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I open the red and pour it into two glasses. It’s the same red I tried at Tristan’s. He delivered my latest wine order earlier in the week.
I move to the large American fridge freezer and open it. A salad bowl sits, pre-made, on the shelf. I pick it up and carry it over to the table, where Leah has set two places.
“Are your friends not eating with us?” I ask.
Leah smiles as she carries over a large oven dish bubbling with lasagna.
“No. They have prior engagements. It’s also not much of a thank you if there are other people here too.” She places the food on a mat and returns to the fridge, grabbing a small jug of something. She places it next to the salad as I return with our wine glasses.
When we finally sit, Leah dishes up.
“Help yourself to salad,” she says. “The dressing is my mother’s recipe.”
“Thank you.”
I help myself.
We sit in silence until Leah raises her glass.
“To new beginnings. Bon appetite,” she adds, clinking her glass to mine.
“To new beginnings.”
We eat and talk, and most surprisingly, I laugh. I’m shocked at how easily the conversation flows. I usually hate small talk, but Leah keeps a balance at work and at home. In the end, we’ve left the office behind and are sharing our likes and dislikes in movies, music and places to eat.
“So, what do you think?” Leah asks when we’ve finally finished. Not just the food but the bottle of wine.
“Delicious,” I say honestly.
“Would you be interested in home cooked from now on? I cook for myself, so it’s really no bother.”
“Let me pay for the food,” I say, only to receive a scowl.
“Hard no!” Leah says. “You can see this as another item on the list you gave me?”
“Only if I can supply the wine.”
Leah picks up the bottle and studies it. “Deal. You have impeccable taste. Although I don’t tend to drink during the week,” she says, her lips tilting.
“I have the occasional glass, but it’s not much fun drinking alone,” I admit.
I have a feeling the comment about the wine holds more significance than I realise. But then her fiancé was at Tristan’s. Maybe Leah is used to drinking good wine.
As if sensing my unasked question.
“Vince and his trader buddies drink expensive wine.”
I notice she doesn’t mention she does.
We leave the conversation, as I don’t really want to talk about her ex and instead help Leah tidy up.
“Thank you,” I say, making my way to the door.
“You’re welcome,” Leah says. “I’ll draw up a menu, and you can let me know if there’s anything you don’t eat.”
“I’m not fussy,” I say. “Any home-cooked food will be a bonus.”
I head back upstairs, not sure what to make of the evening, but knowing I’m already looking forward to our next meal.
