some of these cute Spaniards at a bar—”
“Okay, I changed my mind. I really like where this is going,” Milly says, leaning an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.
I smile. “I wish I had a better ending for you. Nothing crazy happened, but the eight of us sat at this table outside a tiny restaurant overlooking the Alhambra, a gorgeous medieval Moorish palace right out of a Game of Thrones episode. We ate tapas and talked for hours and drank bottle after bottle of this red wine that was maybe ten euros a pop. I still remember how it tasted, how warm the air was while I tasted it, and the happy buzz it gave me. It made us philosophical. Funny. It allowed us to bare ourselves, our true selves, in a way we never had before. As I drank and ate, I realized I’d never talked so frankly with my friends like that. I finally shared how I was feeling about law school, how I had that awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. Saying it out loud made me realize just how wrong the whole thing was. And a lot of that had to do with the fact I was falling in love at that table. Not with a person, but with the truth.”
“That’s beautiful,” Samuel says. The look in his eyes turns my heart inside out.
“And naïve.” I swallow. I notice Hank is looking at me too. “I followed that feeling I got at the table—the warm, deep, happy peace that filled me. Again and again, it led me back to wine. Food. A table full of friends. Sharing stories and truths and fears. Look, I get it. At the end of the day, wine is grape juice that gets you drunk. But when I drink it—even just a taste, a sip—I feel seen. Or maybe I allow myself to be seen. It liberated me. When I came back from Spain, I kept following that feeling. It led me to drop out of law school to work in a restaurant cellar instead.”
Hank’s eyes go wide. “Bet your parents loved that.”
“They did not.” I smile tightly. “But I get it. They want me to have a nice life, you know? I want that for myself too. So I’ve worked hard to put myself in a position where I can get it. I know that will make them a little proud at least. Still, it’s taken me a long, long time to come to grips with the fact that following my heart meant letting down the people I love. It’s something I still struggle with, especially when I see how my sister’s crushing it in her law career.”
“Ballsy,” Samuel says. He’s full-on staring at me now, and I have to remember what a dick he was when I first met him or I’ll be falling hook, line, and sinker for the naked admiration in his eyes. “Such a ballsy move, Emma. I mean that as a compliment. I got lucky—my dad and I loved the same things, and were good at the same things, right down to the position we played. If that hadn’t been the case, I don’t think I would’ve been brave enough to do what you did.”
I meet his eyes. “Give yourself more credit. You’re braver than you think.”
He holds my gaze for one long, heated beat. I can feel the entire table watching us. I want to look away, but I like this sensation—the feeling of Samuel and me being the only people in the room.
The sense of belonging and safety that gives me.
Grabbing my wine, I break eye contact and take a long, thirsty sip. Milly’s looking between Samuel and me with a knowing expression on her face.
My own face burns.
“Moral of the story, you fell in love with what wine represented,” Hank says, breaking the silence. “Not necessarily the wine itself.”
“Exactly.” I clear my throat. “So, Hank. Tell me how you got into guest relations.”
I get seconds, then thirds of cornbread, using it to sop up the ridiculous gravy Samuel was talking about. Everything is insanely delicious. We go through four bottles of the Amarone, everyone getting just tipsy enough to let loose and laugh. June tells a story about the time she found several pairs of Samuel’s Ninja Turtle underwear underneath the kitchen sink. Upon closer inspection, she discovered they were covered in brown skid marks.
“Apparently, Samuel was afraid to tell me he pooped his pants,”