Eric makes her drink. “Let me know if you want seconds.”
I look at the shot glass Tony holds. It looks like some kind of whiskey. I could use a drink to calm my nerves. Eric is busy grinning at Sierra, so that leaves Tony to attend to me.
“Are you old enough to drink?” he asks.
“I’m twenty-one, but I’ll start with water,” I say. “Maybe I’ll have a glass of wine with dinner.”
Tony opens a glass bottle and pours a cup of water for me.
“Thanks,” I say. I still can’t tell what he thinks of me. I know he’s taken me in with one look of those dark eyes of his, and I find myself wishing I could look half as hot as Sierra. Or half as hot as him. His hair has less gel this time around, and he has on relaxed slacks and a lightweight sweater that shows off his broad shoulders and pecs.
“What’s your name?” he asks me.
It’s an obligatory question, one a drill sergeant might ask a new recruit.
“Virginia.”
He tries the name. “Virginia. Like the state?”
“Good Southern name, my mom says.”
He doesn’t say anything more. Next to us, Eric has wrapped his arm around Sierra. Tony and I stand at a stiff distance from each other.
I try to make polite conversation. “I’m not from Virginia, though. I’m from North Carolina. Tarheel state.”
He only stares at me. Assessing me.
I try harder. “You ever been there?”
“No. I’ve never traveled to the Southern United States.”
Glad to have a response from him, I continue, “Oh, it’s pretty. I miss the autumn colors especially. The seasons aren’t as distinct in California, though I’m not complaining as the weather is nice here. Do you come here, to California, often?”
“At least two to three times a year.”
Silence follows.
Luckily for me, dinner is served. I don’t know where the server came from. Does she live in the house or just work during the day?
We sit down at a table that seats twelve. Eric sits at the head of the table, Lee is to his right, and Sierra to his left. I decide to sit next to Sierra instead of Lee. The server starts us off with something called an aperitif. The appetizer is something called a tartare served in a glass garnished with capers and lime.
“This is like being in a fancy restaurant,” says Sierra as she finishes off the aperitif. “Do you eat like this every night?”
“Nah,” Eric replies. “My favorite food is good old American fare, pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers—with good homegrown beef. Not
that fancy Kobe beef.”
“I thought pizza is Italian,” Sierra giggles.
“Pizza in Italy is nothing like what we have here. There’s barely any cheese or toppings there. Americans have improved on it. The best things in life are either invented by Americans or improved by us.”
Lee raises a brow. “You drive an Audi.”
Eric bristles.
“And half the wines in your bar are French,” Lee adds.
“We’re catching up to the Frenchies on wine. Napa wines have kicked French ass. Before long, Florida wines will be up there with them. My father owns two wineries, one in Tampa and another in St. Augustine. Your family ever think about going into the wine business? It’s the fashionable thing to do. Everyone’s got to have their own label.”