But it's not just the dress or the hair that makes my mouth go dry. It's the way she moves - confident but slightly hesitant, like she's not entirely sure she belongs in a place this elegant. The way she runs her fingers nervously along the small clutch purse in her hands. The slight flush in her cheeks that could be from the cool October air or something else entirely.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, glancing around the dining room like she's expecting to see Dax materialize from behind one of the potted olive trees that line the windows.
"Dax couldn't make it." The lie comes easily - no need to mention that my brother simply couldn't be bothered to care about wine pairings. "Emma asked if I could fill in."
Savannah's scent reaches me as she slides into the booth across from me - vanilla and something floral, with an underlying note of nervous energy. The leather creaks softly under her weight, and I watch as she settles her clutch beside her, smooths her dress with careful hands. "Since when do you do wedding planning?"
"Since I want to support you in any way possible." I hold her gaze, watching the blush that spreads across her cheeks. "And I'm a better choice because Dax thinks wine comes in two varieties: red or white."
I signal the sommelier, who's been hovering nearby with poorly concealed impatience. A distinguished man in his sixties, silver-haired and wearing the kind of precise black suit that screams decades of experience in high-end establishments. "Besides, you always said I had good taste in food."
The comment earns me a small smile, the first genuine one I've seen from her since she came back. She leans forward slightly, elbows on the white tablecloth, and I catch another hintof her perfume - something expensive and subtle that makes me want to lean closer myself.
"You did always have an eye for cuisine. But if I'm honest with you, Xavier, nothing about this makes any sense."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"I get that Dax is the head alpha of the pack, but does that mean none of the other members take any interest in the wedding?"
The sommelier approaches with practiced efficiency, his posture radiating the kind of confidence that comes from years of guiding diners through complex wine selections. "Good evening. I'm Henri, and I'll be guiding you through tonight's tasting menu. We've prepared six courses with wine pairings, as requested by the bride."
"Every pack is different. They must have agreed this is how they wanted it to be," I say, answering Savannah's question while letting her know that I'm not about to criticize any pack. Especially one that has one of my best friends in it. I'm close to other guys, but nothing compared to the relationship I have with Dax, maybe because he went into medicine too, even if he is a vet.
Savannah settles back in her seat, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. The movement causes her dress to shift slightly, drawing my attention to the smooth line of her collarbone where a delicate gold necklace rests against her skin.
"Lead the way," she says, and her voice has taken on that smoky quality it gets when she's relaxing.
The first course arrives within minutes - seared scallops with cauliflower puree and pancetta crisps, paired with a Sancerre that's crisp and mineral-bright. I watch Savannah take her first sip, noting the way her eyes close for a moment as she processes the flavors.
"Good?" I ask.
"Better than good." She takes another sip, more thoughtful this time. "The wine's got this almost citrus finish that complements the scallops without overwhelming them."
Impressive. Most people would have just said it tasted fine. "You've been practicing your wine vocabulary."
"College. I took a food and wine appreciation class as an elective." She cuts into a scallop, and I catch the slight flush in her cheeks. "The professor was... very thorough in his instruction."
"Did you enjoy the class?" I keep my voice carefully neutral.
"Parts of it." Her brown eyes meet mine across the table, and there's something almost challenging in her gaze. "Though I always preferred learning from people who actually cared about the subject, not just showing off."
The second course follows quickly - duck confit with cherry gastrique and roasted fingerling potatoes, paired with a Burgundy that's rich and earthy. The conversation flows easier now, lubricated by good wine and better food.
"Emma's really outdone herself with this menu," Savannah says, savoring a bite of duck. "Remember when her idea of cooking was burning instant mac and cheese?"
"She's come a long way. Though I still don't trust her with anything more complicated than pasta," I confess.
"Says the man who once tried to make soufflé and nearly burned down the kitchen."
"That was one time. And technically, the soufflé was perfect. It was the oven that malfunctioned."
Savannah laughs, the sound warm and familiar. "Sure it was. Just like it was the oven's fault when you tried to make crème brûlée and set off every smoke alarm in the house."
"I was experimenting with technique."
This is when it dawns on me that she remembered our first conversation from our first date. Why did I have to be so cruelback then, pretending my sister was my girlfriend just so I wouldn't have to go on another date with her?
The third course - lamb tenderloin with rosemary jus and roasted root vegetables, paired with a Côtes du Rhône - arrives as the conversation takes on a more personal tone. The wine is bold and complex, with layers of dark fruit and spice that unfold with each sip. I notice Savannah's cheeks are flushed now, a rosy pink that extends down her neck and disappears beneath the neckline of her dress. She's loosened up considerably, her posture more relaxed, one leg crossed over the other in a way that makes the hem of her dress ride up slightly.
