Page 28 of Whisking It All

WhiskyBusiness: You didn’t see the way he was looking at me.

DiceDiceBaby: How was that?

WhiskyBusiness: Like he hates me.

DiceDiceBaby: Can you say no?

WhiskyBusiness: Not really.

WhiskyBusiness: And I kind of don’t want to. I think I could be good at it.

WhiskyBusiness: I like that they’re trusting me with this project, ya know? It feels important.

DiceDiceBaby: Important how?

WhiskyBusiness: It’s complicated. Like, details-we-don’t-share-with-each-other complicated.

DiceDiceBaby: Do you ever wonder if everything would be less complicated if we just went crazy and shared those details with each other?

WhiskyBusiness: All the time.

Chapter 10

“We’ll definitely use the chardonnay,” Jamie said, taking the half empty bottle and moving it to the left side of the table where he and Tessa had been placing the wines they intended to build their menu around.

“And the Vidal Blanc,” Tessa added, pointing to that bottle with her wine glass before taking another small sip.

“We don’t need the Vidal if we have the chardonnay. They’ll both pair with cream sauces and seafood.” Jamie took the bottle and placed it on the right side of the table with the rejected wines.

After two hours in the vineyard’s tasting room, Jamie was starting to get the distinct impression that they were just playing a game of musical wine bottles as they shuffled them back and forth across the table rather than getting closer to any solid decisions. As much as he resented having Tessa foisted upon him as co-chair, forcing him to spend extra time with the one woman he should not be spending any time with, he couldn’t deny that there was some relief to having a partner in the planning for the festival, to know it wasn’t all on him.

Tessa glared at him and moved the bottle to the left side of the table with the other keepers. “The Vidal has hints of pineapple and grapefruit, and the chardonnay is more apple and nuts. One is bright citrus and the other is silky butterscotch. They’re totally different.”

Jamie blinked, his mind struggling to process the revelation that her palette was refined enough to taste those subtleties in the wine. “We don’t need both.”

He wasn’t sure why he was arguing with her. She was right, and now that she’d pointed out the differences, he could picture it—a pumpkin ravioli with lobster tails and a chardonnay browned butter. Pineapple marinated in the Vidal Blanc, bruléed and served with herb crusted fried goat cheese. He scribbled the thoughts down on his notepad before the inspiration left him.

Tessa leaned in close, watching as he wrote. “Fried sage.” He glanced at her, waiting for her to complete her thought. “And pine nuts. For the ravioli. Agnolotti would be even better, but I’m not the one making fresh pasta, so that’s up to you.”

Well, shit. Tessa’s suggestions would take the dish to a whole new level. Anabel wasn’t as confident in her filled pastas, so he’d have to make the agnolotti himself, but it would be worth it to achieve the more delicate dough to filling ratio.

“You could demonstrate the pasta making technique. I’m sure women would line up to see you kneading pasta dough,” Tessa said, her eyes lingering on his forearms before she swallowed another sip of the wine.

A wave of lust spread through him as he stared at her faux-innocent smile. They were in her father’s vineyard, for Christ’s sake. What the fuck was she trying to do?

Tessa tapped his notebook with a smug smile. “Write it down.”

“Do you have any of your own recipes to contribute or are you just going to piggyback on mine?” he grumbled, gesturing to where her own notebook lay closed in front of her.

It was one thing to build on someone else’s recipe, and entirely another to conceptualize a dish all on your own. At least, that’s what he told himself. His snarky question had nothing at all to do with the frustration that he hadn’t thought of adding pine nuts himself—he would have eventually—or that, for a minute, he wanted to bend her over the table and drink the wine straight from her lips.

Was she flirting?

Fuck, he didn’t even know anymore.

Who cares if she’s flirting? Nothing can happen.

She leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of the Vidal before setting her glass down. “Skip the pineapple. It sounds great, but there are no pineapples growing in Rhode Island and if we want to highlight the area, we should stick with local produce.”

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