Glass Half Full
Page 28
Wine is a story just waiting to tell itself to those who know how to listen. Every bottle started with a seed and someone willing to get their hands dirty, someone who saw potential where others saw nothing and then inspired them to see it too. Every step of that journey manifests in the flavours you taste, like ink strokes bleeding onto a blank page.
“Too good for beer?”
Monroe’s watching me, the pommel of the sword glinting at her side again.
“Wine has more...”
I want to say something like ‘depth’ or ‘complexity,’ something the captures way wine can steal all your senses for a moment and make you forget everything but pleasure. I don’t intend to fail another one of her tests, though, and insulting her drink of choice after I’ve already insulted her bar of choice doesn’t seem like the way to do that.
“It has more flavour,” I finish.
She tilts her water glass towards me. “Then you can’t have had any good beers.”
“Good beers like Shock Top? Their mascot is a talking orange.”
So much for not insulting her again, but the shot was so easy to take it slipped out of my mouth. To my surprise, Monroe laughs. It’s not just a chuckle or a quick snort; it’s a full-bodied sound, rich and unrelenting, like church bells on Sunday morning. It’s a sound you pay attention to.
“Okay, I admit it. That one was...low hanging fruit.”
Roxanne makes a face as Monroe gives her a sly grin that hints at an inside joke.
“You know I hate that phrase,” Roxanne complains. “It just makes me thing of...of...”
Now that I’ve made Monroe laugh, I suddenly want to prove I can do it again. It’s not the most distinguished thing to say, but I go ahead and finish the thought Roxanne is clearly trying to voice.
“Saggy balls?”
She snaps her fingers. “Exactly!”
Monroe claps a hand over her mouth, but not before I hear her snort. It’s an adorable snort. We all give in and chuckle when the server comes back and sets the foaming orange pints down, announcing, “Some fruity beer for you, ladies.” He blinks around the table for a moment and then asks, “Did I miss something?”
“Only if you like saggy balls,” Roxanne supplies.
His eyebrows only jump up for a second before he shakes his head. “I like to keep things sag-free. This wine might be a little...saggy, though. Drink at your own peril. I had to dig it out from under the bar.”
He places a cheap-looking wine glass down in front of me and heads off to check on a couple who just walked in the door.
“Well?” Monroe asks as I take my first sip.
I keep my face as neutral as I can. “It’s...drinkable. I haven’t had pinot noir in a long time.”
Roxanne looks surprised. “How do you know that’s pinot noir?”
“It has the lightest body of all the reds, which makes it hard to miss even though the flavour varies so much between regions. People say it’s a red that drinks like a white, which I usually agree with, even though—”
I cut myself off when I realize they’re both watching me with their chins mockingly propped on their hands.
“He sounds like you when you talk about craft beer,” Roxanne stage whispers to her friend.
Monroe elbows her in the side. “Or you when you talk about coffee.”
“Is Shock Top really craft?” I reply.
“No,” Monroe says slowly, pausing to take a sip. I watch her lips press against the rim of the glass. “But I’m at a dive bar. You don’t come to a dive bar for craft beer—or pinot noir.”
I shift back in my seat and survey the room. “Maybe it won’t be a dive bar for much longer.”
“And what exactly would you like it to be?” There it is again: the flash in her eyes, the glint of steel that lets me know I’ve crossed a line.
“I’m putting in a wine bar next door.” I figure I might as well go with the truth. “I can see a lot of potential in expanding the plans to use both properties.”
“A wine bar?” Roxanne questions. “That’s a bit of a change from Cavellia.”
She’s right; the club I opened two years ago is all about drama and over the top glitz. It’s not even somewhere I like to go myself; I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been in the place after dark, but I saw the lack of that sort of venue and knew I could build something to fit the bill.
I followed the same process when I set up my first restaurant downtown five years ago. The house speciality? Portuguese chicken. At the time, I knew nothing about what makes good Portuguese chicken. I did know people really wanted to eat it, and I knew I could hire staff to make it. We’ve expanded to three locations since then.
I sip at the pinot. It’s a crude flavour, like someone’s first crooked, disjointed attempt at tracing cursive letters, but I can still read the brisk notes of strawberry, still catch the trace of something pungent and wild underneath. My father always said wine had its own language, that you could read the dictionary front to back and still not find the right word to describe the place the liquid takes you to when you let it sit on your tongue.
He said a lot of things, my father. I wish he’d been given the time to say more.
“Call it a passion project,” I answer Roxanne.
“Is your passion destroying beloved local places of business that have been part of the neighbourhood for decades?” Monroe narrows her eyes at me over the top of her pint.
I set my wine down and rest my elbows on the table, leaning forward until our faces are only a foot or so apart.
“You really don’t want me to buy this bar, do you?”
I can’t figure it out. Nobody is this attached to their favourite watering hole, especially when it’s an actual hole in the wall like Taverne Toulose. Merde, there’s a sign that says ‘Don’t do coke in the bathroom’ on the wall, and yet she’s acting like I want to bulldoze the birthplace of Jesus Christ.
My sudden proximity seems to throw Monroe off for a second. She blinks at me, eyes big and brown and uncertain. A strand of hair slips into her eyes. It wouldn’t be that hard for me to reach over and push it aside.
Roxanne coughs. Monroe sets down her pint.
“I care about the people who work here.”
I let my confusion show on my face. “They work at a bar. There are hundreds of bars in this city. You really don’t think they’ll find other jobs?”
“You don’t understand.”
She shakes her head, glancing up at the ceiling and away from me again, but I don’t let her get away easy this time. I lean in as close as I dare.
“Explain it to me.”
“You...” She swallows, doing her best to avoid my eyes but ultimately giving into the pressure to lock onto my gaze. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who could understand.”
I risk leaning even closer.
“Tell me what kind of person I am.”
Roxanne coughs again, and we both look toward her, startled. I almost forgot she was here.
“Well, I feel like the biggest third wheel in the world right now,” she announces, “so I’m going to take this fruity beer over to the bar and keep Zach company while you two continue...whatever this is.”
“Roxy, wait!” Monroe protests as she starts to get up.
“Please, don’t feel you like you need to leave,” I add. “En fait, I probably have to leave myself.”
I pull my phone out and find what I’m expecting: close to a dozen text messages and missed calls. Owning four businesses and counting is like trying to raise a family of exceptionally needy children; everyone always wants something, and no one ever knows how to find anything.
“Duty calls.” I gesture at the phone before tucking it back into my coat pocket. I get up from the table as Roxanne sits back down.
“You aren’t going to finish your wine?” she asks me.
“Wine isn’t meant to be chugged—even that wine.” I open my wallet and lay a few bills down on the table. “
Merci for the invitation to drink with you. I hope I didn’t wear out my welcome.”
“Not mine.” Roxanne turns to Monroe. “Is your welcome for him worn?”
“I haven’t decided.”
She says it like a joke, but I doubt I should take it as one.
“Maybe you’ll have figured it out next time I see you. I’ll be next door a lot dealing with the renovations. If you’re here as much as you seem to be, we might bump into each other again.”
Am I really trying to flirt with her?
At best, it’s a futile cause. At worst, it might make her actually hate me. I’ve just met her, and yet neither of those outcomes are things I want to think about facing.
She answers as I’m about to leave the bar, tipping her beer at me like a challenge.
“We just might.”
Grab your copy here.
About the Author
Katia Rose is not much of a Pina Colada person, but she does like getting caught in the rain. She prefers her romance served steamy with a side of smart, and is a sucker for quirky characters. A habit of jetting off to distant countries means she’s rarely in one place for very long, but she calls the frigid northland that is Canada home.
www.katiarose.com
Club Katia
Club Katia is a sexy, supportive, and swaggin' community that comes together to celebrate the awesomeness of romance novels and the people who read them.
Membership also includes special updates, sneak peeks, access to Club Katia Exclusives (a collection of bonus content available especially to members) and the opportunity to interact with fellow members in the Club Katia Facebook Group.
Joining is super easy and the club would love to have you! Visit www.katiarose.com/club-katia to get in on the good stuff.
Also by Katia Rose
The Barflies Series
A series of dramadies centred on the lives and loves of the staff at a Montreal dive bar. Each novel can be read as a standalone.
The Bar Next Door
Glass Half Full
One For the Road (coming 2020)
When the Lights Come On (coming 2020)
The Sherbrooke Station Quartet
A series of steamy rock star dramedies that follow the rise of an alternative rock band in Montreal. All four volumes can be read as standalones.
Your Rhythm
Your Echo
Your Sound
Your Chorus
Standalone Novels
Thigh Highs
Modelling lingerie for her arch-nemesis was not on Christina’s to-do list. Then again, nether was he. An enemies-to-lovers romantic comedy.
Latte Girl
Hot coffee is a regular fixture in Hailey Warren’s life. Hot guys? Not so much. A caffeine-fuelled romantic comedy.