Raising the Stakes

Gray was leaning toward her on his elbows, his fingertips steepled under his chin, and smiling.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I said, this bar is wonderful and so are you.” His smile tilted. “Do you have any idea how formidably efficient you look when you’re at work?”

She laughed. “I’m supposed to look efficient, but not formidable. `Friendly, efficient, courteous and accessible,’ is what it says in the job description.”

“Well, okay. Maybe `formidable’ is a stretch. And you certainly charm the customers. Just like you charmed me.”

He was flirting with her, and she had no idea how to respond. Dealing with a guest was easy. Dealing with a man you knew, a man you found interesting, wasn’t. Plus, she knew she was blushing. God, but she felt like an idiot!

“Thank you,” she finally said, and because she couldn’t think of anything else to do, she picked up a coaster from the table and stared at it as if the print weren’t swimming before her eyes.

“Beer?”

She looked at him. She’d only tasted beer once, when Harman had insisted, and she’d hated it. Was it all right to say no, thank you, she didn’t like beer? Or were you supposed to be agreeable to whatever your date selected? A little thrill of excitement danced down her spine as she realized that this was her very first date. Harman had never taken her anywhere, not even before they were married. He’d just shown up at the trailer and she’d make him coffee—and what was the matter with her, thinking about Harman tonight? Better yet, what was the matter with her, thinking she’d ever have to do or say anything she didn’t want to do or say, just to please a man?

“No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I don’t like beer.”

“Ah. Sorry. I just figured, since you’re reading that coaster…”

“What?” She looked at the coaster, saw the list of beer brands on it and dropped it on the table. “Oh. Oh, no. I just happened to pick it up because—”

“Because you’re nervous.”

“Don’t be silly. Why would I be nervous?”

“I don’t know,” Gray said softly. He reached for her hands, clasped them in his. They were icy-cold, and he remembered how he’d badgered her into agreeing to meet him. “

I’m not going to bite.” He smiled. “Not unless you want me to.”

Her face turned bright pink. What was he doing? Jonas had asked him to talk with this woman, spend a little time with her so he could form an impression of what she was like. Well, he had that chance now but he was coming on to her instead of talking to her.

Maybe it would be a good idea to start thinking of this as an interview rather than a date. He let go of her hands and sat back.

“Okay,” he said briskly, “no beer. What would you like, then? Wine? Champagne? A cocktail?”

“Mineral water would be fine.”

“Come on. Have some wine.” He grinned. “Let me show off a little. You know, the whole bit. I get to browse the wine list with a serious look on my face.”

His brow furrowed; his mouth turned down. Dawn smiled.

“Then I have this long conversation with the waiter. Sorry. With the sommelier. I ask him about vintages. Maybe we talk about climates and terrains. Then he says, very solemnly, that they have half a dozen special bottles of an impossible-to-get sauvignon blanc from some rarefied California vineyard tucked away in the wine cellar.”

“Not French?” Dawn asked, laughing as she got into the spirit of things.

“French whites are pass;aae, compared to this stuff from California. That’s what the sommelier would say, if I asked. But I don’t ask because I know better than to let him know I’m not onto this stuff, so when he mentions the wine, I light up brighter than the Strip. He produces the bottle, we ooh and ahh and watch carefully as he uncorks it and presents the cork for me to sniff. I nod, he pours an inch, I sip, I nod again. He pours for you and fills my glass. You and I sip, we smile, we discuss the color, the bouquet, the fact that the wine reminds us of a rare vintage from the southwest corner of a particular vineyard in the Loire Valley where wines like this were produced, maybe five generations ago…” He drew a slow, deliberate breath. “Are you really going to deny me all that?” he said, and she stopped laughing long enough to say she couldn’t possibly be that unkind.

“In that case…” He picked up the card she’d been reading, turned it over and read the wine selection. Then he signaled the waiter, ordered a wine without any consultation at all, and when it arrived, waved away the tasting and sniffing. “If it’s no good,” he told the waiter pleasantly, “I’ll let you know.”

Dawn smiled. “That’s it?”

“Disappointed?”

“No. Actually I can never watch someone going through that other routine without wanting to laugh.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll do some of it for an expensive bottle but not for a nice, everyday wine, which is pretty much all this place offers.” Gray lifted his glass. “Salud.”