A Bottle of Your Best Merlot

I stirred the sauce, pouring a little more wine into it then took the cake out of the freezer. After taking a sip, straight from the bottle in my hands, I thought about how it was a little miracle that I was here—cooking dinner to celebrate my first anniversary with my husband. The wine took me back to that night. When I first met him, it was the worst date of my life.

There I sat at a restaurant. I had been waiting for the last thirty minutes, looking like an idiot, inventing excuses every time the waiter came around asking if I was ready. I checked my messages one more time, hoping Harper had sent something. He said we’d meet here at six. With it edging on six forty-five and getting no response from my text that said “Here”—or the one asking him where he was twenty minutes later—I figured he stood me up and decided to order. Truthfully, I felt relieved. Having been a mess of nerves, I could now sit back, have some food and wine, and relax. Catching my waiter’s eye, I signaled him over.

“I’ll take a bottle of your best merlot with the grilled chicken and mushroom pasta.”

Having waited for so long I’d more than picked what I wanted to eat.

“Sure. Do you want that to go?”

What? Did he really think that just because some insignificant guy stood me up I would want to eat my food in my bed at home? Although thinking about it, watching Castle with great food, wine, a warm blanket, and some ice cream sounded marvelous.

Not one to back down I smiled, “How considerate of you, but no, I will be eating here.”

He at least had the audacity to look a little sheepish as he walked away.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but did that waiter ask if you wanted the food you ordered to-go?” a deep voice to my left interrupted my thoughts. Thoughts centered on how quickly I could eat so I could get home to my bed which now beckoned me.

“I guess after being obviously stood up he didn’t think I’d be able to handle eating alone.”

“If there was one thing I learned growing up with sisters, it was to never underestimate a woman in anything. They can handle more; they’re usually smarter, and absolutely never underestimate their need for revenge.” He tipped his glass of wine towards me, “Here’s to you having a good night. I’m Carter by the way.”

I raised the glass the waiter had filled whilst talking to this gorgeous man and smiled, “Cora. Thanks.”

Taking a sip, I sighed a little. The flavor of the merlot exploded in my mouth. Blackberries swirled with vanilla and oak. I gave myself a little pat on the back for ordering a bottle rather than a glass. It would pair amazingly with the noodles I ordered.

“What are you drinking?” Carter asked.

I shrugged, “I told the waiter to bring me the best merlot they had.”

He beckoned my waiter over and asked what I was drinking before ordering a bottle.

I was lost in my mind when another voice pulled me out of my ravine.

“I must apologize. My client ran late, and traffic was a beast. Then, of course, my phone died, or I would have texted you.” I looked up and saw Harper. The guy I was supposed to be on a date with. Here he stood an hour late with no real excuse.

“I’m glad you waited though.”

He sat down as the waiter brought out my food. He glanced at Harper then at me.

“Oh, you already ordered? Well, that’s ok you can just wait for mine to come out.” He handed my plate back to the waiter, “Can you keep this warm while we wait for my food? I’ll take the salmon—medium-well, sauce on the side too. And bring me a list of your white wines, reds bore me.”

I smiled and looked him in the eye as I took a long sip from my glass.

“I mean no disrespect if that’s your choice. I just feel like a white wine has more layers.”

I nodded along while mentally I was preparing a text for my friend Tara yelling at her for setting me up with this guy. I knew I was a little self-involved but, God, I didn’t think I neared this level. It made me question what kind of person I showed the world I was if Tara thought I would get along with this guy.

“Anyway, Tara said you work in art or something?” he finally asked me a question.

“Kind of. I’m in publishing, an editor at Magnolia Publishing. I oversee the new adult genre.”

“Oh, so you listen to whiny little writers all day.”

Who was this guy? He obviously had no idea what I did for a living. I wanted nothing more than to go back to when I believed that I’d been stood up. I snuck a peek at Carter. Thankfully, he wasn’t looking my way. I felt embarrassed thinking he might have thought I set this date up myself. Relief flooded my system when I saw he wasn’t looking at me. Relief quickly followed by dejection.

Luckily, between how long he spent talking about himself and my rumination on how to answer the question, his food arrived and with it my own—for the second time.

We “cheersed” and dug in. Due to what I assumed was a warming lamp the noodles were overcooked.

“Oh, this salmon is not done enough. How’s the pasta?” Harper asked, mouth full of salmon.

“Flavor’s good. Noodles are a little overcooked,” I respond, adding a “thanks to you” in my head.

Without asking, he reached over and stabbed a noodle with his fork. “Yeah, I can see what you mean. You know they’re not noodles though, right? When it’s an Italian dish it’s called pasta.”

I shrugged and tried to keep a placid face, “I’m part Asian not Italian, to me everything is noodles. And they were invented in China, not Italy anyways so…”

Surprised by my outburst, Harper blushed and excused himself to the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement, looking over, I watched Carter struggling not to laugh.

I opened my mouth and, “I did not set this date up,” came out. I didn’t know why it was so important that he believed this.

He smiled, “God, I would hope no one purposely went on a date with him.”

Carter’s phone dinged.

“You can answer that if you need to.” I offered.

“It’s not mine.”

I look across the table at the phone Harper had claimed died. I had no right to go through his phone, but I was curious as to why he lied.

‘So happy we were able to catch a late lunch. Do it again soon? <3’

Now it made sense. I glanced up at Carter, face red for being made a fool of.

“This is totally insane, but I’m about to head out. Wanna join me? I was going to go grab some ice cream from this little place I know.”

“Yes,” once again, my mouth answered while my mind was still processing.

I checked for Harper; the coast was clear. Grabbing my jacket and finishing the wine in my glass, I headed for Carter who was waiting for me at the door.

“So, it’s only about a five-minute walk from here. Afterward, I can bring you back to get your car.”

“Sure. Sounds great.”

We started walking down the sidewalk. Looking up, the sun had finally started to set, making the world seem aglow. The clouds resembled cotton candy—ready to be picked and eaten. Despite the warm glow from the clouds and the fact it was May, a chill grew in the air as the sun went down. I shivered.

“Are you cold? We don’t have to get ice cream,” he generously suggested.

I laughed him off, “It’s okay. I am perpetually cold, and I’ve been craving ice cream all night. To be honest, I did want to go home when Harper stood me up. I planned on scarfing down my food then going home to watch Castle and eat ice cream.”

“But you stayed. Out of spite?” his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Well, that and this stranger gave me props for staying. I couldn’t very well leave after that.”

“And this stranger you say you met; would you call him attractive?”

I took a step back and ogled him, appreciative of the opportunity he provided, “He is what most would call conventionally attractive, but that doesn’t really do it for me. I’m partial to a good imperfection. Shows they’re human. But what he doesn’t have in imperfections he makes up for in charm.”

“I have a nasty scar on my stomach from a swimming accident when I was ten, if that helps.”

Something about the tease in his voice, I could tell he wanted me to ask to see it. And while I might be dumb enough to get set up on a blind date I wasn’t that gullible.

“Oh, look we’re here” I gestured to the ice cream shop leaving a smirking Carter standing outside.

We browsed the large selection of flavors. They had the classics, but they also had more adventurous flavors such as fruity pebbles and carrot cake.

“Can I try the vanilla, please?”

“Who goes for vanilla, let alone needs to taste it? Unless you’re a picky kid.”

“And there goes the charm. What a shame, you were doing so well too. There are two kinds of people who like vanilla—picky kids, and people who actually enjoy the flavor of vanilla. I am trying to determine if it is true vanilla or if it’s what people think of when ‘vanilla’ gets mentioned. Which I feel really needs to be called sweet cream.”

He smiled at my cheeky response before answering with his own slightly mocking one, “I apologize, I see this is something I know nothing about.”

My cheeks reddened, “Sorry, I just hate when people use vanilla as a derogatory term. Take the wine for example, when the notes of vanilla blended with the berries did you think it was plain?”

He cocked his head and smiled at me in a dangerous way—like I wasn’t the demure woman I seemed to be, “Oh, I think it was anything but.”

My shade of red deepened, and I put the sample in my mouth. The vanilla tasted exactly as I hoped. I ordered a scoop. He looked at me deviously as he ordered a scoop of their fresh blackberry.

We spent two hours walking around outside and talking about everything from our jobs, to family, to dream vacations. The banter was easy. By the time we made it back to my car, it was eleven. The ease disappeared and the awkward person I normally was returned.

“So, thanks, for the rescue. I had fun,” I fumbled for my keys.

“Me too.”

I jumped at his voice. He was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. My eyes moved to his lips. If I just tilted my head a fraction we would be kissing. Who finally caved I couldn’t say, but I was just glad one of us did.

I could taste the blackberries on his lips. Mixed with the vanilla from my own ice cream it was reminiscent of my new favorite wine.

The door opened and a voice called out, “I’ve got the ice cream,” bringing me back to the present. I could still feel his lips on mine. Maybe it was tasting the wine we drank that night, or maybe it was kissing those same lips every day. But it kept that memory of our first kiss in the forefront of my mind—exactly where it belonged.