Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel by Laura Moore Page B

answer it while he was driving.
    Cheered by the thought, she plucked a roasted chickpea from the bowl and munched on it while she cast an eye about the crowded interior. It was a good thing she’d reserved. Aubergine was hopping. The bar was jammed with diners waiting for a free table. She hoped Andrew showed up before the hungry patrons began to complain that she’d been seated before her companion had arrived. When it came to nabbing a table at a hot eating spot, people lost their California cool awfully quickly.
    She’d been right to suggest the dinner date. She’d be able to tell Andrew all that had happened, knowing he’d appreciate what she was going through. Looking across the table into his steady brown eyes, magnified by his square horn-rimmed glasses, would banish the image of Thomas’s final wave before he’d followed the porter into the terminal. The sliding glass doors had closed all too quickly, leaving her on the curb, her fixed smile crumbling to dust.
    She was sure Andrew would understand how heartbroken she was to have lost her uncle. And being as unadulterated a wine geek as one could find in Sonoma, Napa, or Mendocino, he would totally get the stress of having been handed an entire vineyard and winery to run.
    Their dinner would soothe her, and hopefully he’d ease her apprehension about stepping into Thomas’s shoes. If they lingered at the table long enough, she might even stop worrying about the fact that tomorrow she’d have to start dealing with Reid—on a regular basis.
    She took a gulp of her wine.
    Mia had no idea what Reid had in mind in terms ofpromotion and marketing—she’d never liked any aspect of winemaking that didn’t involve the grapes—but Andrew surely would. Sometimes Mia wondered if Andrew ever thought about anything other than how to make, sell, and distribute wine.
    Mia’s server had passed her table several times, her glance at the empty chair opposite Mia increasingly harried. This time she stopped. “Can I get you anything else while you’re waiting?”
    “No, thank you. I’m good for the moment.”
    The phone that she’d set on the table began to hum like a swarm of bees. She picked it up hastily and glanced at the screen. She gave the waitress a quick, apologetic smile. “Sorry—this is my date calling.” Pressing the ACCEPT button, she said, “Hello?”
    “Mia, it’s me.”
    “Hi, Andrew. Where are you?”
    “I’m at Jake’s. We’re hanging out with Sonya.”
    “Sonya?”
    “Sonya Ortiz, our distributor. So I saw you called. What’s up?” The question sounded perfunctory.
    “I called because we have a dinner date tonight. You were supposed to meet me at Aubergine at eight. Did you forget?”
    “Crap. That’s this week?”
    “Yes, it’s this week. Andrew, we spoke only a couple of days ago. You said you were hoping they’d have fried zucchini flowers as a special on the menu. They do. I asked.”
    “Sorry, Mia. I forgot. Work’s been insane and then I’ve been showing Sonya around the vineyard. We’re branching out in our exports. Sales are going to go through the roof. So we’re having a little celebration. You know.”
    She didn’t, actually. What she did know was that when she made a date with someone, she rememberedand kept it. “I’ve got our table. If you leave now, you can be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll order the zucchini and a plate of—”
    “Uh, Mia. I’m not up to dinner out. Jake’s got a fish stew on. We’re just going to sit around and chill and play video games. Can you believe it, Sonya rocks at Mass Effect Three?”
    She didn’t know exactly when in Andrew’s reply she reached the tipping point. Whether it was his admission that he’d forgotten their dinner date, or his obvious enthusiasm for Sonya, the ace gamer who was going to distribute Crescent Ridge wines far and wide, or when it became clear that the guy she was dating preferred to slump on a sofa playing a gratuitously violent video game to