape. She got a degree in microbiology and used her scientific background to bring the grapes back to life. I like to think you can taste that in her wines.” I run my thumb along my fingertips, trying to capture just the right words. “That mashup of art and science. History and innovation. Her vines are ancient, but her methods are smart and new. You mentioned that crisp apple zippiness this Albariño has—that’s sharp and sexy, yeah?”
“Very mod,” Eli agrees.
“But then there’s this backbone—yes, I know it’s ridiculous to use words like ‘backbone’ when describing wine, but I’m doing it and I’m not sorry—that’s got this earthiness, this minerality, that tastes ancient. It’s timeless, really. A reminder of the bigger story we’re all a part of.”
Greyson nods, swallowing a sip of wine. “I’m not sorry either. I can totally taste what you’re talking about. That sense of…” He pauses, thinking. Takes another sip. I can almost see the light bulb going off in his head. “Continuity.”
“How essentially human and right it is to enjoy good wine with good