A slow, warm smile filled his face and fanned my current level of infatuation for him up another level. “Okay...” He held up his menu, peeking over the top of it every couple seconds as if he were trying to read what I would want off my face. Finally, he put the menu down. “Lobster ravioli with champagne butter sauce.”
“I was kind of hoping you would pick that,” I admitted with a grin. “I love the idea of a champagne butter sauce. I have no idea what it is, but is sounds delicious.”
“I'm excited for the prime rib. It's one of my favorites.” He smiled, making my world go bright again. “Why'd you pick it?”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell him that it just sounded manly, but I decided I should tell him the real reason, even if it gave away more than I wanted. “My grandmother.”
“You managed to call her and ask without me noticing?” he teased.
“No,” I said knowing a blush was creeping across my cheeks. “My grandmother was the epitome of the conventional 1950's housewife and she firmly believed that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. She decided that the reason I wasn't married was that I didn't know how to cook properly. So she tried to teach me how to cook her husband-winning prime rib.”
He leaned back in his chair, obviously enjoying my story, so I continued.
“She spent an entire day teaching me all her cooking secrets.” I smiled fondly at the memory. I could still see her smiling in that kitchen when I closed my eyes. “I failed miserably at cooking the prime rib, but we had the most amazing day together- just talking and laughing. I learned just how much she loved me and that she was proud of me. Really proud of me- even though I wasn't married. She just wanted me to be happy.”
“She sounds wonderful.” He cocked his head slightly to the side, a small smile on his face as he watched me remember.
“She was. She died a week later.” I forced a smile to banish the heartache I always felt at her passing. “Anyway, I ordered the prime rib because she would have liked you. She would have wanted me to make it for you, but you really don't want to eat mine.”
“So, you're using your grandmother's secret of prime rib to catch me?” he asked slowly, letting the implication of my story come out in the open.
I blushed even harder and opened my mouth to protest, but his knowing smile told me it was futile. “Maybe a little bit,” I conceded.
“Then I hope the prime rib here is as good as your grandmother's,” he said. A little tremor of hope and excitement went through me. He wanted me to catch him.
“Good evening, folks,” a little blonde waitress announced, coming up to the table and pouring us waters. “I'll be your server this evening. What can I get you?”
“My beautiful date here will have the lobster ravioli with champagne butter sauce,” he informed her. A thrill went down my spine at the compliment.
“Excellent choice, sir. And for you?”
Aiden looked at me, waiting for me to order. “He'll have the prime rib with mashed potatoes,” I said quickly.
“Another excellent choice, ma'am” the waitress replied, jotting it down on a little notepad. “Anything to drink? Some wine perhaps?”
I looked at him and shrugged. I hadn't even looked at the wine menu.
“The Trentino Pinot Grigio for her, and the d'Arenberg Shira for me please,” he requested. I liked that he sounded extremely confident in selecting something, especially since I hadn't seen him even look at the wine menu. “Bring the bottles, please.”
“Excellent again. I'll be back in just a moment with your wine, sir” she said before hurrying off to put in our orders. The staff was so formal and polite with all the sirs and ma'ams. I certainly felt rich.
“Trentino Pinot Grigio?” I asked, picking up the wine menu from the table. I had no idea what that was.
“It's an Italian, dry white wine with light undertones. It will match your lobster nicely,” he explained. “I could get champagne if you prefer, but I didn't want it to compete with the sauce.”
I set down the wine menu without even looking all the way through it for my wine. “No, that sounds great. You know a lot about wine?”
“It's a hobby.” He shrugged the nonchalant shrug of someone who is actually an expert. “I eat out a lot—lots of business meetings—so I started paying attention and talking with the sommelier.”
I nodded. I only knew that a sommelier was the wine expert at fancy restaurants because Emma had talked about them. I had a feeling that working with Kathryn, I would begin to meet them at her business dinners. One of the perks of working for wealthy bosses was getting to have nice things.
The waitress returned then with two bottles of wine and accompanying ice buckets. She quickly uncorked his first, and handed him the cork when he stretched out his hand. He smelled it while she poured a small amount of red wine into his glass, then waited.
He spun the liquid in the glass slowly, his eyes taking in every detail of the rich red liquid. He inhaled the vapors like a perfume and then tasted it, rolling the wine around on his tongue. “Perfect,” he said, finally.
She smiled and added more wine to his glass before placing the bottle in an ice bucket next to our table. She then repeated the motions with my white wine. I did my best to mimic Aiden's steps.
“It's good,” I said. It smelled good, but tasted like regular white wine. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be looking for. The waitress finished pouring my glass and set the bottle into the second ice bucket.
“Your food will be out shortly,” she informed us, and then hurried off.
“What do you think?” Aiden asked as I took another sip of wine.
I fiddled with the stem of my wine glass before answering. “Honestly? I don't know anything about wine and I have no idea what I just did.”
He took a sip of his red. “Would you like to?”
I nodded and he smiled. He turned and snagged two empty wine glasses from the table behind him and set them on the table. “We'll start with yours. First, look at the bottle. Evaluate the shape, the size and it's condition. Then look at the cork. The cork tells you a lot about the wine. Is it a nice cork? Is it cheaply made? Does it smell good?”
I pulled the cork from the wine bottle and inhaled the scent. “It smells good. And it's not falling apart, so I guess that means it's a good cork?”
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “Though, the cork is becoming less important as wineries shift to plastic or even screw-top to prevent corked wine.”