Page 62 of Geordie

A rambling invitation to lunch is unlike him. Has he injured himself again and doesn't want to admit that he needs help? No, I don't think his pride would prevent him from calling me if he needed me; we've passed that hurdle. “I have nothing planned for lunch today,” I say, swiping up my phone calendar to make sure. “It would be nice to have a break in my schedule. A mini wine tasting sounds fun. I'll be there at noon.”

I switch the brown box of shortbread to my left hand to knock on the door. A muffled, high-pitched squeal, a crash, and the thumping of feet are coming from behind the door. I check the number on the door to make sure I'm at Geordie's place.

When there's pounding, like an elephant running across the floor, I take a step back. My hand plunges into my bag for the key I still have. Fingers hunt for the single piece of metal among an endless number of purse essentials. The door opens by inches until a cherub-faced child reveals herself dressed in a pink, glittery tulle dress and a pink crown. “Are you here for tea?” she asks, smiling up at me with cheeks rouged bright red.

“Emmy, no,” Geordie calls, scooping her up in his arms. I jump back at Geordie holding a child, a little royal person in his arms. That I could probably handle, but it's this big man with the identical pink crown set back on his head and circles of red on his cheeks that I can't process.

“Geordie?”

“Aye, sorry, Lily. I lost track of time. Come in, it won't take me long to order our lunch.” He closes the door and I'm still staring at them. He adjusts the child on his hip. “Lily, this is Emmy.”

“Princess Emmy,” the girl corrects, slipping her arms around his neck. “We're at a tea party. Want to come?”

“I like your matching crowns,” I say.

He puts the child down. “Join your dollies, wee yin. We'll be there in a moment.”

Emmy scampers, pink tulle swishing as she exits. Geordie snatches off the fake jeweled crown before we stroll after the child. It does nothing to restore his dignity; he still has the two bright spots of red on his cheeks.

“Did you adopt a child?”

He shakes his head. “No, Emmy is the daughter of a friend. He had a work emergency. His regular sitter is on vacation, so he asked me to take Emmy. I have the wine tasting set up in the kitchen. I'll pour the first wine, then I'll call our lunch order in.”

“What about the pink princess?”

He glances at the girl sitting at the coffee table serving tea from a white, flowered tea pot to three dolls and a stuffed animal all wearing tiny crowns. “She'll be fine for a while; I can monitor her from here. Emmy might insist on joining us for lunch. It shouldn’t be a problem. Her dad dropped off her food with the rest of her things.”

“Give me a second,” I say, walking ahead of him into the kitchen. I stop near the sink to rummage in the linen drawer I organized. Snatching a clean, blue-striped dishcloth, I run a stream of water onto the small square of cotton, squirt hand soap on it, and hand it to him. “I think you forgot about your makeover. If you're going to wear blush, you need to blend it in.”

Red creeps over his skin as he snatches the towel from me, mumbling his thanks, while violently rubbing at his cheeks. “Is it gone?” Pausing to allow me to view his efforts, I step closer to peer at his ruddy skin. His cheeks are blazing red from his rubbing, but no makeup remains. “I think you're back to your old self.”

He tosses the soiled towel into the sink. Geordie swipes the first of three bottles lined up on the kitchen counter, pouring a small portion into a glass, then sliding it over to me. I slip onto the stool, picking up the glass and studying its contents. He gives me a brief introduction to the wine, ending with the possible food pairings for the vintage. I take my first sip, watching him dial the restaurant while keeping an eye on his charge. He ends his conversation, leaning his elbows on the counter still holding his phone. “What do you think of the wine?”

“I like this. I'll use the pairing suggestions when we're working on the new menu.” I drain the glass. Geordie pours the next offering. “Are you waiting for the food before you drink?”

“I'll not drink alcohol while Emmy is here. I take my responsibility to the child seriously. I visit Emmy and her dad as much as they will allow me.” He radiates love as he watches her play in her little pink princess world. “She's great training for when I have my own bairn. I've grown attached to this wee yin.”

Sadness nips at me, a reminder that my dream of having a child is a long way off. I take a sip of the second wine, too deep in my self-pity to hear Geordie's information about this vintage. The tasting portion is small—it's for evaluation, not to get drunk—but I'm sure if I asked, he would pour more. I inhale the portion and set it down.

“How's Dalliance?”

The question helps me tear my thoughts away from my pressing concerns to be present with him.

“Great! We’re on track with Catriona, our meal with the committee is scheduled, and I'm considering hiring a restaurant consultant to help us attract the Michelin inspectors.”

He swipes the third bottle and pours a taste into the glass. “I think you'll like this. Although it's young, it's tasting well and promises to be even better as it ages.”

The doorbell rings.

“Excuse me. This must be the delivery,” he says before leaving the kitchen.

I leave my stool, antsy to be doing something. I assemble cutlery, glasses, stuff we'll need. I'm pulling out a tray stowed in a lower cabinet.

“Lily, I want you to meet William.”

Geordie stands next to a tanned, sinewy man with a mop of dark hair, as if he lives his life in the sun, an arm curled around the little pink princess on his hip. I place the tray on the counter.

“Glad to meet you, William,” I say and catch the eye of the girl. “Your daughter is beautiful.”

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