Let it Snow by Delancey Stewart

Author:Delancey Stewart [Stewart, Delancey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Delancey Stewart

5

Chestnuts Roasting

Dixie

It was nearly nine o’clock, but it appeared that with nowhere else to go, and several passengers stuck in the airport, the few facilities that were open were going to remain so.

We sat at a cozy table against the wall of the restaurant and ordered dinner.

“Care to see the wine list?” the waiter asked.

“Absolutely,” Brogan said, smiling at me in a way that made my insides shiver. He was gallant and gentlemanly, and his attention was focused on me in a way I wasn’t sure Paul’s ever had been. I didn’t think Brogan had looked at his phone once in my presence, actually. And Paul’s might need to be surgically removed from his hand.

And my god, his smile.

That smile was beginning to be dangerous. Every time he flashed it, I found myself squeezing my legs together tightly.

When the list was presented, Brogan asked if I saw anything I liked. I thought about bullshitting, but the guy had been hired to work at a winery. Probably not the best plan. “I’ll be honest,” I told him. “I usually just drink what’s poured for me. So much of it tastes the same.”

Brogan dropped the list to the table and let his mouth fall open in pretend shock. “No,” he said. “White and red definitely taste different.”

“Well, I did know that.”

“So which do you prefer?”

“White, I think.” I looked over the list of white wines. “What do you recommend?”

“Beer’s my thing, Dix. I know a little about wine, but to me, it’s all about what you like. I can’t stand having some snobby wank telling me that sweet wine is for little girls and California cabs are too fruity. That’s up to the drinker, I think. And if I want a nice little Finger Lakes Riesling, then there should be no judgment there.”

“Are we getting a nice little Finger Lakes Riesling?”

“No, too sweet.”

“Well, I agree with you, and I’ll admit to something totally stupid.”

“Stupid and wine-related? This should be good.” Brogan’s eyes glittered above the single candle on the table and he leaned forward slightly.

I noticed how the corded muscles stood out beneath the dark tan on Brogan’s forearms, the clean square cut of his fingernails. There was something about a man with nice hands. “I like pink wine, but I don’t order it because it’s embarrassing.”

“That’s utterly ridiculous.”

“I’ve been mocked.” I put my hands to my chest to show how deep the pink wine mocking had wounded me. “A man at a business dinner asked what I’d have and when I ordered a rosé, he actually rolled his eyes and wondered aloud why all women insisted on drinking pink wine.”

“Moron. You never treat a dining companion that way. Unless it’s my brother.” Brogan reached forward and put his hand over mine. “I’m sorry you were mocked.”

I tried to focus on Brogan’s words as he talked about how he believed that rosé held a very respectable place in the wine world, how French dry rosés and Spanish riojas were among his favorites when it was hot outside.

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