Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,27
I asked her.
“I’m so excited,” she said, inclining her head like this was a confession. She rose, showing off a simple black sheath dress that fit her perfectly. “Is this okay?”
“You look incredible,” I told her honestly.
She let out a breath of relief. “Oh good, I wouldn’t want to embarrass your family.”
“You never could.” My voice lowered as I said this, and El’s eyes narrowed slightly as she caught the change in tone. Her face softened, and for a long moment, our gazes locked as everything inside me tightened up in anticipation. Man, she was pretty.
I drove her to the restaurant, and Peter greeted us himself.
“I have you set up on the patio here,” he told us, guiding us to a private table at the far side of the restaurant’s patio, overlooking miles and miles of vineyard beyond.
“This is amazing,” El said, her voice filled with awe. I’d seen how El grew up, and now I wondered if she’d ever been out to a really nice restaurant. She deserved it, and I vowed to treat her like a princess.
“The tasting is all set up,” Peter assured us. “I’ll bring the first course now.”
“The first course?” El whispered to me, her eyebrows rising as the glorious smile retook her face.
“I’ve arranged six mini-courses with flights,” I explained. “So we’ll start with the lightest style wine, probably a sparkling, and move through the wines to the heaviest.”
“Like a cabernet,” El suggested, pride clear in her voice.
“Exactly,” I said, smiling. “Or a dessert wine, maybe.”
“Oh, right.” She frowned as if she’d gotten a question wrong. “And flights . . . those are?”
“Each flight will be a few tastes of different wines of the same varietal. I’ve asked Peter for some really standout examples of the styles of wine the Cunning Ham is making.”
“Okay,” El said, sounding worried.
“It’s not really a test,” I told her. “If you can identify the varietal, great. And then, just enjoy. Think of it as a reward for a hard week of training.”
She looked uncertain as a little smile lifted the corner of her mouth.
“And you’re getting paid for being here,” I reassured her, in case that was what made her look so uncertain.
“Here we are,” Peter announced, sliding trays in front of each of us. Each tray had three small glasses of wine on it. “Sparklers,” he said, handing me a card with the names of the wines printed on it and bowing slightly before leaving us.
Food arrived next, and for the next two hours, El and I ate and drank. And talked. By the time I was arguing with Peter about allowing me to actually pay for the meal, Isabel Watson probably knew more about me than anyone else in my life except maybe my mother.
It had been strange, opening up so completely. But El had been open in return, and the conversation had just flowed through the entire meal.
I learned that she was an only child, that her father had left when she was a baby, and that in many ways, El and I had both assumed the role of head of the family.
She was a little unsteady on her feet as I walked her out, and I was glad I’d insisted on driving. I’d already arranged to pick her up the following morning to take her back to the winery for opening day, and a small part of me wished I could just take her home with me.
“Here,” I said, taking her arm to walk her out. She wore very high shoes, which combined with a lot of wine, could be a dangerous combination.
“Thanks,” she said, leaning into my side as we approached the car.
I unlocked it and opened the passenger door for her, and she stared into the open space as if getting up there might just be impossible.
“Need a hand?” I asked.
She turned back around, an uncertain look on her face. Her eyes found mine, and everything inside me jumped to attention. “Boston,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I wanted to say thank you. I just . . .” she dropped her eyes, and I found myself taking her hand for no apparent reason, our fingers linking as our hands closed the space between us.
The air around us was cool and birds called in the distance. It was a perfect summer evening, and everything inside me was pushing me to step closer to El, to pull her into my arms, to kiss her silly.