Dammit.
It was the hooded eyes, the way he stared at me as if he didn’t give a shit about anything in the world except me coming back to sit beside him.
“The tour’s over,” I said, walking back but still resisting.
He lifted a bottle of our favorite wine from the night, something we actually did agree on. “It’s not bad, for a white,” he said of the pinot gris.
“Where did you get that?”
He nodded toward the bar. “Bought it.”
I’d been talking to Isaiah for all of three minutes. Geesh. He was stealthy.
“It’s a Saturday night. Don’t tell me you have work.”
“Maybe I have a date,” I said. The look he gave me was pure feral.
“Do you?”
“No. But I didn’t eat yet,” was my next argument.
I could see the tic in his jaw from where I stood. He’d clenched it and very deliberately eyed me up and down. Dear lord in heaven. All that talk of horizontal tasting...it was too much.
In response, Marco pulled his phone from his pocket. He clicked a button, lifted it to his ear, and said, “Hey, you guys busy?” Pause. “Can you send someone down to the Sunset Vineyards dock with two meals?” He said to me. “Chicken marsala? Spaghetti carbonara? Something else?”
Was he serious?”
“I’ll take the carbonara and,” he waited for me.
“Marsala is fine.”
“And a chicken marsala. Utensils too. None of that plastic crap.”
Finishing his order from lord knew where, Marco hung up. What the hell just happened?
“Who was that?” I asked, still standing as if I wouldn’t be joining him now that I’d just agreed to order dinner.
“Friend of mine owns Casa Bella, just up the road between here and town. Their spaghetti carbonara is great, wait till you try it.”
“Sorry guys.” I spun around to Isaiah standing next to us. “Have to cover the boat.”
He didn’t seem sorry at all to kick Marco off.
“I got it,” Marco said. He was the kind of guy who could probably do everything.
To diffuse the tension, I stepped in. “I will clean it up, and we’ll take good care of it.” Smiling, I thanked him again. At that point, Isaiah had no recourse even though he clearly did not want to leave Marco with me.
To his credit, Marco didn’t gloat. Instead, he watched me as if Isaiah didn’t exist.
“He really doesn’t like you,” I said, sitting as Marco filled my glass.
“Feeling’s mutual.”
He stood and put the wine bottle onto the bar. When he turned, I got totally snagged staring at his ass.
“Don’t think I’m not onto you, Marco Grado,” I said as he sat. “This is just two business owners with a vested interest in each other’s vineyards catching up.”
“Hmm,” he lifted his glass, the only light now coming from solar ones on the bar and the moon, which was pretty bright tonight. “With wine. And dinner.”