“The lemon deficiency is real,” he said seriously. “But I also heard a rumor on a whiskey forum I’m in that they might have gotten a rare bottle drop here.”
“Costco sells rare whiskey?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Oh, sweet baby Ada. I can’t wait to blow your mind.”
We jumped down from the car and headed inside. Charlie grabbed a cart and flashed his membership card at the bouncer at the door. She was an elderly woman with pure white hair and a red hat, so I wasn’t exactly sure who they were trying to keep out. But she was serious about checking the ID card.
We wandered through the electronics and a surprising amount of clothes with an even more surprising number of people shopping those clothes, and finally ended up in the alcohol section.
“Holy cow, you weren’t kidding.” I whistled. “What?” I picked up a massive bottle of Canadian whisky. “This is twenty dollars cheaper than the place by my house. That’s insane.” I added it to the cart.
Charlie eyed it curiously. “Ada, you sit at home drinking Canadian whisky?”
“First of all, it’s good. Second of all, I mix this one. Old-fashioneds. Manhattans. Lemonade. Whatever the mood strikes.”
He shook his head, picked it up, put it back, then grabbed a similarly priced Four Roses. “You can add this to the life tips you owe me.”
I sputtered a laugh but didn’t exchange his exchange. I hadn’t noticed the Four Roses bottle. We browsed all the whiskey. The bottle he was looking for was already gone. But then there was gin. And then vodka. And then we got a little lost in the wine section.
We kept picking stuff out for each other.
“Do you drink wine?” I watched him hold a Malbec up to the light.
He didn’t look at me, but a shy smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I’ve just gotten into it recently. My friend Steve drinks it all the time, so he’s introduced me to a few styles I like. I was thinking about getting him a bottle, but I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
I reached for a bottle next to him. “I have no idea if this is true or not, but someone once told me you can tell how good a bottle is by how deep the indent on the bottom is.”
“What?” He laughed.
I turned the bottle in my hand over and showed him the shallow concaved dome. I ran my fingers over it, and said, “See? This is like medium deep.”
Charlie made a valiant attempt at keeping a straight face. He turned the bottle in his hand over and found a deeper indent. He ran two fingers across it. “Mmm, this one is deeper.”
I snorted and reached for a different bottle. “Even deeper,” I said.
He picked up another bottle and held it out for me. “Try this one.”
I ignored the huskiness to his voice and slowly inserted my two fingers into the deep hole, then swirled them around. A giggle bubbled out of me.
“Fuck, Ada, warn a guy before you turn wine shopping into some kind of erotic affair.”
I tipped my head back, laughing. When I met his gaze again, he genuinely looked frazzled. “Oh sorry,” I teased. “Just trying to help you find the best bottle for Steve.”
He leaned in. “Definitely bringing you on more Costco trips.”
Feeling full of the fucking devil, I leaned in and said, “Next time, I’ll show you how to pick out a good whiskey bottle.”
“Do I want to know?”
“You’re supposed to see how deep the neck will go—” I opened my mouth and gestured at the back of my throat.
“Fuck me.”
I patted his reddened cheek. “Just kidding.” I took control of the cart and pushed it toward the front of the store.
“You’re evil,” he said, laughing. He put two of the bottles of wine we’d been looking at in the cart.
“For Steve?”
