Cherry Wine

Maintaining eye contact with the well-dressed man across from her, she hoisted the glass up from the table, and, with an absentminded elegance, her wrist turned to position its rim at her mouth. Tilting her head back along with the glass, the deep red liquid first made its sensation known to her lips. She allowed herself then to close her eyes and welcome the taste of the wine. The dry nature of this particular Merlot was not unlike others she had tasted, so she was surprised when the sudden flavor of rich cherry rushed onto her palate. A flashback—suddenly, the air around her turned warm and she could see through her mind’s eye. Above her, a canopy of teardrop shaped leaves sprinkled with fresh, ripened cherries that shone like rubies as the sun deemed them to do. As she began to reach up and snag one of these treasures, her imagination was interrupted by her date’s inquisitive tone,

“Do you like it?” She opened her eyes.

“I love it,” she admitted without reservation, “It reminds me of being a kid and walking through my grandparent’s orchard.” She then perched her nose over the glass and took in the fragrance of the wine. “And the scent. It smells just like it.”

“Well, I would hope so,” her date chuckled to reveal a satisfied grin, “I picked it out after you told me that story.”

“Story?” She racked her brain trying to remember when she had told him about growing up on her grandparent’s orchard.

“Well, maybe ‘told me’ isn’t quite the best way to phrase it,” he admitted, “I overheard you talking to a couple friends about it the night we met, actually.”

“Oh, so I have your eavesdropping to thank for this experience?” She faked annoyance unsuccessfully, throwing in a wink to make sure he understood her intention. Picking up on the playful signal, the man gently smiled, looking down into his own wineglass, and began,

“It was difficult for me not to that night. Eavesdrop, I mean. You were gorgeous, and it took me some time to work up the courage to talk to you.” She shifted in her chair and took another sip of the Merlot in order to obscure her blushing cheeks. “Not to mention you being the center of attention in almost every room you walked into. It was like being in the entourage of some star.”

She started to laugh nervously, “Don’t give me so much credit. It was my friend’s party after all, so I was bound to know at least a few people there.”

“A few? Now you’re just trying to be humble,” he lifted his glass into the air before stealing a quick swallow, “You’re charismatic! People like you. That’s a great talent to possess, and you should be proud of it.” Having not heard such a genuine compliment in some time, she quickly thought of a way to escape his kind rhetoric.

“And what about you? What is your talent?” She asked.

Thinking only for a brief moment, he smirked and stated contentedly, “Wine selection,” flicking the glass with a single finger, creating a soft but resonant tone, “obviously.” This made her grin.

“So, it took you a bit to come talk with me. What finally persuaded you?” He stared into her eyes for a second.

“Honestly?” sighing, “I became a bit jealous.”

“Jealous of someone you’ve never met before? That’s a bit strange wouldn’t you say?” She took another sip.

“I wasn’t jealous of you. I was jealous of the people around you.” Again, she retreated from the perceived compliment. “Everyone who spoke to you. Their eyes lit up. They became happy.” She took a bigger sip than usual. “And I wanted to feel that too.” She wasn’t sure how to respond. She traced the meniscus of the depleting wine on the outside of her glass with her forefinger.

“You know, I think you’re wrong about your talent,” she started.

He furrowed his brow, “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she responded, “you’re much more suited to what you accuse me of doing.” She locked eyes with him. “Making people happy.” His brow relaxed.

“Dinner is served.” At that moment the waiter brought them their meals. They maintained eye contact. As he laid their plates in front of them, slow smiles appeared on both of their faces, and they began to laugh. The waiter, confused, asked if they needed anything else.

Gathering herself, she responded, “No, thank you. We’re doing fine for now.” The waiter nodded his head and left.

Lifting the bottle up slightly off the table, her date asked, “Could I refill your glass for you?” She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over herself, looked up toward the ceiling, and laughed.

“Of course.”