The Place I Belong (9 page)

Chapter 6

O
N
M
ONDAY EVENING
, Hannah slotted her SUV into a parking space twenty feet from Moonshine and felt guilt wash over her for about the tenth time. It didn’t matter how often she reminded herself she hadn’t known about Adam’s addiction, she was still horrified that she’d suggested meeting in a wine bar to a recovering alcoholic. Even though Adam ran a restaurant where they served all kinds of liquor, she wished she’d chosen a spot not so completely devoted to the appreciation of alcohol. Her impulse to keep their meeting short had led her into this uncomfortable situation.

She dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel. She’d spent far too much time thinking about Adam and Matt
yesterday
,
her on
e day off. Even today at the hospital, the man and the boy had worked their way into her thoughts at odd moments.

Lifting her head to check her reflection in the rearview mirror, she smoothed her hair behind her ears. She’d touched up her makeup before she left the veterinary hospital and added a pair of gold hoops to her earlobes. Annoyed with herself for getting gussied up for Adam, she shoved open the door and nearly hit a passing car. The other driver swerved and, in typical Sanctuary fashion, gave a friendly wave.

It was hard to stay grumpy in this town.

She stalked up to Moonshine and through the beveled glass door. The interior sported a bar and polished paneling in exotic woods with brass-rimmed round tables and comfortable armchairs arranged on the plush green carpeting. A constellation of miscellaneous, vintage chandeliers threw a soft, cozy glow over the room. The back wall was glass, allowing patrons to view the racks in the climate-controlled wine storage. As she hesitated, Adam rose from a table by the front window. “Dr. Linden. So nice to see you again.”

She lifted an eyebrow at his formality as she walked up to the table. “Mr. Bosch, a pleasure.”

He held out his hand. “Hannah, then?”

She nodded, intent on bracing herself for the moment of contact since she knew what her reaction would be. It happened again, that fizz of awareness created by the heat of his skin against hers. She was glad when he released her hand and held the chair for her to sink into.

As he returned to his seat, she noticed a large goblet of clear liquid sat in front of him on the table and wondered if she should order water too. Or would that just make it even more awkward because he’d know she knew?

“This is one of my favorite places in town,” he said, settling in his chair. “Their cheese selection might be almost as good as The Aerie’s.”

His casual statement seemed aimed at easing her discomfort, but how could he possibly know what she was thinking? “I’m not much of a connoisseur,” she said.

His face lit up. “Then may I make some recommendations?”

“You’re the expert. You can order everything.” She was trying to focus on something other than how the open collar of his black shirt framed the strong column of his neck.

He raised his hand just a fraction and a waiter materialized at their table. “We’re pouring four excellent wines by the glass this afternoon,” the young man said before reeling off the names, vintages,
terroirs
, and adjectives describing flavors Hannah never could taste. She was about to ask Adam for his recommendation when her eyes fell on his glass of water and she flushed again. “Um, the first one,” she said, having no idea what she had ordered.

“A wise choice,” the waiter said. He produced two hand-
lettered
cards and handed them to Hannah and Adam. “Our cheese selection for the day.”

Adam scanned the card, his face intent, almost to the point
of frowning. “Do you have a Cahill’s Farm cheddar tonight?”
The wait
er shook his head and leaned down to suggest an alterna
tive. When Ward used to debate over wines with the
sommelier
,
it was to show off. He’d once sent back a perfectly good
bottle
of wi
ne when they were out with another couple, making Hannah cringe in embarrassment. However, as Adam discussed the
various
offerings with the waiter, his genuine passion for the cheese shone through.

“We’ll have your recommendation, as well as the Garrotxa, the Taleggio, and the Ewe’s Blue,” Adam said. “And some chutneys as well.”

“Chutneys?” Hannah gave her menu back to the waiter, wondering what color wine she’d ordered.

“They accent the cheeses with a little hint of fruit.” Adam picked up his glass and took a sip. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, baring curves of muscle in his forearms. Evidently stirring large pots of food made for a good workout.

“About Matt,” Hannah said to distract herself from speculating on what the flex of those muscles would feel like under her fingers. “He seems genuinely sorry for what happened to Trace. He considered your warning about letting the dog out as just another arbitrary rule you decided to make. He didn’t understand the real danger to Trace. So I don’t think you need to worry about it occurring again.”

Relief crossed Adam’s face. “Thank you. Every time I see that bandage on Trace, I get a punch of guilt right in the chest.”

“Sorry about that. Those bandages only come in neon colors, so you can’t miss them.”

His smile was brief and didn’t make it to his eyes. “Tell me more about the pony Matt likes.”

The waiter appeared with a graceful crystal wine glass and a bottle of white wine. With a flourish he set the glass on the table and poured a mouthful of wine into it. Hannah grabbed the glass, took a swallow of the wine, and nodded. “Great. Thanks.” She waited while the waiter filled her glass with a generous serving before moving it aside so she could talk to Adam.

He watched with a little crease between his brows. “Are you sure the wine is to your liking?” he asked.

“It’s fine. Why?”

He shook his head. She looked from Adam to her wine glass, reminding herself food and wine were his profession, and he probably felt she’d been too hasty in her tasting. She picked up the glass and tried to get the wine to swirl around in it to prove she was paying attention. A drop sloshed over the edge of the glass, so she gave up on that and took a sip, letting the wine roll over her tongue in a deliberate way. Much to her surprise, she noticed how crisp and dry the flavor was. “It’s excellent,” she said, after swallowing.

He relaxed into his chair. “The pony?”

Hannah debated how much to tell him about whisper horses. “Do you know Sharon Sydenstricker?”

“I’ve met her once or twice.”

“Have you heard about her whisper horse theory?”

He rubbed his chin. “She makes horses better by whispering to them?”

“No, people get better by whispering to horses. Not only that.” Hannah took a hurried drink of wine. “There is one particular whisper horse for each person.”

His eyebrows rose over a skeptical smile. At least
he
appeared to share her opinion of Sharon’s theory.

Hannah plowed onward. “Not that I believe this woo-woo stuff, but I know animals can have a therapeutic effect on people. And I think Satchmo might help Matt, as well as Matt helping Satchmo.”

Adam shifted forward. “It sounds unusual, but I’m willing to try anything.”

“Then you need to talk to Sharon about setting up a time for Matt to take riding lessons. He was very interested when she offered.”

“I’ll get in touch with Sharon first thing tomorrow.” His gaze was steady on her face. “I was ready to give up, but you’ve given me a handhold.”

“I just treated Matt like a grouchy cat.”

He looked startled, then gave a chuckle that held the deep vibration of a kettledrum. “I can see how that might work.”

The waiter arrived again, this time with an elegantly arrayed cheese board, a divided condiment dish containing the colorful chutneys, and a basket of bread. He identified the first cheese and started to describe it before interrupting himself. “Mr. Bosch, you know more about these than I do, so I’ll let you handle it from here.”

“May I?” Adam asked Hannah, picking up the cheese knife.

She nodded. Her attention was drawn to his hands again as he cut perfectly uniform slivers of cheese and laid them on the bread before topping each one with a different chutney.

“Mildest first,” he said, placing one of his creations on the small plate in front of her. “The Garrotxa, a goat’s milk cheese from Catalonia.”

She picked up the bread and took a bite. The taste of sweet
fruit, creamy cheese, and crusty bread made her moan in
appreciation
.

Her stomach rumbled loudly and he chuckled. “Hunger is the best sauce.” He bit into his own slice, his white teeth flashing. She watched in fascination as he went still, his concentration clearly on the flavors bursting on his tongue.

He nodded and began to chew. “As good as I remembered,” he said. Noticing her observation, he raised the remainder of the bread in a salute. “It’s not an easy cheese to obtain, so I haven’t tasted it in a while. So far no amount of persuasion or bribery has convinced Brenda to give me the name of her supplier.”

“Brenda?”

“The owner here,” Adam said.

“What do you bribe her with?”

“The names of
my
suppliers, of course,” he said, his smooth façade slipping back into place as he gave her one of his practiced smiles. “I’ve also tried chocolate.”

“That would work on me.” She bit into the other half of the bread and cheese.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice had slid into a seductive purr, and she nearly choked. He put the next selection on her plate. “The Taleggio, from near Lombardy in Italy. It’s a washed-rind cheese made with cow’s milk. I’ve paired it with the quince chutney.”

He watched her as she sampled it.

“Mmm, delicious.” She finished it off and licked one of her fingers before she noticed a flicker of hunger in his eyes, one that had nothing to do with food. She dropped her hand to wipe it on the napkin in her lap. “Aren’t you going to eat yours?”

“I enjoy watching your reaction,” he said.

What other kinds of reactions might he enjoy watching?
She
gave herself a mental smack to check her overheated
imagination
.

He moved the third cheese to her plate. “Quicke’s cheddar, also from cow’s milk with the mango peach chutney.”

She waited until his hand was all the way back on his side of the table before she picked up the sample and took a prim bite. She was hungry and the cheese was wonderful, so she wolfed down the rest. “That’s my favorite so far.”

“You like the bold cheeses then.” He looked impressed. “Now try the Ewe’s blue from New York State.”

“What’s the chutney?” she asked, catching the aroma as she lifted it to her mouth. “Apple something?”

He nodded. “Cranberry apple. It has to be strong to counterbalance the blue.”

The flavors exploded in her mouth, the sharpness of the cheese making her eyes water slightly. She seized the wine glass and took a swig to wash it down. “Wow! That one’s great.”

“More?” he asked, his fingers hovering over the cheese board.

She nodded, still tasting the wallop of the blue cheese. He shifted all the previously constructed samples to her plate. “I’ve made a cheese clock for you,” he said, looking up with a smile. “The mildest cheese is at six o’clock. Then work your way around clockwise to reach the Ewe’s blue.”

He shifted back to assemble combinations for himself. She waited to eat hers not so much from courtesy but because it was fascinating to watch the confident efficiency with which he
handled
the food and knife. He had the hands of a working man, the nails trimmed short, the scars visible against his slightly olive skin. Her imagination took off again, conjuring images of those hands on her skin. “Are all those old injuries from knives?” s
he aske
d to deflect her thoughts.

“Knives, graters, grills, oyster shells,” he said, filling his own plate. “Cooking is a hazardous business.”