Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,32
“Allow me to lead you through a tasting of the Cunning Ham’s finest wines?”
She settled herself on the stool, wiggling back and forth a few times, and then crossed her legs daintily. “Don’t mind if I do.”
I poured her first taste as El chatted with her mother and the guests along the very crowded counter, pouring and flitting from place to place like she was born to do it.
“Here you go,” I said, indicating the glass in front of Mrs. Watson. “This is our lightest style, a pinot gris sourced from local grapes. In the coming years, we’ll likely plant this varietal on our own land. Why don’t you tell me what you think?”
Mrs. Watson was squinting at the taste I’d poured her, leaning down dramatically and peering at the glass. “I’m gonna need a heck of a lot more if you expect me to taste anything.” She stuck out her tongue at me and then continued speaking, her words almost unintelligible. “Daaa taaa ahhhh ooonnn aaaah daaaa baaa.”
I glanced at El, who was staring at her mother, horrified. “Mom,” she hissed, “stop it.”
“I was just explaining that my taste buds are shot and I’m gonna need a bigger glass if this tall drink of whiskey here wants my opinion on the juice.”
I could feel El’s embarrassment as a few other patrons slid away from her, down the counter, and my co-host’s face went pink.
“That’s not a problem,” I said, just as my mother stepped close.
“Hello there. Did I hear correctly? You’re El’s mother?”
The woman sat up straighter, her denim tank top straining as she thrust her chest forward in pride. “Dang tootin’,” she cawed. “I’m Robin. My pride and joy right there, aren’t you, my little Elephant?”
“Kill me now,” El muttered behind me.
“Oh, that’s lovely. I’m so glad you made it,” Mom gushed. “Boston, move over there please, I’m going to help Robin myself.” She hip checked me out of the way, and I had a sinking feeling as the two women immediately leaned their heads in and started whispering.
“This is probably not good,” I said to El as we both reached for new bottles in the cooler at the same time.
“I think your mom is harmless,” El said. “But mine has the superpower of lethal humiliation, and she’s not afraid to use it.”
“Mom’s superpower is inappropriate matchmaking for her sons.” As soon as I said it, I wondered if I shouldn’t have. El’s head snapped to look at me, and her mouth dropped open just a touch.
“You think your mom wants to put us together?” I couldn’t tell if the idea made her happy or horrified her.
“Definitely,” I told her.
A little smile flitted over El’s lips and my heart jumped. Did that mean she’d be interested? I knew she thought I was hot, but I also knew she thought I was evil. Or at least she had at one point.
The conversation didn’t continue, thanks to the manic pace of the crowd still pouring in the doors, and there was little time to think about it because that first couple that had come in was like a raindrop that signaled an oncoming deluge. Whether it was Dalton on the corner in the pig costume, or Mom’s willingness to implement my brothers’ ideas about internet and email marketing in a way most traditional wineries were still not doing, the place was packed until the event came to an end at ten o’clock that night.
El’s mom didn’t leave after her tasting. Instead, Mom poured her a big glass of the pinot gris, and she parked herself at the end of the counter like a spectator, watching the entire event unfold as she sipped her wine. The pride was clear on her face as she watched her daughter charm everyone who came near. In addition to pouring perfect tastings, El managed to outsell me on the bottles we’d reserved for folks to take home from the tasting.
As we finally switched the sign back to closed, I let out a long slow exhale and realized I was exhausted.
“That. Was. Incredible,” Mom said, practically shouting. “So much better than I could have imagined. And Boston, you did well, even with the crowd.”
El’s face morphed into a question and my stomach dropped. I did not want to talk about this. But Mom had already opened the door. “You don’t like crowds?” El asked.
“Oh, he has a crippling fear of being on stage in front of people,” Mom told her.