She stepped back as he came through the door with three bottles in his arms.
“Wow, you think those are any good?” she asked. “Paul and I were afraid to touch any of them after my dad died. How do you know if they’ve spoiled?”
“All these reds, and the others down there, get better with age. Some of the ports and merlots are more than forty years old. That could produce a lovely full-bodied wine.”
“Or give us food poisoning?” She stared at the dusty bottles he set on the counter.
“We can tell by the aroma when we open them. I brought up three choices just in case some have turned to vinegar. Want to start with a merlot?”
She shrugged, presenting him with a corkscrew. “Whatever you think is best. You’re the expert.”
He took the bottles to the sink where he washed and dried them, then proceeded to open one. He held it out to her to sniff, but she just wrinkled her nose. He took a whiff, then smiled. “Smells just fine.”
She got out four wineglasses, then sat down on an island stool, watching as he poured a sample before swirling it. “It needs to aerate,” he explained, holding it up to the light and studying the liquid going around the glass. “But it looks and smells good.”
“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” She munched on a cheese cracker, waiting for him to quit playing with his wine and take a test swig. Hopefully he wouldn’t immediately crumple to the floor from poisoning.
Finally, he brought the glass to his lips and tried the old wine. “This is perfectly lovely.” His victorious smile crinkled the edges of his eyes. “Not too full-bodied, but smooth and sweet. Fruity traces of berries or maybe cherries.” He took another sip. “And chocolate notes.”
“Chocolate notes?” She picked up the bottle and sniffed.
He held out his empty glass. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”
Amused at his Oliver Twist impression, she refilled his glass and then filled one for herself, taking a tiny sip. Not bad. She took another sip, this time letting it roll around in her mouth to really taste it. “Wow, this really is good. Who would’ve thought anything drinkable was in these dusty old bottles?”
“You know what they say.” He raised his glass. “Wine and women ... both get better with age.”
Too embarrassed to respond, she took yet another sip, then pointed at him. “What about for men? What’s their saying for getting older? What gets better with aging men?”
He seemed to consider this. “Old pickups?”
She chuckled. “Well, I’ll admit I was admiring your old pickuptoday. Reminds me of one that Paul had.” She set her glass down. “I do think I taste a smidgeon of chocolate,” she told him. “And there’s kind of a spicy taste too. What’s that?”
“That is the sign of a very good wine.” He clinked his glass against hers. “Here’s to new beginnings in an old house ... and to wine and women improving with age.”
“And to helpful old dudes with cool pickups,” she added.
They both laughed.
“Looks like the party is starting,” Laurel said, joining them.
“Come have a glass of this wonderful merlot.” Marcus shared about unearthing bottles in the cellar. “Very nicely aged.”
“This house is just full of surprises.” Laurel took the glass he offered. “I’m not usually a merlot fan, but I’ll try it.”
“I better get my pasta water boiling.” Riva went over to the stove, listening as Laurel and Marcus discussed the merits of the merlot as well as other wines. It sounded like Laurel was a bit of a wine expert too. As Riva covered the pot, she noticed Laurel’s attire. Sleek black pants and a silky turquoise top. For Laurel, this was very dressed up.
“You look nice,” Riva told her as she returned to her stool.
“Well, you said we were celebrating.” Laurel picked up a piece of cheese. “I thought I should dress for the occasion.”
Riva glanced down at her own T-shirt and khakis. Both were a bit rumpled from her day of errands. And her hair was still in its original ponytail from this morning. But there was no time to spruce up now. She needed to get the pasta cooked and the table set. “I thought we should eat in the dining room,” she told them while she removed plates from a cabinet and silverware from a drawer. “Since we’re being festive.”
“Need help?” Laurel offered.
“Nah, I got this. You stay and visit with Marcus and make sure my pasta water doesn’t boil over.” Riva carried the place settings out to the dining room, then hunted down matching placemats and napkins and got it all set. She even added a pair of half-usedcandlesticks to the table. She returned to the kitchen for matches and put some of the blooms from her arrangement in a smaller vase before returning to the dining room. Okay, it wasn’t exactly elegant, but it was cheerful. And the first time since losing Paul she’d set up a meal in here. Baby steps, right?
She lit the candles, then lingered in the dining room for a long moment, fighting back tears as she remembered the last time she and Paul had dined in here over candlelight. It had been wintertime. There was a dusting of snow outside, and it had been just the two of them. He’d just gotten his diagnosis, and she’d fixed his favorite rib-eye roast with roasted vegetables. His awful treatments hadn’t begun yet, but neither of them had much appetite anyway. And thanks to his new restricted diet, enjoyable dining experiences soon fell by the wayside.
