Me You & Merlot

The rain, pouring softly as she filled the kettle for an evening cup of tea, reminded her of Paris. Not just any month, of course. No. This night reminded her of Paris in April. That's when she met him.

It was spring break, 2012. Liz and her girlfriends were leaving their small town of dreary England behind for a week in the city of lights. Liz had dreamt of picnics under the lights of the Eiffel Tower and giant loaves of bread to stuff with stinky cheese. She fantasized about rich art and breathtaking gardens, all of which she found. What actually happened that week was beyond even Lizz's wildest dreams.

On a Tuesday, Lizz and her two best friends, Beth and Stacy, got dressed in their best dresses for cocktails and dancing at a place called Fleur Sauvage, Wild Flower. Never did Lizz imagine a drizzly Tuesday would end so wonderfully. This would be the best Tuesday of her life, and it all started... with a deep red glass of French Merlot and a man named Harry.

The girls were stirring their fancy cocktail glasses with skewered olives. Ray Lamontagne was playing in the background, and Lizz was watching couples sway to the intoxicating sound of the music. A man tapped her on the shoulder. "Hello. Would you care for a dance?"

Lizz turned around and was instantly drawn to a man with dazzling green eyes and brunette wavy hair. His voice was American, and her heart sank at the southern twang. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not much of a dancer!"

"How about a drink then?" His voice now melted her heart. Who was this stranger? She wanted to know more, but she was shy.

"I'm already drinking... thank you, though. Perhaps another night!"

"Tomorrow. Pain Vin Fromage."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a restaurant. Best in Paris."

"Do you live here? Your accent-"

"Ah! No." He laughed. "I don't live here. I am on a work trip, you can say. I am opening a winery back home."

"Where is home?" She asked, intrigued. Her friends giggled as they eyed this man with the southern drawl.

"South Carolina. You, ma'am?"

"I'm from Manchester."

"Does the lady from Manchester have a name?"

"Lisabelle... But, you can call me Liz."

"My name is Harry, Liz. It was nice to meet you. Now that names have been exchanged. How about that dinner?"

Friday night, Liz sat across from Harry at the most romantic restaurant in the world. Everything about this place screamed 'Paris'... no, it whispered in eloquent French language. When Harry left for the bathroom, she pinched herself to check if she was dreaming. She wasn't, of course.

"Now," said Harry. "I am going to introduce to you the very best glass of wine you will ever find." He smiled with the side of his lips. Lips that she couldn't stop staring at. He poured wine that was burgundy red and silky smooth into her glass. "Should we toast?"

"Mmm. To what, exactly?"

"To strangers in Paris. To me, you, and Merlot."

"To me, you, and merlot!" She took a sip, and she was amazed by how sweet the wine was while also exploding with bold flavor. Flavors she couldn't explain.

"How is it?" Harry asked while keeping his eyes fixed on Liz and her shiny blond hair and blue eyes.

"I can't explain it..."

"Try!"

Liz took another sip and closed her eyes. "It's deep but sweet. Smooth. Silky. It tastes almost like plumbs... blackberries... no, cherries..."

"Keep going! We may have a sommelier on our hands."

"Chocolate? Is that possible?" She laughed.

"Anything is possible with a glass of Merlot," he whispered.

That night, they drank and talked as rain poured outside the restaurant. Liz laughed more than she ever had before. There has never been another wine quite like that one... and no man quite like Harry. Every night after the date, they sat and enjoyed a glass of merlot until the girls left back to England.

"He's so perfect... yet, so impossible," Liz said to the girls as they packed their bags.

"Ooh la la!" shouted Beth and Stacy.

They exchanged email addresses the day they parted ways and every year or so, she receives letters about how the winery is doing and the trips that Harry has taken since. The new wines that he has tried. The terrible and the wonderful.

She smiled remembering that night as she steeped her tea. Liz covered up with a blanket as she sat across from the fireplace. Saying goodbye to Harry was bittersweet. She felt as if she had found herself that night, and part of her was left behind.

It was now 2018. Six years have passed. Yet, not a year goes by that she doesn't think of him. Her Harry.

Ding!

A message? An email notification pops up on Liz's cell. It's Harry. She smiles and opens the message.

Subject: In London this weekend...

Liz, I'm in town this weekend and I can't help but think of you. What do you say we meet up in London? I was thinking of you, me, and Merlot. Or have you forgotten?