Method

“You seem to know a lot about a lot.”

“An education and good manners don’t always equal rich and entitled. I don’t know why I’m justifying it to you when you drive a car that could pay for a semester at Harvard.”

We’d been sharing smiles and stealing glances at each other through easy conversation, but things seem to have turned serious. It’s been months since I’ve been on a date, and I’m being defensive. I brave a look in his direction and can’t tell if I’ve offended him with my blunt tongue. “I just…I don’t want you to think that way of me. I’m no princess.”

He takes a seat next to me as I carefully unpack the basket.

“Okay, then I won’t.”

I look to see his eyes scouring my face.

We share a slow building smile before he eyes the contents which consist of mixed cheeses, spiced pears, chocolate, and three bottles of wine.

His velvety voice surrounds me in a caress. “So, sommelier, you’re on.”

“And what do I get if you like one of the wines?” I’m blushing, I know I am, and it’s rare.

He gives me a million-dollar flash of teeth. “I may know a few people who could use a sommelier.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

“Reputation is everything around these parts,” he mutters dryly. “Or didn’t you know?”

“I forgot to care,” I say, uncorking a bottle and pulling out two plastic wine glasses.

His voice rumbles low. “Then we have that in common.”

“Good,” I say smartly. “I was beginning to think we wouldn’t find much.”

He pushes some hair off my shoulder, and I visibly shudder from the contact. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing, Mila. I’m not the type of guy you want to have much in common with.”

He’s not apologetic about it, nor is he asking for sympathy. I frown anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t grow up in a beautiful place that inspired me.”

“But something inspired you,” I reply.

“Someone.”

“Ah,” I say, pouring the wine and handing it to him. “Tell me about her.”

“Why does it have to be a her?”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, sitting back with a glass in hand.

“Yes, but she was much older.”

“Like Mrs. Robinson older?”

“Who?”

I lower my glass. “The movie. The Graduate? Dustin Hoffman and Anne Bancroft?”

He shakes his head. “Haven’t seen that one.”

“Wow. I assumed it was a prerequisite to memorize that movie before you become an actor.”