When the waiter came for our order, Juliet and I dutifully ordered the dishes that had been recommended to us, earning us huge smiles from the older couple.
"You own Mist Hollow, right?" Andrew asked, and I nodded. "Heard you're bringing it back to life. Sinclair lost interest toward the end."
"Ramon, my manager, he's the one who's bringing it back." He'd done what he could, but in the last few years John Sinclair owned the place, he hadn't invested in new equipment or even basic maintenance. "I just pay the bills."
"Modest." Andrew smiled. "Rumor has it you've been the driving force behind a lot of the changes."
"Ah." Juliet poured herself some water. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear. Some people invent the most ridiculous stories."
Leaving everyone within earshot to ponder that statement, Juliet lifted the glass of water to her lips, offering me a secret smile before drinking.
When the sommelier appeared at the table with a complimentary bottle of a very nice Tignanello, I poured glasses for myself and Juliet and offered some to Donna and Andrew who both declined.
The food arrived minutes later. Juliet took one delicate bite of a meatball and set her fork down. It was a contrast with the way she dug into her food at the vineyard, and I realized she'd automatically reverted to polite mode despite the informal setting.
"Donna." She turned to the older woman. "You were absolutely right."
"I know." Donna looked pleased. "The sauce too. You taste the wine in it."
"A reduction," Juliet said, already analytical. "They've added it late, after the tomatoes have broken down. You get the fruit without the acidity." She tasted again. "And there's something herby, I think."
"Marjoram," Donna supplied.
"Marjoram, really? I would never have thought of that."
As we ate, I noticed a table of young women across the room, stealing glances at us. One of them got to her feet and made her way over.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt," she said, stopping at Juliet's shoulder. "I recognized you and I just — could I get a photo? I completely understand if you'd rather not."
Juliet put her fork down and turned to face her fully. "Of course." With more grace than I'd have thought possible, she stood and swung one leg, then the other over the bench. She put her arm around the girl's shoulders and smiled at the phone as though there was nowhere she'd rather be. The girl thanked her twice and retreated to her table where her friends immediately clustered around the screen.
Juliet sat back down and picked up her fork.
"You're good at that," I said.
"At what?"
"Making people feel like they matter."
She looked up at me. "They do matter."
As I stared in awe at her, she held my gaze for a moment. Then she returned her attention to her plate.
During dessert, a woman in her forties stopped at Juliet's shoulder. Dressed in a plain black dress, she looked as if she was here for a business meeting, rather than a casual dinner.
"Miss Caldwell," she said. "We met on Halloween at the children's hospital in San Francisco two years ago."
Juliet studied her face closely. "Jenna. You're a nurse, right?"
The other woman's jaw almost hit the floor. "You remembered?"
"How could I forget someone who works so hard to make sure sick kids don't miss out on the fun?"
"What's this?" I asked.
"The hospital throws a party for some of the kids at Halloween," Juliet explained. "I was invited along with a few other people."
Jenna nodded enthusiastically. "Miss Caldwell dressed as a good witch. Some of the kids thought she was a real-life princess, though." She beamed widely as if remembering that day. "Well I'll let you get back to your meal. I just wanted to say hello, and we'd love it if you could come visit again someday."
