Page 25 of Cool for the Summer

“Oh right,” he says, turning back to the shelves of wine.

“Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. Jack said Kingston might stop by sometime.”

“We’re getting together a little poker game. You play?”

“Poker?” Beck seems distracted, running his finger over the label of a bottle of merlot.

“Yeah, poker.” I don’t know how else to describe it, honestly.

“I know how to play,” he says vaguely. “I’m looking for some cooking wines. I don’t really drink red.”

“I’m more of a beer guy, but I thought I’d get a bunch of stuff.” The place is too small for a cart, so I start pulling things at random. A couple of bottles of red, a couple of white. I set them on the counter in the back of the shop and nod to the blonde woman behind the register who’s helping another customer. I remember Kingston likes bubbles, so I cross over to the sparkling wine.

“Can you get me some Prosecco?” Beck asks, at my elbow again. He’s juggling two bottles of red and a bag from Second Time Around.

I take the bottles from him, add them to my collection, then return to his side.

“What did you get?” I ask, indicating his bag.

“You’ll see,” he says mysteriously.

“So, Prosecco. This look good?” I pick something mid-range, and then grab a bottle of something French and expensive that Kingston won’t turn his nose up at.

“Sure. I’m not really an expert,” Beck says as the woman from behind the counter walks over to us.

“Can I help you?”

Beck turns his small-town smile on her. “I think we’re okay, thanks.”

“Where’s your beer selection?” I ask.

“Your first time in the shop?” she asks as she shows us a refrigerated case. “We mostly carry stuff from local breweries.”

“Cool, and yeah, first time,” I say. “What do you like?” I ask Beck.

“Anything,” he says, lifting a careless shoulder. “I’m easy.”

I get a variety here, too, accumulating a small mountain of booze on the counter. “Anything else?”

Beck thinks and then snaps his fingers. “I was going to get some vodka so I can make penne alla vodka.”

“We only sell wine, beer, and cider,” the woman says. “But you can get spirits at the place up Route 7.”

Beck pouts for a second.

“I can swing by there on the way home,” I say. “I wanted to go to that big box store and get some swim goggles and a few other things.”

“Oh, that would be great,” he says, face clearing. “Thanks, Donovan.”

“Sure.”

The woman starts ringing us up, and Beck pulls out his black credit card. I put a hand on his arm. “Let me get this.” I’m still a little unclear on Beck’s finances, but whatever they are, I need to pull my weight. Beck hesitates but lets me get out my wallet.

“You new to Rosedale?” the blonde asks as she grabs a couple of empty wine boxes to organize our purchases into. “I don’t remember seeing you around.” Then she smiles at Beck in such a way that has my eyebrows shooting up my forehead. “I’m Ariana, by the way.”

“Like Ariana Grande?” Beck asks.

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