Page 67 of Gone With the Wine

“Of course.” I did work hard there, but I also got out sometimes. We’d go horseback riding, hiking, or exploring Buenos Aires and Mendoza.

We go over the plan for tomorrow.

“Now I’ll walk you home,” he says, standing.

“You don’t have to walk me home. It’s next door.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“What about bobcats? Are you afraid of bobcats?”

I laugh. “No. Because they never come here.”

“They might. Also, you’re so tired you might fall asleep on the way home and we’ll find you snoring in the grass in the morning.”

I snort.

“Come on.”

I give up. We turn out the lights and lock the door, another thing I’m picky about for no good reason than it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Tiny diamond stars stud the clear, dark sky, the moon a sliver of a gold coin. The temperature has dropped but it feels wonderful after the heat and sweat of the day, and I revel in the breeze stroking my hair back off my face as we walk across Jansen’s yard toward the row of live oaks. The smell of grape juice hangs in the air, sweet, ripe, and full, and the chirrup of crickets surrounds us.

“I hate crickets.”

He glances at me. “You do?”

“I do. They sound nice and as long as they’re at a distance, that’s fine, but when you come face to face with one, they are horrifying monsters.”

He coughs. “They’re high in protein.”

“Aaaaah! I can’t believe you said that! Ew, ew, ew.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they serve some other purpose.”

“Yeah, probably. But I’m afraid of them.”

“Hmm. Well, we all have our fears.”

“What are you afraid of?”

He doesn’t answer. Finally he says, “Apparently I don’t like snakes.”

I grin. “That’s fair. Did you just discover this?”

“Yeah. Miles and I ran into a snake when we were running one day. I didn’t encounter many snakes in Toronto or Los Angeles.”

I grin. “That’s hissssssterical.”

He barks out a laugh.

“Oh my God! Did I make you laugh?” I stop walking, laughing, and move in front of him to face him. “Let me see! Are you really laughing?”

“What’s the big deal? That was kinda funny. Bad, but funny.”

“I’m always funny, but you’ve never laughed at me.” I pause. “I mean, I don’t want you to laughatme. But when I make a joke, you know, a little polite chuckle or even a smile would be appreciated. Sometimes I think you’re almost going to smile…the corners of your mouth tic up…” I lift my hand and touch my fingertips to the corner of his mouth. His eyes darken and the air thickens and heats around us. “But you never actually laugh,” I finish breathlessly.

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