excellent.”
“The label’s not very pretty, and I do like a pretty label. Maybe you should sell me on it.”
“Madam—.” He picked up a pen and started drawing little hearts and flowers on the label of what I was sure was a very expensive bottle.
“Rainey,” I corrected, trying to keep a straight face, but it was hard with Flirty Beck.
“Rainey, this Scarecrow is a 2007 Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa.” He cradled the bottle in his hands, presenting it to me. “It opens with a black cherry and raspberry bouquet with traces of vanilla and oak. The finish is remarkable with hints of dark chocolate and plum.”
“Sounds good, but I’m still not sold.” I laughed because I thought we were playing a game, but then he was serious. Skimming his thumb over the hearts and flowers he’d just drawn.
“You need this Scarecrow to complete your dinner. You’ll miss it if you don’t have it.”
“I don’t think so,” I laughed, reminding him this was just a game. This wasn’t a date. “Guess I can’t know what I’m missing if I never have it.”
“I think you will.”
He wouldn’t let it go, and he wasn’t talking about wine anymore. The walls felt like they were closing in, but they weren’t. I felt like Beck was in my face, whispering against my lips, but he wasn’t. I snatched up what I hoped was a very cheap bottle of chardonnay and hurried out of the wine cellar. Beck followed after me with the Scarecrow.
He led me through the kitchen and then back to his home and seemed to have dropped the innuendos. I was white knuckling my wine bottle and was more than ready for a drink when I pushed through his front door.
The whole house smelled delicious. I was officially starving, and food seemed to be a safe subject, unless we were talking grilled cheese. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“The house specialty. Pan seared elk chops.”
Well, maybe this wasn’t a date, because elk sounded like the least sexy food on the menu. “Elk?”
“I wanted to give you something you’ve never had before.” Oh shit, there he goes again. “Who knows—you might like it.”
“How do you know I’ve never had elk before? Maybe it’s a southern staple like grits. Maybe southerners like grits and elk. Together. All the time.”
“Have you ever had it before?” He turned on that flirty grin that said he had me.
“Open my wine for me? Please?” He opened the red and the white and gave me a little taste of the Scarecrow. It really didn’t taste anything like the cheap reds I’d tasted before. It was good, but the not-expensive chardonnay was buttery and delicious.
While Beck was busy in the kitchen, I grabbed my phone out of the car and checked my messages, earning an I told you so smirk. I sat at the bar and watched him cook, with my phone at the place beside me, like it was Adam’s place. I sipped my wine and nibbled on a little brioche Beck had put out for me. It was topped with some things I didn’t recognize and some things I did… like lobster and a yellow thing that looked like a little tiny fried egg.
“This is wonderful, Beck. What is it?”
“Toasted brioche, lamb prosciutto we make at the restaurant, foie gras, with a little poached lobster and finished with truffle hollandaise sauce.”
I popped another piece in my mouth. “What’s the little fried egg-looking thingy?”
“A sunny side up quail egg.” Quail egg? As in little baby birds? Part of me wanted to spit the little yellow thing into my napkin, but the way all the flavors came together made that impossible. “Good?” he asked.
“You always ask questions you already know the answer to?” He grinned and turned his attention to plating our dinner. “What can I do to help? Can I set the table?”
“Already have. Take your wine into the dining room.” He nodded toward a pocket door off the kitchen. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
I opened the door and sucked in my breath not knowing what was more beautiful, the
“The label’s not very pretty, and I do like a pretty label. Maybe you should sell me on it.”
“Madam—.” He picked up a pen and started drawing little hearts and flowers on the label of what I was sure was a very expensive bottle.
“Rainey,” I corrected, trying to keep a straight face, but it was hard with Flirty Beck.
“Rainey, this Scarecrow is a 2007 Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa.” He cradled the bottle in his hands, presenting it to me. “It opens with a black cherry and raspberry bouquet with traces of vanilla and oak. The finish is remarkable with hints of dark chocolate and plum.”
“Sounds good, but I’m still not sold.” I laughed because I thought we were playing a game, but then he was serious. Skimming his thumb over the hearts and flowers he’d just drawn.
“You need this Scarecrow to complete your dinner. You’ll miss it if you don’t have it.”
“I don’t think so,” I laughed, reminding him this was just a game. This wasn’t a date. “Guess I can’t know what I’m missing if I never have it.”
“I think you will.”
He wouldn’t let it go, and he wasn’t talking about wine anymore. The walls felt like they were closing in, but they weren’t. I felt like Beck was in my face, whispering against my lips, but he wasn’t. I snatched up what I hoped was a very cheap bottle of chardonnay and hurried out of the wine cellar. Beck followed after me with the Scarecrow.
He led me through the kitchen and then back to his home and seemed to have dropped the innuendos. I was white knuckling my wine bottle and was more than ready for a drink when I pushed through his front door.
The whole house smelled delicious. I was officially starving, and food seemed to be a safe subject, unless we were talking grilled cheese. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“The house specialty. Pan seared elk chops.”
Well, maybe this wasn’t a date, because elk sounded like the least sexy food on the menu. “Elk?”
“I wanted to give you something you’ve never had before.” Oh shit, there he goes again. “Who knows—you might like it.”
“How do you know I’ve never had elk before? Maybe it’s a southern staple like grits. Maybe southerners like grits and elk. Together. All the time.”
“Have you ever had it before?” He turned on that flirty grin that said he had me.
“Open my wine for me? Please?” He opened the red and the white and gave me a little taste of the Scarecrow. It really didn’t taste anything like the cheap reds I’d tasted before. It was good, but the not-expensive chardonnay was buttery and delicious.
While Beck was busy in the kitchen, I grabbed my phone out of the car and checked my messages, earning an I told you so smirk. I sat at the bar and watched him cook, with my phone at the place beside me, like it was Adam’s place. I sipped my wine and nibbled on a little brioche Beck had put out for me. It was topped with some things I didn’t recognize and some things I did… like lobster and a yellow thing that looked like a little tiny fried egg.
“This is wonderful, Beck. What is it?”
“Toasted brioche, lamb prosciutto we make at the restaurant, foie gras, with a little poached lobster and finished with truffle hollandaise sauce.”
I popped another piece in my mouth. “What’s the little fried egg-looking thingy?”
“A sunny side up quail egg.” Quail egg? As in little baby birds? Part of me wanted to spit the little yellow thing into my napkin, but the way all the flavors came together made that impossible. “Good?” he asked.
“You always ask questions you already know the answer to?” He grinned and turned his attention to plating our dinner. “What can I do to help? Can I set the table?”
“Already have. Take your wine into the dining room.” He nodded toward a pocket door off the kitchen. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
I opened the door and sucked in my breath not knowing what was more beautiful, the
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