He nods.
I lift my glass. “We didn’t toast.”
“I guess we didn’t.” He picks up his glass. “Salute.”
I smile. “Cheers in Italian. Appropriate for the meal, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘to us.’” I clink my glass to his.
His expression tightens.
Oh, Dale. You’re still fighting this.
His silence goes on for a few seconds that seem like days. Until finally—
“To us.”
His voice is low and rich, its burgundy color saturating me.
He means it. He really means it.
We both take a sip. I want desperately to probe him with questions about his unrequited love. Who wouldn’t love Dale Steel? I yearn to break down his walls, get inside him, help him see the wonder of all he is.
Don’t push. I’ve gotten this far, and I can’t ruin it. Even though Dale is trying, part of his countenance is still rigid. Any mistake on my part, and our whole deal could be off.
This man means everything to me, and I can’t risk losing what he’s offered.
I smile, take another sip of my wine, and set the glass down. “Tell me something about yourself,” I say.
He widens his eyes. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything. I know very little about you.”
“I’m sure Dee filled you in.”
“Just on your personality. How you’re a little hard on people sometimes.”
“And I suppose you agree with her?”
I can’t hold back a laugh. “I’d say it was an understatement. With regard to me, anyway. Then I see you during tastings, and you’re smiling and jubilant.”
“My job at tastings is to sell wine. You should understand that, given your sommelier aspirations.”
“I do understand that, but you prove that you do have people skills, despite what Ryan says.”
“I do. I believe I’ve told you before that I bring them out when necessary.”
“Tell me why.”
“Why what?”
“Why do you only bring them out when necessary?”
He takes a sip of wine. “There’s no simple answer to that question, so I’ll answer another. You want me to tell you something about me. Something you don’t know. Here goes.” He inhales, exhales slowly. “My favorite color is blue.”
That’s what I get? Granted, I didn’t put any limitations on the question. So I’ll roll with it. “Really? That’s surprising.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never seen you wear blue. You wear black or green. I think you wore a white shirt one time.”
“I look good in black and green. They both bring out the color of my eyes.”
“You’ll get no argument from me there. You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m puzzled, though.”
“Why?”
“Because you seem almost… I don’t know. Like your looks don’t matter to you.”
“My looks aren’t who I am.”
“Exactly my point. So why do you wear colors that show off one of your best features?”
He takes another sip of wine.
Ha! He can’t answer. I’m loving this.
Finally, “I guess I don’t know.”
“It’s okay, you know. Everyone wants to accentuate their best features. It’s simply…human.”
“Except my looks…” He stares down at his wineglass.
“What?”
He jerks his head back up. “Nothing. All’s fair now. Your turn. Tell me something about yourself.”
I take a sip, draining my wineglass. The smooth Barbera is like silk on my tongue. I want to open up, tell him everything about my past. Let him inside me the way I want to be inside him. But it’s too soon for that. I feel it in my bones.
“Okay,” I say. “My favorite gemstone is the garnet.”
Then my heart thuds. Did I just tell him my favorite gemstone? Is that going to sound like I’m gunning for a gift of jewelry? From this man who doesn’t love me? Who wants me but is only willing to commit to me for two months?
Should’ve gone with the whole favorite color routine.
I totally wasn’t thinking.
He stands and takes our empty wineglasses to the sink. “Coffee?” he asks.
I open my mouth to remind him I don’t drink coffee, when—
“Sorry. You don’t drink coffee.”
“No.”
I guess the gemstone conversation is over.
He starts a pot of coffee, for himself, I presume, and then turns to me. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
“Okay.” I stand and follow him to his bedroom, trying not to think about how I woke up here alone.
He walks to his large chest and opens the top drawer. He pulls out a large velvet jewel box and opens it, showing it to me.
I gasp. Nestled on the black velvet is a garnet necklace. Three strands of tiny gems put together in a woven pattern so that it looks almost like rope. It’s beautiful and unique, like nothing I’ve ever seen.
“It was my mother’s,” he says. “My real mother. Her name was Cheri.”
I drop my mouth open. Is this the same man who told me Jade was his real mother? His language perplexes me, but only for a moment, as I can’t draw my gaze from the beautiful piece of art in the velvet jewel case.