Page 156 of Lorenzo

Mocha drops the ball against my bare foot, then backs away and waits.

Donna’s lips curve as I bend to pick it up again.

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

“We are tolerating each other.”

“Mhmm,” she says as she brings the glass to her lips for a sip.

I throw the ball toward the far end of the yard. Mocha bolts after it, cutting across the grass with his ears pinned back and his tail streaming behind him.

Donna steps out onto the porch, drawing the robe tighter around herself against the cool air.

Mocha reaches the ball near the fence, turns sharply, and races back with it clamped between his teeth.

“He likes you,” she says.

“He likes the person throwing the ball.”

“That is how he likes people.”

Mocha drops it at my feet again and looks up at me, waiting.

I glance at Donna. “You trained him well.”

Her expression softens as she watches him.

“He trained me too.”

I throw the ball again, and this time she comes to stand beside me as we both watch him take off.

“Did you have him when you were in the FBI?” I ask.

She turns to me and lifts a brow.

“Did some research on me, did you?”

“No,” I say. “Let’s just say I have a sixth sense about these things.”

She laughs lightly. “Of course you do.”

I reach for her glass with my clean hand and take a sip.

The wine has opened since we left it downstairs. The tannins have softened, leaving dark cherry and blackberry at the front, with cedar and spice underneath. Full-bodied, balanced, and expensive enough that Donna would probably accuse me of showing off if she knew what it had cost.

I hand the glass back to her.

“It’s better now.”

She glances down at it. “You can tell from one sip?”

“Yes.”

“What does it taste like?”

“Dark fruit. Cedar. A little spice.”

She takes another sip, considering.