wine?”
“I’m going to the tasting room before I buy.”
“Why don’t I hold these for you then? That way they don’t accidentally get knocked over and broken. Not that anyone in our tasting room ever gets a little sideways.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Ellery. Just Ellery is fine,” she said, then walked toward the tasting room, preparing herself to see the handsome man who sent her daily emails. But Evan wasn’t behind the bar. A young guy with a faux-hawk wearing a Soundgarden T-shirt stood polishing glasses and conversing with two older men in business attire. He looked a little older than her, but definitely under the age of thirty.
He nodded at her when she entered. “Welcome to the tasting room.”
“Well, hey now, things are looking a lot prettier around here,” one of the businessmen said, giving her a crocodile smile.
Being friendly was a Texas pastime, but she was not in the mood to be hit on by guys skipping out on work for a late liquid lunch. “Thank you, sir, and thank you,” she said to Faux-Hawk.
“You sure you’re old enough to drink?” Faux-Hawk asked, eyeballing her.
“You sure you’re old enough to serve?” she countered, showing her dimples.
The older guys hooted. Faux-Hawk’s mouth flatlined. Who wore a faux-hawk anymore, anyway? That was so last decade, and even then it had been stupid. But it suited this guy in some way. Maybe because he didn’t seem to be the kind to give a rip what anyone thought about him.
“Saucy, ain’t she?” the other business guy commented.
“Don’t worry, I’m old enough,” she said, scouring the list of pours, deciding the two old guys reminded her of the cranky guys on The Muppet Show. “I’ll try the anniversary blend Marin recommended.”
Faux-Hawk looked as if he might ask for her license, but then shrugged and pulled a bottle out of the iced bin lining the back wall. He handed her a glass with a very small pour. Maybe she shouldn’t have been such a smart-ass.
The wine was good—light, crisp, with a taste of pears or something. She tried to remember her tasting class. Chalk, lime, and smoke were words she remembered being batted around. She hadn’t paid a great deal of attention because her palate obviously wasn’t sophisticated enough to discern differences.
“Mm,” she said, draining the glass. “That’s good.”
“You’re supposed to taste it, not shoot it.” Faux-Hawk gave her another sample.
“I know how to do tastings. I prefer to skip the swishing and spitting.” But she took the second sample and spent more time rolling the vintage on her tongue. It was acidic but not terribly so. And maybe she tasted Texas sunshine in the second pour.
“What do you think?” the plumper of the two businessmen asked.
“It’s good. Nice and bright,” she said, happy she’d remembered that particular term from the class. It was one Josh liked to use when they went out to dinner. It’s too bright. I prefer a more subtle wine.
“Try this one,” Faux-Hawk said, taking the glass she’d set down and pouring a sample from another bottle. “This is our rosé. Little dry but has a nice finish. Perfect for hot fall afternoons.”
“You sound like you memorized that,” Ellery said, sticking her nose in the glass so she looked like she knew what she was doing. “Nice bouquet.”
Faux-Hawk quirked a dark eyebrow as if he knew she had no clue about wine.
Ellery sipped the rosé, trying to not toss it back and get out. This guy made her uncomfortable with his discerning gaze and smoldering Adam Levine vibe. “I like it.”
“Want to try something else? The Syrah? We have a red anniversary blend.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” one of the business guys commented.
All three watched her. “I think I’ll just take three bottles of the first one. The white anniversary blend.”
Faux-Hawk nodded and wrote the order down, collected the wine, and placed it in a cardboard carrier. He had nice forearms and a tattoo on his biceps—a swirl of ink dipped below the edge of his T-shirt sleeve. She wondered what the tat was. She almost asked him when he took her credit card, his fingertips brushing hers, his mouth quirking at the Minnie Mouse on the card.
“Disney fan?” he asked.
“Yeah. I get points. What? You don’t like Disney World?”
Faux-Hawk shrugged a shoulder. “Never been, but it seems . . . I don’t know . . . kinda basic?”
“Yeah, basically fun,” she drawled, trying not to prickle at his comment. He looked like the kind of guy