“This is,” he says at last, “without a doubt the best thing I’ve ever tasted. You have outdone yourself, Ms. White.”
I see he’s being sincere and suddenly feel the tiniest pang of regret at the uncharitable things I’ve thought about him.
“Oh, why don’t you call me Stephanie,” I say, my tongue loosened up by the wine and the tension that’s rapidly draining away from the situation now that I know he likes it.
“Only if you call me Trent,” he replies, setting down his fork.
“I…don’t know how comfortable I’d be doing that. I mean, technically, you’re still my client.”
“Of course you can,” he insists. “It’s easy. Listen.” He leans towards me a few degrees. “Stephanie.”
The sound of my name on his lips sounds foreign and enticing.
“Now you go,” he says.
I take a deep breath. “All right…Trent.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”
“I suppose not.”
He sips his wine and looks at me, his attention having shifted. “So, Stephanie. Tell me about yourself.”
I’m caught a little off-balance by this. I didn’t expect to be talking about myself and don’t know where to begin.
“Relax,” he says. “This isn’t an interview. I’d just like to know a little more about you. We can start small…do you have any brothers or sisters?”
My glass of liquid courage is almost empty, but luckily Curtis is there at my elbow, pouring me another round.
“One,” I say. “A brother. Tommy.”
“He live in Chicago?”
I shake my head. “New York. He’s a writer.”
He nods. “So, another creative branch on the White family tree. What does he write? Freelance work?”
“He’s written a few novels. Critical successes, but not bestsellers. He’s doing what makes him happy, though.”
“Like you.”
“How do you know it makes me happy?”
Stone chuckles a little at this. “You don’t open three restaurants if you hate the business, I should think. And you don’t get three Michelin stars at one of them if you don’t like the work.”
This perks up my ears a bit. “You did your homework on me, then, I guess.”
He nods. “Back when I was first badgering you to come over. I wanted the best.” He looks at me over the rim of his glass. “I guess I got it.”
The thing about blushing is that you can feel it coming on, but you’re helpless to do anything about it. I hoped that the lights were low enough in the dining room so that he couldn’t see the color in my cheeks.
“I love the work,” I say, managing not to stammer. “It’s the hours that wear on you sometimes.”
He nods again, and while he’s not smiling this time, it’s not a mean or a hard expression, either.
“Long hours,” he says.
“Late nights,” I confirm.
“Weekends.”
“Holidays.”
We look at one another for a moment in silence, then for some reason, we laugh. The last of the tension drains from the air.
I’m suddenly feeling bold. I raise my glass.
“To being a workaholic,” I say.
He raises his own glass. “To being a workaholic taking the night off,” he amends, and we clink our glasses softly together.
I think about pointing out that I technically wasn’t taking the night off, but that would sound ungracious, so I keep it to myself. Instead, I comment, “This wine is really fantastic.”
Really fantastic? Did I just say that? Oh, what an intelligent analysis! Stone probably knows all the right terms for appreciating a wine’s bouquet and such.
Instead, he tells me, “I don’t really know much about wine. I didn’t drink it much when I was coming up in the business world. Didn’t have the money for it at the beginning, didn’t have the time for it later on. I depend on Curtis to help me pair wines with foods when I eat at home.”
“I’m guessing that’s not too often.”
“Right you are,” he confirms. He thinks for a moment, then adds, “After dinner, how about I show you the wine cellar? For a guy who doesn’t know much about the stuff, I’m told I have a pretty good collection.”
After dinner? There’s going to be things that happen after dinner? I’d envisioned myself just packing up the leftovers and going home. True, I would be going home in victory, but I had expected the evening to be coming to a conclusion just the same.
“That would be nice,” I say.
There’s another brief silence between us, but it isn’t an awkward one. Rather, I’m feeling more and more comfortable in Stone’s presence.
The rest of the meal passes in easier and easier conversation. Stone is apparently more than just a cardboard cutout in a great suit. He drops references to books and foreign films, but not in a pretentious way. He’s being honestly engaging.
“So I have to know,” he prompts, looking at me seriously.
I gulp mentally. “Yes?”
“Are you a Stephanie or a Steph?” he asks.
I almost laugh at that. “I’m a Stephanie when I’m on the clock, and a Steph when I’m off,” I say. “And I’m also a Steph to the people that know me the best.”
“So what do I call you, given current circumstances?” he wants to know.
I drain my glass. “Your house, your rules, I suppose.”
He smiles. “Yes, it is, and yes they are, I suppose.” He finishes his own drink, then says, “Now, how about we take a look at the wine cellar?”
It appears that I am not going to be going home quite so soon after all.
Chapter 10 - Trent
It had felt like history repeating itself when I had dropped in on White while she was working in the kitchen earlier. Only it was history rewritten, and better this time.
