We click glasses before I take a sip, moaning at the taste. I thought I knew what good wine was, and Sal always amused me by keeping his office well stocked with my drink of choice. Only it turns out, I knewnothing.
Sal introduced me to a world of different flavors, and now I’m obsessed.
“Where’s this one from?” I ask, glancing behind me to see if I recognize the label on the bottle.
Sal smiles, always enjoying it when he finds something I like. “This one’s Australian. The Barossa Valley to be exact. It’s from a boutique vineyard specializing in Shiraz.”
“A boutique that sells in the US?”
“Nope. I had it delivered especially for you to try.”
“What?” I swivel in his grasp until I’m facing him, careful not to drop the red on our light gray couch. “That’s amazing. How did you find them?”
“A friend vacationed in Australia last year. He did a road trip through a few of their wine regions, and this was his favorite. Since I know you like that fuller flavor, I thought we should try it.”
“Just like that?”
“Yep.”
“Did you send your private jet to collect it?” Yes, Mr. Salvatore D’Angelo finally bought his own jet. And yet, he rarely uses it.
“Yes, Keeley,” he deadpans. “I sent my jet. I also forced Tabitha to go, to ensure we got the correct bottle.”
“You’re not the comedian that you think you are.”
“Sure I am. Anyway, I had it shipped here. It was their first shipment to the US but they were happy to oblige considering…”
“Considering what?” I eye him suspiciously.
“I may have bought a few cases.”
“A few?” My eyes widen as he shrugs. “What if I didn’t like it?”
“It was a risk I was willing to take. What if you did? Then I’d have to go and order more.”
“Heaven forbid.” A soft laugh escapes me as I pat his leg. Sal’s great with his money, until it comes to pleasing me. I should really tell him to stop…or not.
“It’s a moot point anyway,” he continues, waving me off. “You loved it.”
“How do you know?”
“The moan.”
“Oh, right. I loved it,” I admit, making Sal smile.
“I’m happy you feel that way because we have enough to last us until we’re old and gray.”
“Ummm. How do I say this nicely?” I purse my lips, furrowing my brow exaggeratedly as I glance away in thought.
“Don’t,” Sal warns.
“Don’t what?” I innocently bat my eyelids and he huffs.
“Don’t say it,” he warns again.
“What? That you’re already old and gray?”
“Yep, that.”
