Love the Wine You're With by Kim Gruenenfelder

Author:Kim Gruenenfelder
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Chapter Twenty-nine

NAT

8:45 P.M.

Standing behind the bar, I proudly survey the room. The party is going great! The hors d’oeuvres are a hit (Jessie is right—you really never can go wrong with prosciutto). We are selling tons of wine, and everyone seems to be having a great time.

Naturally, this is the moment when I’m set to get unmistakable proof that there is no benevolent God. Because if there was a benevolent God, the really good-looking guy would not be walking into my bar right now.

Wait! Crap! No fucking way! Shit. Shit. Shit. Why, God, why?

Of all the wine joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine.

I quickly walk over to Holly’s half of the bar and whisper, “Can you take care of that guy? I need to get some more pretzels from the back.”

Holly eyes me with concern. “Suuurrreeee. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I just need to—”

“Natasha?” I hear Chris (the really good-looking guy) ask behind me.

Damn it. I turn around and smile weakly. “That’s me.”

“Natasha Osorio?” he clarifies.

For a split second, I debate saying no, but then I decide to confront this problem head on. “Yup. Hey, Chris.”

He smiles, then asks, “Wow. You filled out a little. Going through another breakup?”

Less than three seconds. That’s a new record, even for us.

“On the contrary. I’m in a glorious relationship and this is happy fat,” I tell him, trying not to clench my jaw. “Of course, I can always lose the weight, whereas your hair won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

Holly looks to me, then Chris, then back to me. “Okay, so I’m guessing you two know each other. Natasha, would you like to help the ladies at table six?”

I cross my arms and stare down Chris. “Oh, no. I got this.”

Holly smiles at Chris and, as she passes me leans in to whisper, “Paying customer. Be nice.” Then she heads to table six, where a group of cheerful women are debating their next series of flights.

Chris takes a seat at the bar. “What kind of beer do you have on tap?”

“None. Did you read the sign out front? We’re a wine bar. We have water on tap. And soda.”

Chris squints at me for a quick second, then flashes me an easy smile. “Okay, what wine would you recommend?”

“That depends. Do you prefer red, white, or rosé?”

“I prefer beer.”

“Then go home and call Pink Dot.”

He smirks with confidence. “You do know we’re gonna sleep together, right?”

Typical Chris question, designed to shock and intrigue. I hit his volley back without missing a beat. “You do you know you’re gonna propose to me, right?”

I can’t tell if he’s amused by or hates my comeback. Never could read his face. He takes a moment, then says, “Red.”

“What types of reds do you like? And don’t say red ale.”

“Hah,” Chris says, pointing at me. “You remember I like red ale.”

“You just tried to order a beer, you moron. What are you doing here, anyway? This is a wine bar for women.”

He looks around.

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