Yeah, I did it. I called him McMuscles, and I totes don’t care because the wine tastes so good and, for once in my life, I’m having some fun. I don’t think I’ve had lots of wine — maybe one glass total? More? — yet my cheeks are warm and my skin is tingly and it’s so much easier to laugh now. I won’t have much more of it — I promise — but I’m sure hungry enough to eat something, even if that wasn’t a part of tonight’s deal.

As I smile at Quinn, the sound of McMuscles is still echoing in the air, and he’s looking at me as if I’ve just popped out of a huge party cake nekid: he’s half surprised, half paying a whole bunch of attention to me now. And I’m liking the attention, because from the moment I arrived until one hot second ago, he’s only been doing that polite and distant thing that baffles me.

But, whoo-hoo, Mr. Cool has left the building!

Mr. Smokin’ leans his arms on the table, his dark gaze amused. He’s got a sexy, tilted smile, and it makes him look a little dangerous, right along with the stubble on his jaw. “Did you just call me McMuscles?”

What? Is he going to pretend that he doesn’t have them? “A silly little nickname. You know, like Quick Draw McGraw or something. It’s what we people who drink wine call ‘a sense of humor.’”

Now he looks at me as if I’ve just discovered that I had one of those. Then he wipes his hand — such a big hand, such long fingers, yeah, I’ve noticed — over his mouth, hiding what I suspect to be a bigger smile. I drink a little more delicious zinfandel, feeling the warmth trickle down until it reaches my belly, simmering there. Wine is good. How did I not know this?

I reach over to grab the bottle of Climax zin and pour some more into my glass. “Anyway, I think food is a fine idea since I’ll need something to absorb all this yummy wine. As long as it’s not sushi or seafood, I’m game to eat it.”

“Why’s that?”

“I overindulged at Hana Sushi for an early lunch.”

“Funny. I never thought you had it in you to overindulge in anything.”

Just to tweak him, I swig wine from my glass, then waggle my eyebrows twice, daring him to say something more about my prim habits. Not so prim right now, huh?

With a grin, he opens the cooler again. I don’t even mind that he’s jumped the gun and brought food without asking me what I like. I’m tired of making decisions about what I eat every day, plus the diner, plus all our bills, plus the future, and it’s nice to have someone else take the lead. Especially him and his amused smile. He thinks I’m a riot right now, doesn’t he? And you know what? I am. I feel like I could be all kinds of funny and free, and it’s awesome that he hasn’t pissed me off yet tonight and we’re getting along, though I must say that the evening is still young.

He sets some plates on the table, then unwraps each of them: crackers, cheese, meats, olives, nuts, and those small, adorable little crusty breads. He produces a couple of cute, tiny plates and gives one to me. I immediately pile the petite nummies onto it and dig in.

“Oh. Oh, God, this is good,” I say with my mouth full of a big fat green olive stuffed with almond.

Quinn only watches me as he pours both of us a smidge of the final tasting wine, which is a cabernet sauvignon, according to the Climax label. I notice that he pours only an itty bit for me. That’s okay, though, because I’ve still got the zin, and I could drink it all up. I won’t, but I could.

I laugh a little before I take another long, luscious swig of it. Ah. “If you’d have told me that I’d be sitting here with you, enjoying this fantastic food and wine, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Why not?”

I drink again and revel in the warmth of more wine hitting my gullet and spreading out in fast rays throughout the rest of my body. Love! Then I angle my head, considering him. “That’s a good question. Why would I not be enjoying this? You seem to be as country and as working class as I am, so that doesn’t make me …”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Yeah.”

“Because I noticed that’s kind of how you are around me.”

Well, that’s blunt. “I get uncomfortable because I’m an introvert. I’m the not-as-friendly twin, totally all business.” I think I might be sounding as gabby as Grace is, but I don’t care. “Maybe I’m wary around you because you’re older and seem like you have a whole lot more experience in life than I do.”

Or maybe it’s because of those McMuscles and the fact that I’m not used to tall, dark, and hubba guys looking at me like he’s doing right now, with something like desire in his gaze. I deny myself the urge to fan my hand in front of my face, so instead, I finish the rest of my zin.

He watches me carefully. “I’m not that old. Thirty-five next month.”

“Okay then. I’m thirty. I guess your age isn’t as intimidating as all the experience and mileage you seem to have on you.”

Stop talking.

He pauses, and something flashes across his gaze before he fixes his sights on me again. “Well, Gwen, I don’t mean to be intimidating because of any of those things.”

It’s getting really warm out here, and before the conversation can take a turn for the serious, I grasp the stem of the cabernet glass then look, swirl, smell, and drink. The wine tastes … dark. That’s the only way I can describe it. There’s some fruit, but a lot of other earthy things that I can’t identify.

I pour more zin for myself, then realize that, hey, I really ought to relax like this more and not work so much. Then again, I realize that I’m making up for lost time right now and I should slow waaay down. Whatever I realize, I wish the repairs on Milton’s would take a little longer and I could enjoy more of a staycation. I know I shouldn’t think that way because … income, you know? We all need it. But I want more time to rest.

Just a little more time …

Quinn is still watching me, and I stir in my seat. “Have you always lived in Marloe?”

“No. I grew up in a suburb outside of the city.” He pushes the food plates closer to me in a grand hint to slow the fuck down and eat, so I gladly take more snackies. “You’ve probably heard of Krueger.”

I nod. It’s a small town right outside of the rundown part of Marloe, and as long as I’ve been alive, it’s been an economic black hole.

He drinks his cabernet and sets down the glass. “Our house was a dump, especially without a dad around.”

“You, too?” I was about to pop some cheese into my mouth, but I pause. “I don’t mean that I grew up in a dump. Cherry Valley has had its hard times, but it’s not like Krueger. It sounds like you might know what it’s like to struggle.”

He doesn’t answer, but his gaze turns from dark gray to something unreadable, and a muscle ticks in his cheek right above his jaw. I don’t know if it’s the wine or if it’s something else, like the fact that I would like him to go back to watching me with those bedroom eyes again, but I find myself talking.

“My father died in a car accident when I was ten, so Mom was the one who raised us.”

Wait, I don’t want this conversation to turn into a shitshow, so I eat my cheese and shut up. I get the feeling Quinn doesn’t want to share much about his own dad, either, and I drink more wine. There. I’m lightened up once more.

“So tell me, McMuscles, have you been nipping at a lot of wine everyday on the job and that’s why you’re so enamored of it?”

This is clearly a much better route for both of us. He pulls himself out of that dark spot he seemed to have fallen into and tells me about how he discovered wine at an urban winery he built in Marloe. I listen to him, resting my chin in my hand. I forget the food and sip more wine as I ask him about all the jobs he’s been on and what he’s learned from each of them. He’s worked on new housing projects, bars, and restaurant refurbishments, which has given him some food education, too. So we talk about grub until he admits that even though he’s tried some nice places during his work travels, he’s got a yen for what we serve at Milton’s. I’m not sure what exactly he means by that, though. Is he saying he’s got a yen for me?

When I reach for the bottle of zin, there’s none left. But that can’t be right. I feel fine. Maybe I’m a little more animated than usual, and I’ve been sighing a lot as I watch Quinn talking, but I’m super mellow and happy. I love life. I love this. I love tonight.

As I look around at the dark sky and the fairy lights in the trees and the candle that’s burned very low on the table, I realize that it’s gotten late. Real late. I’ve stayed way longer than I thought I would.

“I should pee ‘fore I leave.” Am I slurring?

“Okay.” He pauses, then says, “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Nawp, I’ll jush call Grace.”

“It’s really no problem.”

“Nawp. No worry about it. Serishly.”

I get out of my chair, and I topple. Everything spins, but in the next second, Quinn’s got me in his arms, and I’m holding onto his jacket and staring up into his eyes. I’m dipped back as if we’re doing the tango or something, and hell, I think the rest of my body is dancing too, my pulse light and fast, my belly flipping, my ladybird humming down there between my legs.

Oh my God, he is handsome. Those dark eyes, that super gorgeous thick hair, that mouth …

This is a tasting, right? I want to taste that mouth.

I use his jacket to pull myself up a little, just enough to feel his breath, moist and warm, on my lips. Then with one big what the everlovin’ fuck in my head, I barely brush my mouth over his, then pause on a hitched breath. My mouth tingles. I’m dizzy with vibrations, lost in the rush of heat through the rest of my body, and I feel his grip tighten on me as I close my eyes, ready to go for more ...

Then my world turns again, and I find myself trying to find balance after he’s brought me to my feet.

“We need to get you home, you lightweight,” he says firmly, keeping me at arm’s distance. “You’re hammered.”

“Hammered,” I whisper as I think of how his lips felt. They’re still buzzing.

I smile, and then all my bones lose form, plunging me into total blackness.