Thankfully, the waiter arrives, and Gabriel orders a glass of each. When the man leaves, my dinner companion shoots me a knowing grin. “We can share, since I like both.”
Share.
Like we did the dessert when we met at the café.
Tingles spread across my bare shoulders, evoked both from the past and from the present. From the memory of the day we met and split a Tarta de Santiago almond cake with a caramel layer on the bottom, and the here and now as we share wine. When the waiter brings our two red beverages, Gabriel slides the sangria to me first. “I have a feeling it’s what you really wanted.”
You’re what I really want.
“Maybe I secretly craved the Tempranillo,” I tease.
He gestures to both. “Ladies first, then. Have your pick.”
I take a drink of the Tempranillo. It’s both sweet and sharp. “It tastes like cherry and black pepper,” I say, adopting a faux snooty tone.
He laughs. “We have a wine connoisseur on our hands, I see.”
Wrapping my arms around the glass, I pretend I’m hoarding the Tempranillo. “This is delicious, and I shall keep it all to myself.”
He laughs, leaning his head back and running a hand through his hair. My eyes follow his fingers and their destination. This time I find myself wondering if his hair is as soft as it was then. In an instant, my imagination runs wild, and I want to know how those strands feel when I curl my hands around his head as he moves his lips down my body. He brought me such highs with that mouth. That wickedly talented mouth.
Oh, dear heavenly dirty fantasy. I press my thighs together as a pulse beats between my legs.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he says, lowering his voice, and for a moment I tense, thinking he knows who I am and can tell that I’m still turned on by him. Will he mock me for toying with him, or toss down his napkin and announce he never showed up that day because he never cared for me?
“My secret?” I ask nervously, cursing my body for having the audacity to be aroused this goddamn easily.
His voice drops further. “That you’re the wine snob, Penny,” he says, clearly joking, and I breathe again, a big, deep breath that relaxes me.
Laughing, I shake my head. “I swear I’m not a wine snob. I do, however, think wine is one of the three proof points that the world can indeed be a good place.”
“And what are the other two?”
“Music and dogs,” I answer. “Give me wine, music, and dogs, and I’m happy.”
He furrows his brow. “But I thought dessert was one of your great loves. You did warn me in advance of tonight about your feelings for dessert.”
“Oh.” I bring a finger to my lips, tapping them. “It seems I’ve miscounted. Four things.”
He takes my Tempranillo and holds it up. “To the four proof points of a good world.”
I reach for the sangria and clink my glass to his, and I’m happy—not angry—that we’re having a lovely time. Maybe I should be disturbed that I don’t want to kick him in the balls. But my high-heeled feet are flat on the wood floor, and I have no inclination to inflict bodily harm on the man who broke my heart.
Perhaps the ice I thought had encased my heart when it came to this man is breaking.
Gabriel
When the waiter returns, we order our dinners. After he leaves, I turn my gaze to Penny, eager to know her better. Already, I like her for her. She’s fiery, but sweet. Confident, like when she issued her decree on the flavors in the wine, but playful and teasing, too. She keeps me on my toes, makes me laugh, and intrigues me.
That’s why following Tina’s advice is easy. I slide right back into conversation without skipping a beat.
“Tell me more about how you came to work in the charitable field,” I say, since I’ve always been curious how people find their way into their work. “Was it luck? Happenstance? Coincidence? Or a long and abiding love?”
“I love animals,” she says, as if it’s the easiest answer in the world.
“That’s the best reason.”
“Sometimes I think we try too hard to find the perfect field, the perfect job. We try to figure out the color of our parachute. But really, the answers are here,” she says, tapping her heart.
I nod, agreeing wholly with her. “I believe that, too. When you’re happy with what you do, it’s because it comes from who you are.”
She beams, and her smile is infectious, genuine, and it feels like sunshine. “Exactly. My grandmother said true happiness comes from what you do when it’s aligned with your heart.”
“Your grandmother is a wise woman. My mother used to say something similar. To do what you love,” I say, then return to the topic of four-legged friends. “Since you love dogs, does that mean you have a dog?”
“I do. She’s great. I’m crazy about her,” she says, then she takes a drink. Her tone is sweet, almost as if she’s keen to tell me more but unsure if I truly want to hear about her pet.
Setting one elbow on the table, I rest my chin in my palm. “Tell me about your canine friend.”
“Her name is Shortcake,” she says, a note of pride in her voice.
I smile. “That’s adorable.”
“Because she’s little,” she says, holding out her hands to show a small amount of space.
“And because you like dessert,” I add as I reach for my glass, letting her know I’ve been listening.