Josie #3
There’s something unexpectedly wonderful about someone who knows my name and makes no connections beyond that.
There’s no shift in his expression, no careful diplomacy, no subtle recalculation once my family enters the conversation.
He simply likes the wine, and that uncomplicated appreciation warms me.
“There you are.”
Matt steps into the space beside us and reaches out to clasp Alex’s shoulder in greeting. “Alex,” he says. “Glad you made it.”
Alex nods. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Matt turns slightly toward me. “I see you’ve made a friend.”
Alex’s posture adjusts a fraction, his gaze flicking between us. “I hope I didn’t monopolize the conversation,” he says. “I didn’t realize I was talking to your girlfriend.”
There’s a brief pause.
“I’m not his girlfriend,” I say as Matt laughs.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Matt corrects smoothly. “We’re just friends.”
Alex’s expression tightens with mild embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I assumed.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
Matt grins at him. “Did she bore you yet?”
“I was doing most of the talking,” Alex replies, glancing at me as if confirming it. “I was telling her about my favorite pinot.”
Matt gives a low chuckle. “You were discussing wine, and she didn’t talk your ear off?”
Before anyone can respond, a sharp tone cuts through the air from Alex’s waist. He looks down at the pager clipped there.
He exhales and reaches for it. “I’m on call.”
Matt nods. “Go save someone.”
Alex meets my eyes briefly. “Sorry. Duty calls.” He shifts his weight toward the hallway, pager still vibrating faintly against his hip. He pauses just long enough to look back at me.
“You really should try the Black Bear pinot noir,” he says, as if we haven’t just spent the last few minutes discussing it. “It’s exceptional.”
Matt lets out a short laugh beside me.
“Of course it’s exceptional,” he says. “It’s her wine.”
Alex stops.
He looks at Matt first and then at me, recalculating. “Hers,” he repeats.
“Yes,” Matt says lightly. “Black Bear. Dempsey.”
Alex’s gaze returns to me. There’s no defensiveness in it. Just confusion sliding into recognition.
“You own—”
“My family does,” I say. “I’m the vintner.”
He exhales once, running a hand through his hair. “I just stood here and critiqued the competition.”
“You did.”
“And told you to try your own wine.”
“Yes.” I grin.
A faint flush creeps up his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s…not ideal.”
I hold his gaze and let the silence sit for a beat. “You just made my day,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
The pager sounds again.
He nods, still looking slightly mortified. “I’ll see you around.” Then he turns and dashes off.
We watch Alex disappear down the hallway, the door swinging shut behind him.
Matt exhales softly beside me. “Well.”
“Well what?” I ask.
He glances over. “Are we going to talk about what happened to your blouse?”
I look down. The stain has dried at the edges, but the outline is still obvious.
“The ranch dressing attacked me,” I inform him. “Unprovoked.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Tragic.”
“I tried to fix it,” I add. “That made it worse.”
“Sounds about right.” He shifts his attention back to the hallway. “There is no way he didn’t know who you were.”
I look at the door Alex exited through and wish he was coming back. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”
“In this town?” Matt gives me a look. “You’re telling me he just… What? Walked in blind?”
“I think so.”
He shakes his head. “Impossible.”
“It wasn’t,” I say. “There wasn’t even a flicker.”
Matt looks at me more carefully now. “And that matters?”
“You have no idea.”
He holds my eyes a second longer, and then nods. “Alright,” he says. “I might have enjoyed watching that unfold.”
“You did.”
“Maybe a little.” He shifts his weight. “Sorry if I stepped on something.”
“You didn’t,” I reply. “There wasn’t anything to step on.”
“Good.”
With that, Matt’s nurse waves to him, and he excuses himself. And I find I’m done with this party.
I set my empty glass on the edge of the table and step toward the exit. The fundraiser continues behind me, voices rising and falling as Max continues accepting praise near the stage. I don’t look his way again.
Cool night air meets me outside. The parking lot is half full, headlights blinking on as people begin to leave. I walk to my truck at an easy pace, the sound of my heels muted against the pavement.
I climb in and smile to myself. He didn’t know who I was. I can’t remember that ever happening. Even back when I was in school, people knew me and my family.
There was no pause when I said my name, no shift in tone, no careful diplomacy layered over his opinion.
He talked about Black Bear because he admired it, not because he recognized who was standing in front of him.
And he understood what went into the wine—the patience required to let it develop, the restraint to hold it back until it was ready.
I start the engine and pull out, the hospital lights shrinking in my rearview mirror. The town is quiet now, storefronts dark, the lake a flat stretch of shadow beyond the road.
It wasn’t flattery. It was respect, and that stays with me.
I stop at a red light and note the faint line of sap still marking my thumb.
The light turns green, and I smile as I head home.