Two nights later, Dash returned to the restaurant, this time by himself. He hung out at the bar, telling stories and making the bartender and the patrons laugh. Rosalyn could feel his eyes on her as she hustled here and there, taking orders and fetching drinks. They exchanged nods a few times, and she grew warm under his gaze. At one point he waved her over to order a half dozen Tomales Bay oysters and a tasting plate of local artisanal cheese. She made sure the oysters were freshly shucked and properly chilled and the cheeses were at room temperature, and brought them to him with a small basket of fresh sourdough bread.
“This looks wonderful, Rosalyn. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” she said with a nod, returning to work. For the next half hour, two large tables of families celebrating birthdays kept her busy, and by the time she glanced over at the bar, Dash was leaving. She chided herself for feeling disappointed when he slipped out of the restaurant without saying good-bye.
The bartender Phil waved her over.
“Those must have been some oysters, Rosalyn,” he said with a wink, handing her two crisp hundred-dollar bills. “He specified that these are for you.”
“He what? This is for me?” she asked. “There must be some mistake.”
Phil shrugged. “You ask me, somebody’s got an admirer.”
She ran out to the parking lot and spied him opening the door of his late-model Lexus. “Wait, Mr. Acosta—”
He stopped, and turned toward her. “It’s Dash. Please.”
“Dash, then.” She held the money out to him. “Look, I appreciate the thought. I really do. But I did nothing to deserve this kind of money.”
“I’m a big tipper.”
“Not this big. Not usually, I’ll bet. Is it because of what I saidyesterday, about the unpaid internship? Because I’m serious. I knew it was unpaid when I accepted the position. I’m doing it for the experience.”
“It’s not about that.”
“Then... why?”
“I want to make you happy.”
She paused. “Why would you want to do that?”
He stepped toward her, his dark eyes studying her hair, her eyes, her mouth. For a moment she thought he was about to lean down and kiss her, and her heart started to race, her breath coming quickly.
Then he flashed a jaunty grin, ducked his head, and said, “Shouldn’t we all want to make each other happy?”
“I...” She was at a loss for what to say, but handed him the money. “Seriously, I wouldn’t feel right about keeping this. I wasn’t raised that way.”
“You weren’t raised to earn money? What are you, a trust fund baby in disguise?”
She laughed. “Not exactly, no. But two hundred dollars for serving two appetizers is a bit much.”
He let out a loud sigh, looked at her a moment, and said, “Split the difference?”
She hesitated, then nodded and handed him one of the bills.
“You drive a hard bargain, Rosie.”
She felt his eyes on her as she returned to the restaurant.
The next few times she was in the winery office, Dash came by, greeted her with his easy smile, and went about his business. Rosalyn found herself dwelling on thoughts of him. The way he dressed in jeans and a sport coat, like a cross between a farmer and a businessman. The way his dark hair curled at the collar, a bit longer than she usually found attractive, but in his case she made an exception. She wondered where he lived, how old he was, if he had a wife or agirlfriend. One day he gave her and the other two office interns a book on wine. Hers was dedicated:Hope this makes you happy.
When she mentioned she loved to paint, he asked what her favorite pigment was. The next morning, she found on her desk a tube of natural ultramarine, a precious—and expensive—blue pigment, decorated with a cheesy bow. She liked the bow almost more than the paint.
“Ultramarine blue was the most precious color to the Renaissance painters,” she said, admiring the tube. “It’s made of ground lapis lazuli stone.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“And it’s a darn sight more appetizing than ‘mummy brown,’ which was actually made of pulverized mummies.”
