Page 30 of My Best French Wedding

“Juicy,” Walter said on autopilot, yanking his gaze from Hildy’s mouth.

“I’m not sure he’s a champagne person,” Hildy sighed, as if his lack of savoir faire caused her personal distress.

“It’s true I grew up in more of a Diet Dr Pepper household.”

“Not what I was saying.” Hildy took a sip of her drink. “Champagne is the beverage of joy. It’s pureeffervescence, sparkling on your tongue. Hope and excitement and giddiness. Whereas Walter has always struck me as more of a… hmm.” She pretended to think it over, glossy nails drumming the bar. “Glass half empty kind of guy.”

“I do prefer a little substance with my bubbles.” He locked eyes with Hildy. “Solid fundamentals that stand the test of time, as opposed to empty promises that trick you into making bad decisions.”

Gabby looked worried.

“But this has all the complexity and nuance anyone could want.” Walter angled his glass to catch the light. “It’s like eating a piece of homemade sourdough bread with Irish butter and just a hint of orange blossom honey, and yet light as air.”

Gabby held up a finger. “I can use that. Hold on.” She reached under the counter for a spiral-bound notebook. While she was writing, Duri stuck his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt. You have a call.” His eyebrow choreography suggested time was of the essence, though the crisis apparently wasn’t serious enough to stop him from winking at Hildy. Another day, another conquest. Did she ever get tired of keeping so many hearts on a string?

Gabby excused herself, Duri hot on her heels.

“You are such a suck-up.Irish butter and an orange grove, blah blah blah,” Hildy mocked as soon as they were alone. “Maybe you should go into PR.”

“Think you can do better?”

“Shhh!” Her eyes narrowed in concentration. She’d always had the curiosity of a cat. It was one of the things that fooled Walter into thinking they were cut from the same cloth.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?”

“Not with you breathing like that.” Hildy tried to pinch his nostrils, but he ducked out of the way, grabbing her by the wrist.

Neither of them heard the door open.

“Oh good. You two fools plus alcohol. What could possibly go wrong?”

Walter recognized the dryness of Corinne’s delivery before he turned to see her standing in the doorway.

“Gabby got called away.” He tried not to look guilty, which should have been easy since he wasn’t technically doing anything wrong. Anyway, Hildy started it. “We’re sitting here very quietly waiting for her.”

Corinne’s sniff was laden with disbelief. “Fancy meeting you here, Burns.”

A flustered Gabby hurried back into the tasting room.

“See?” Hildy said to Corinne. “There she is.”

Walter got a rare glimpse of Corinne’s softer side as she introduced herself to the proprietress. Her expression conveyed the unmistakable blend of bashful and eager that saidI find you attractive. Judging by the prolonged eye contact that accompanied Gabby’s lingering handshake, the feeling was mutual.

“I’m so sorry.” Gabby’s apology was mostly directed at Corinne. “I need to run ten cases up to the Bronx. The sommelier at Batista is freaking out, because she’s a total diva, but they also move a ton of bubbles, so I have to stay on her good side.” She broke off, remembering that she was talking to three journalists. “Off the record.”

“Need a hand?” Corinne offered, already tightening the belt of her coat.

Gabby looked surprised, but not in a bad way. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no.” She grabbed a canvas tote and a water bottle, and Corinne followed her out the door.

“They ditched us,” Hildy observed after silence had settled over the tasting room.

“Pretty much,” Walter agreed.

The toes of her shoes tapped the underside of the bar. “You can go, you know.”

“So can you.”