Page 56 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
A shadow crossed her face. “Yes, it does. Enmity—that is how you say it, yes?—is very unpleasant.”
Was this his opening? “And what would a beautiful woman like you know of something as heavy as enmity?”
“It’s a family thing, and a topic that would ruin our evening.” She seemed to shake herself as his nerves resurfaced. “I’ve looked forward to laughing all day, seeing as you have that special way about you.”
He thought about walking to the fruit stand on the corner, buying oranges, and starting to juggle, but instead he took her elbow and led her to Chez Marie’s front door.
“I will endeavor to be entertaining,” he said as he held the door open for her. “Let me start by telling you that Thea, one of my roommates, came here for her first date with her now fiancé, Jean Luc. She made a scene, thinking he’d seen a cockroach when he was only telling her the French phrase for having the blues.”
A soft ripple of laughter erupted from her, and she leaned into him, smiling. “Right. Because we say in French that one has the cockroaches when one is sad. I have no idea why.”
“Maybe because they are one of the great plagues of this earth.” He lifted his hand when the maître d’ spotted him. “I’m not a fan of anything that crawls on the ground, really. But I’m okay with anything that climbs trees. Those species seem more lighthearted for some reason. Like monkeys and bears. When I need to veg, I can’t watch enough shows with those animals in them, but I hide under the covers if I see a snake or a spider in real life.”
That had her chuckling softly again, and he took a moment to unclench his fist as they were directed to a table. He would make her laugh first, and then later, he would circle back to serious things.
When presented with the wine menu, he directed the maître d’ to give it to Jacqueline. “She’s a sommelier,” he said conspiratorially. “You are Mathieau, yes? I am one of Nanine Laurent’s—”
“Yes! The owner told me one of Nanine’s beloved Courses was coming tonight, but I did not know which.” He rocked back on his heels. “Let me guess which one you are. From your bright smile, I would say that you are dessert. Mademoiselle, what do you think?”
The use ofmademoisellereminded him of their cave meeting. His stomach started the mamba, and he had to force a smile as Jacqueline looked over at him quizzically. “Nanine labeled all of my roommates and me after the courses in a French meal. Mathieau, I appreciate the guess, but alas, dessert is taken by another.”
He threw his hands in the air. “I give up, then.”
“I would guess the appetizer course, as it is constantly changing,” Jacqueline said thoughtfully.
He blinked. Yep. That was him. He loved ideas and he loved stimulus. “Wow! Okay, you nailed that one. Mathieau, please start us off with a round of your best champagne since the lady has won the prize.”
“Of course,” he said with a broad smile, bowing slightly. “I will let you look over the menus.”
He hurried off, making the ends of the white tablecloths flap slightly with his haste. “Jean Luc and Thea love this place, and so does Nanine. They said the beef bourguignon is to die for. No, wait, I have the French phrase. It’s drop-dead good: à tomber par terre,I think. Another misunderstanding we all enjoyed hearing about from our happy couple.”
“Your French is pretty good,” she continued in that language, running her finger down the red wine choices. “They have a fairly decent wine list for a bistro. How do you feel about a Gigondas? Think brandied fruit, spice, and a hint of earth, almonds, and truffle.”
“My mouth is already doing cartwheels,” he told her, making her lips curve as she set aside the wine menu. “I need to go to a wine tasting with you. I went to a fair number in San Francisco, but I’ve never heard anyone include truffles in a wine description before.”
She gave a sexy shrug. “What can I say. I smell what I smell.”
He liked that she was matter-of-fact about it. Some sommeliers he’d met at tastings and restaurants were wine snobs. “How did you become so passionate about wine?” Another shadow crossed her face, and he felt his stomach tighten. “You don’t have to talk about it if it gives you the cockroaches.”
A watery laugh greeted that bad joke, but she reached across the table and touched his arm. “I miss my dad, even more so now that I’m back in Paris, so speaking of why I love wine sometimes makes me very sad. He was the person who inspired my passion. I don’t know Nanine, but if she’s a chef like my father, I imagine she loves wine.”
He thought of how many years she and Bernard had spent wandering French vineyards and choosing special bottles for the cave that had been sold out from under her. “She does. I’m still a novice compared with her, but the value of a wine is about so much more than the wine itself.”
“Exactly!” She kept her hand on his sleeve, the shadows within her flickering from dark to light. “Like I told you the other night, it’s about the history, the families, the land, the harvest. Right now, winemakers are facing more challenges than ever before with extreme weather. Record-breaking heat and frosts, and let us not forget the devastating wildfires. And yet producers defy all odds every year to produce wine, and as a sommelier, I am looking for the ones that win against nature, so to speak.”
Passion radiated from her voice, and he was aware of the surrounding tables watching them. He couldn’t blame them. She was lit from within. That kind of story was what inspired people to buy wine, and again he felt those telling tingles.
“These incredible people,” she continued, “find a way to handle the shorter growing season or change their blends because their usual grapes do not have the same time to ripen. Winemaking around the world is on the cusp of great changes, but when you look at its long history, this is just another chapter.”
“Like that vineyard that survived the plague and wars, and the like,” he said, wanting her to know he’d listened.
“Yes!” She pointed to her empty glass. “We drink wine daily here in France, and many times we take its origins for granted, only focusing on what a pleasure it is for us to drink. But those stories will whisper secrets to our very souls if we’re wise enough to listen. The wine carries the courage and triumphs of the people who made it.”
More tingles. He wanted to applaud her impassioned speech, but that seemed too much, so he only laid his hand over the one she still had on his arm.
Pausing, she took a breath, as if his touch had brought her back to the ground. “And that’s what my father taught me and why I love wine so.”
He thought about all those dusty bottles in her father’s cave and realized he’d had the wrong perspective. Those bottles held the energy of the land and the people who’d created them, as well as the journey it had taken to create them. “Your father sounds like a great man. Nanine spoke well of him.”
