cycle in all its glory without overtly teaching her.
That smile made him feel like he’d just won the World Series.
Then Big Frankie Pepitone said something—something dirty, probably, because it was about all he said—and Jess turned to him.
And that was pretty much the end of their interactions. She sure as hell never slept with him, something that a couple of the other guys mentioned once in a while. Nope, Jess might raise her chin at him or say hi in a group, but otherwise, nada.
Wine lovers were milling around them, sitting at the rows of counters in the test kitchen.
“So are you the teacher?” she asked.
“Yep. I’m actually filling in for a buddy of mine. It’s a pretty basic class, though. Plus, growing up where we did, we all know way too much about wine, anyway. You probably don’t need to take the class. It might be boring for you.” He could hear Colleen’s voice telling him he had no game. In this case, she’d be dead-on.
“Hugo wanted me to come,” she said.
“Oh. Right. Well, I guess I should get started.” Real smooth.
He went to the front of the class, cleared his throat and smiled. Three women sat up a little straighter. “Thanks for coming to the CIA,” he said, and for the next two hours, he talked about grapes and regions and the different characteristics of wine. Poured and schmoozed, praised people for their excellent use of adjectives—though someone used the word dewdrops to describe a flavor, and even in wine circles, that was a little extreme.
Jessica took notes and tiny sips, unlike the rowdy group from Connecticut, a book club, they cheerfully told him. He served cheese and bread made at the school, talked about the texture of wine, the legs, the nose, the body, finish and color and mouth-feel, clarity, harmony. If he felt a little bit like a huckster at a carnival, it was okay. Everyone was happy.
He tried not to look at Jessica too much. It wasn’t easy; she was so still and gorgeous, focused on the task at hand, occasionally answering the couple next to her with a smile. He’d seen her two summers ago at the Cork & Pork festival, which was a wine and barbecue event in Manningsport. Her brother was with her; the kid was a teenager now, or close to it. When Davey saw Connor, his expression tightened, so Con didn’t bother saying hi, just kept going, feeling like dirt.
But he was teaching this class, so he bent over her shoulder and looked at her notes. Jam, black licorice, kind of smoky, she’d written for the shiraz.
“Good comments, Jess,” he said, and she looked up at him.
Her eyes were green and clear, like sea glass.
“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I was just making it up.” Then she smiled, just a flash, there and gone.
“Not at all.” At least, that’s what he thought she said, but she smiled at him, and just like in chemistry class, his blood seemed to stall then rush cheerfully south.
“What would you pair this with?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. He could smell her hair, a lemony, clean smell, and see the different shades of blond, from almost white to honey-colored, straight and smooth and, he’d bet, silky to the touch, the kind of hair that would run through his fingers like water.
“Uh...sorry. Leaner red meat, brisket, lamb, bison, just about any kind of beef, really. There’s a nice spiciness to the wine, so you need a meat that will stand up to it. Sausage.” Great. He sounded like an ass.
“So not with KFC, then.”
She was joking. With him. “No, that’d be a white, maybe a rosé.”
“Connor?” asked one of the women who’d been eyeing him. “Can you give me some advice on a nice wine to bring to my parents?”
“Duty calls,” Jess murmured, writing something else in her notebook.
He tried to think of a clever comeback and came up empty, but he put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze as he left.
Glanced back.
She was looking at him.
When the class was over, Connor made sure those who seemed tipsy weren’t driving, shook hands, accepted compliments and recommended local restaurants. Jess was putting on her coat. He hesitated for a second then said, “Would you like to have dinner?”
She hesitated.
“It’s okay if you don’t. It was just good to see you. Someone from Manningsport. You know. But if you don’t, that’s fine.” There was the babbling again. And to think he made fun of Colleen for the same thing.
“Are you homesick, Connor O’Rourke? I’d think your sister would be here every other weekend. And your mom, too.”
“Not really. I mean, yeah, Colleen’s a pain and shows up here from time to time, but my mom... Oh, you were joking.”
She gave a small smile, and his stomach tightened.
“Is that a no?” he asked.
She fixed the collar of her jacket and flipped her hair out of the collar. “Well, the thing is, I’m staying at a really nice hotel, and I kind of want to soak it up, you know?”
“The Riverview?”
“Yeah.”
“Great place. I interned there last year.” Not that she’d asked. But she hadn’t rolled her eyes and walked out, either, so what the hell. “Did you drive over?” The Riverview wasn’t more than a mile from campus.
“No.”
“Maybe I can walk you back, then.”
She hesitated. “Sure.”
It was nearly dark outside, and they walked side by side, shoulders occasionally bumping. Connor racked his brain to ask an innocuous question, but everything seemed loaded. How’s your family, what have you been up to, how’s work, got any plans... Everything seemed wrong.
“Do you like going to school here?” she asked.
“I do. I love food.”
She laughed, and there it was again, that tugging sensation in his gut. “Most people do, I guess.” She looked up at him, her hair fluttering in the cold wind. “I would’ve guessed you’d end up in law school or medicine or something with your grades. Never saw you as a chef.”
“Neither did my parents.”
“Are they mad?”
“‘Extremely disappointed’ was the phrase my father used.”
She didn’t say anything at that.
“I wouldn’t think you’d need this class,” he said, more to keep the conversation going. “You must know a lot about wine.”
“I didn’t grow up in that part of Manningsport, Connor. Wine tastings in the trailer park were few and far between.”
“I meant working for Hugo’s all these years, Princess Defensive.”
She gave a half smile of acknowledgement. “I know a little. I don’t sell enough wine, though, so he thought this would help.”
They’d reached the hotel’s long driveway, which meant his time with her was winding down.
“How’s your brother?” he heard himself ask. Kind of hard to stay away from the subject, after all.
“He’s good.” Another pause. “How’s Colleen?”
“She’s good, too. Jessica...” He stopped walking. “I always felt so bad about your dog.”
She looked at the ground. “It wasn’t your fault. Actually, it was mine. I tied Chico up that day. I knew the railing was rusted.”
“You’re