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“Speaking of your morning disappearance, where the heck did you take a shower?”
“The spa,” I said as we reached the truck. I opened the door, tossed my duffle and Thayle’s suitcase inside, and then locked it back up. “They said we could use the facilities anytime.”
She didn’t say anything to that, for a few seconds at least. “Was your masseuse from yesterday there?”
“I didn’t see her.”
Again, we settled into silence as we walked. I tried to figure out why she asked that question, but came up with nothing.
“Those couples were a lot of fun,” she said finally.
“Yeah,” I said. “The older couple, Mark and Laura, were pretty tight-lipped, though. I couldn’t get many details out of them, except that they live in the city.”
“Same. So you really don’t mind hitting a few shops?”
“Nope,” I said as we came to the first one. “My mom and Min are suckers for these kinds of places. Usually, my father and brothers go find a bar to hang out in, but that’s the last thing I need at the moment.”
“I hear you. Thanks for putting me to bed, by the way. I’m pretty sure I’d have passed out in my dress.”
And just like that, I was reminded Thayle was likely not wearing any underwear.
“No problem,” I said as we entered the store.
There were all sorts of things inside. Funny signs, jewelry, housewares. All overpriced. And nothing I was remotely interested in. Instead, I watched as Thayle made her way around the store. At one point she picked something up, put it back, and then picked it up again. After she eventually discarded it, I was curious to see what it was. Wine charms. Odd. That wasn’t something she needed. But then I looked more closely. Each one had a word on it.Strong. Brave. Wild. Funny.Character traits to match the drinker, I supposed. It was a very Thayle thing to like. She was a sucker for any kind of inspirational quotes.
Three stores later, I was becoming less and less intrigued by the goods for sale and more so with the woman who shopped for them. I watched her browse the store, picking things up but almost always putting them back. Thayle had been scraping by as long as I could remember. We paid her well, but maybe we could afford to pay more. I’d have to talk to the others about that.
On the other hand, Thayle didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that she was mostly window-shopping. After getting some eye drops, eating a muffin, and downing two cups of coffee, which would have given me a headache, she finally removed her glasses and seemed a bit more herself.
By the time we’d eaten lunch and were headed back to the truck, I was convinced last night never even happened. Thayle gave zero hints that she was the same woman who had performed an erotic dance with a piece of chocolate cake. It wasn’t until we were at our second winery of the day—Thayle passed on the first tasting—with samples in front of both of us that I tested the waters with her.
“You could have just asked for the chocolate,” I said.
It was a unique tasting experience. After explaining all at once the wine choices we’d made each paired with a different piece of chocolate, the attendant handed us the boards of wine and chocolate to take anywhere on the property to enjoy “at our leisure,” as opposed to explaining each selection throughout the tasting. We didn’t have a meeting with the owner here, though Thayle and I talked shop for a while until I could see her staring at the chocolate in earnest.
The woman did love her sweets. As she liked to say, she “ran to eat dessert.” Thankfully, tomorrow we had plenty of time for a morning run. I’d have to see if she was interested.
“Hair of the dog and all that,” she said as we placed our wooden trays on the flat surface of the deck’s railing. Apparently designed for this purpose, the trays were strategically placed all around the wraparound deck of the tasting room building. Our view was of the vineyards in every direction. Since we weren’t as close to the lake here, there were more hills too, and I was glad it was a warm enough day to enjoy such a view from outdoors.
“You know,” I said, standing closer to her than I probably needed to. “That doesn’t actually work.”
“Having a drink to cure a hangover?”
“Mm-hmm. The saying was derived from a medieval European therapy for rabies. They would place pieces of hair from a rabid dog into its victim’s bite wound. Thus ‘the hair of the dog that bit you,’ in this case another drink, became a hangover cure. But there’s no evidence to support it.”
“It does seem counterintuitive. Both the hair and the drink thing.”
“Agreed,” I said with a smile, then redirected my focus to the drinks before us. “So we have most of the same wines. You ready for the cab franc paired with a”—I looked down at the sheet—“black currant truffle?”
“As ready as I can be.”
Neither of us are fans of drinking from small plastic tasting cups, but we do it anyway. One sip and I knew the wine wasn’t my favorite. Thayle didn’t seem to care for it either, but as she lifted the truffle to her lips, I made it a point to watch.
She didn’t look away. And though it was no chocolate cake, she did pause and move the truffle more slowly into her mouth.
“Good?” I asked.
She nodded. I picked up my own chocolate and, still looking at her, gave it a lick. Thayle’s eyes narrowed, and I was pleased to see her swallow hard. I popped the truffle into my mouth, then said, “The chocolate was better than the wine. And I’m not usually as much of a fan of chocolate. Not like you, anyway. I’ve never met anyone who enjoys it more.”
