Will looked at Corinne. “Welcome to your private tasting.” He slid onto one of the stools. “I guess since Dixon couldn’t make it, I’ll help you out.”
Corinne smiled nervously at a man who emerged from inside the wine cellar. He greeted Will with a fierce hug and shook Corinne’s hand. “Andrew Sparks. I’m the hotel sommelier.”
He proceeded to look at the menu Will had selected for Corinne and Dixon and disappeared back into the cellar to retrieve a few bottles. His body disappeared into the abyss of wine, and Corinne tried as hard as she could to keep her foot from jiggling.
Will looked at her. “I’m glad you approved the menu.”
Corinne swallowed awkwardly. “Yes. I think it will be very good.” At least he isn’t freezing me out, she thought. She hadn’t known what to expect, but after his iciness at the restaurant, maybe that.
Andrew reemerged and began pouring small glasses for each of them to try, an assortment of reds, whites, and rosés to suit each dish on the menu. Corinne sipped the first glass, a fruity chardonnay, then took another sip. She could feel Will’s eyes on her again. Her gaze slid to a small cup on the side of the table meant for spitting out the tastes. But after her run-in with Natasha—and facing this long-forgotten past—she needed a drink. She grabbed her glass and quickly drank the rest.
“This one is lovely,” she said as she set the empty glass on the table, already feeling lighter.
Will chuckled. “Long day?”
“Sometimes it feels like it’s been a long few decades,” Corinne said, surprising herself. She wondered how such an honest thought had escaped her lips.
Will shifted on the stool. “I was sorry to hear about your cousin. We only met a couple times, but I remember that you were close.”
So. There it was. Corinne felt the knot inside her chest unfurl. Of course that summer wasn’t a secret to either of them, but hearing him acknowledge it, she somehow felt as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She pictured Poppy then, dancing with one of Will’s friends the night they met, never caring what anyone thought of her, and yet somehow managing for everyone to think only the best things. “Thank you,” she said softly, a little bit calmer. This will go okay, she told herself. Just keep breathing. Just get through it.
Next, they tried a red from the Lagrein region, and then a heady Barolo, followed by some dessert wines. Before long, Corinne’s posture wasn’t as straight, and she wasn’t dabbing her mouth after every sip. She stared at Will, who was talking animatedly to Andrew, firming up their final selections. An unexpected sensual feeling filled her. All at once, she could almost feel the cool sand between her toes, the salty spray coating her skin, the first night they met. And now, as she gazed at Will’s pink, sensuous lips, she remembered distinctly what it had felt like to kiss him.
Andrew kissed her good night on both cheeks, and then left them with the unfinished bottles. Before long they’d helped themselves to another glass. Then another. Corinne’s head was swimming; she felt as if she was floating. And though she knew she should get home, she couldn’t exactly will her body to leave the stool.
Will turned to her and grinned. “You work at Saybrook’s, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Corinne said, trying to remain poised. “I’m the head of foreign business.”
“The head.” Will didn’t seem surprised. “Of course you are.”
Corinne lowered her eyes, feeling as though she’d been too boastful. “Well, it helps if your last name is on the letterhead.”
“Don’t do that.” He took her hand, the force of it surprising her. “I’m sure you deserve the position. Good for you. Ever think about working somewhere else?”
Corinne blinked hard. “I’ve never really thought of it.”
“Really? Never?”
She was transported back to that summer once more. Not long after they’d kissed on the sand, Will had found Corinne again when she was shopping in town. He’d peered at her from across the street, and then walked over and slipped a note into her hand. “The boatyard at Carson and Main. Midnight,” it read.
It had been a warm and sticky night. Corinne had stood alone on the docks in a long skirt and way-too-expensive leather sandals. But then Will had appeared through the mist and took her hand, leading her to a small fishing boat halfway down the slip. Corinne hadn’t asked whose boat it was; she hadn’t even thought about it. She sat down in the hull. And then, instead of kissing her, he touched Corinne’s house keys. The key chain was to the Meriweather Yacht Club. “You have a boat?”
“Just my family’s.” It wasn’t just a boat, exactly—it was a massive yacht that slept twelve—but she hoped he didn’t know that. He’d been so careful about his sneakers near the water, afraid to get them wet, whereas Corinne, who had been wearing five-hundred-dollar flip-flops, hadn’t given it a thought.