“You’re going to be surprised again.”
“Oh yeah?”
“How do you feel about bread-making and wine?”
Lines form on my head. “As in…”
He laughs to himself. “The Riverbell by the dock, they have a wine-and-loafs night once a month, and it just so happens that tonight is the night.” The moored riverboat is a restaurant that is borderline casual.
My brows rise, as I’m very impressed. “So, like a wine tasting with cheese and bread?”
“Sourdough bread. Not just any bread. Let’s get that clear. It’s a classy bread.”
Sputtering a laugh, I love this. “This is a first. Inventive, for sure.”
“I passed the make-it-or-break-it test?”
“With flying colors.”
Since we only need to park by the river, the drive is quick and parking is a breeze. He even opens my door, and I’m not sure if it’s to be genuine or to tease me about last time.
Either way, I’m already having fun, and when we walk up the dock onto the boat, there’s a nice vibe inside. The restaurant was refurbished a while ago, and inside are hanging lights, and the industrial feel gives an alternative flare. I see a long table, and we take our seats next to one another.
The cheese plate, olives, and other appetizers are a relief, as it’s enough to be a dinner.
“I don’t think I’ve ever made sourdough bread. Doesn’t it take forever?”
Keats shrugs while he studies the set list of wines for tonight. “They mentioned something about already having the starter yeast. Tonight is the dough and baking part. Not sure what that means, but I’m just going to trust it.”
I pinch his arm. “Using your hands to knead dough. I believe there is a sexy theory about hands and the ability to bake bread. You better prove the theory right.”
“Except you’ve already felt my hands, so your theory has been solved.” He pops an olive into his mouth.
“Do we get to take the bread home? And do I have to share? Because that might be a problem. My neighbor is dreadful.”
Keats turns in his seat to face me fully. “Listen, my little demon, as much as pushing one another’s buttons is our style,perhaps we can try another method of communication. A little more angelic, perhaps.”
My fingertips begin to feather the back of his hand that is resting on the table, and we both observe my actions. “I would like that,” I agree.
Our eyes meet, and we are both happy, having a good time, feeling the new direction of how we interact with one another. We almost get lost in the elation, but then Keats snaps out of it.
“Okay, bread-making. They said on the phone that we get to go home with sourdough starter, whatever the hell that means. Apparently, you need to take care of it like a plant. We get to mix the dough and knead it, and then they provide a different dough that’s already risen,” he explains.
I pick up the laminated sheet in front of us. “Wow, there are like a gazillion steps. This is what sophisticated bread does to us?”
“We can thank San Francisco for this. It’s the sourdough capital of the world, apparently. Well, actually, Germany has the most consumption of sourdough bread. Although the Polish make some damn good stuff, too.”
“Research much?”
He tries to hide his satisfied smile.
We order wine and a few minutes later, I’m picking up my glass of white wine, I take a sip. “Yum,” I comment on the drink.
Keats also takes a sip of his wine, although he poured a much smaller glass for himself since he’s driving. “I’m relieved you seem to be on board with tonight. I kind of noticed stuffy cocktail parties are not your thing and you prefer fields.”
“I would say that I like to mix up my social calendar, but I do love nature for my daily outings. My heart is with wildfields and farm feels for engagement photos. There is a creek just out of town, and that’s a great spot, too.”
“Your face lights up when you talk about it.”
