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Her smile lit up her whole face as she said, “Cheers.” We tapped our glasses and sipped our wine; a Chianti Classico.

I didn’t know much about wine so I Googled what red wine would pair well with the chicken cacciatore and had the friendly salesperson at the wine shop help me pick out a good one. I bought two bottles since I had to use a quarter of the first bottle in the dish.

“Your place is nice.” She looked around. “Not quite the man cave I was expecting.”

“Thanks. I’m not a neat freak, but I don’t like clutter.” I didn’t tell her I’d gussied up the place over the last three days.Hell, the throw pillows probably still smell new.

We nibbled on cheese, meats, and crackers and talked while we waited for dinner to finish simmering. When the timer went off, I excused myself and checked the chicken. Thankfully, it was done because I was starving. I hadn’t eaten much of the appetizers because I didn’t want to be too full to enjoy one of my favorite dishes.

I heard Beth’s chair slide back before she asked, “Anything I can do to help?”

“You can open the second bottle of wine; the corkscrew is in the drawer.” I nodded in the direction since my hands were full.

I felt my body relax as we worked together in my tiny kitchen area; me plating our meals, Beth opening the wine. Everything else we needed was already on the table.

“It smells so good. Looks good too. I can’t wait to try it.”

I wasn’t prone to blushing, but her compliments were enough to bring color to my cheeks.

I waited for her to take her first bite. When she did, she closed her eyes and made mmm sounds as she slowly chewed.

I blushed for an entirely different reason and turned my attention to my plate to avoid embarrassing myself.

As we ate, I told her about falling in love with Italian food while stationed in Italy and taking a cooking class while I was there.

“Did you always like cooking?” She asked.

“Yeah, my mom taught my sister and I how to cook when we were young. She never really got into it, but I did.” I sipped my wine. “How about you, do you like to cook?”

“I do, though I don’t get to cook as much as I used to.” She paused, a far away look in her eye, which cleared after a few seconds. “My mom taught me.”

After a few minutes, Beth changed the subject when she asked, “Do you miss Chicago?”

Do I?I thought about it before answering, “Not really.” I refused to dwell on why. “I might visit at Christmas.” I laughed as I thought about December in Chicago.

Beth raised an eyebrow in question.

“Chicago winters are be brutal, so it’ll be a shock.”

“I’ve heard it doesn’t take long to acclimate to warm southern winters.”

“It doesn’t. When I went back last year it wasn’t too bad because I’d only been gone a few months, and December is a mild. Luckily, I missed the harsh January and February storms last year. Well, I wouldn’t say I ‘missed’ them as I was enjoying the mild Texas winter.”

“We rarely get snow here, and winter storms are even rarer,” she said softly.

I saw pain cross Beth’s eyes. I hadn’t meant to remind her of her Phil’s death.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay.” Beth smiled as she reached over and placed her hand over mine, squeezing it when I laced my fingers with hers. “Really, it is. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be careful about what you say.”

“Okay, just promise me you’ll let me know if you don’t want to talk about something.”

“I promise.” She looked down at her lap, then back up at me. “Thanks for understanding.”

“You’re welcome.” Feeling like the conversation was over, I stood. “Why don’t you go to the living room and relax while I clear the table.”

“Do you want help?”

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