Alex #2
Josie laughs, a low sound that blends into the bar noise. “That’s unfair. When we met, I had a giant grease stain on my blouse and you still managed to talk to me.”
“It was the grease stain that made you approachable.”
She narrows her eyes, but there’s no real bite in it. “What’s on your playlist, then?”
I hesitate just long enough to consider lying, and then I don’t.
“A lot of Taylor Swift,” I say. “But I’m a single father, and I like that she’s a good role model.”
Josie’s eyebrows rise.
“Okay, it’s not just that Eloise likes her,” I add. “I shouldn’t bother with that excuse anymore. I like her too.”
Josie’s smile widens, and I can see her trying not to laugh. “I respect the honesty.”
“It’s either honesty or getting caught,” I say. “Eloise will sell me out immediately if she thinks it’s funny.”
Josie lifts her glass in salute. “Smart kid.”
“She is,” I say, and I don’t try to hide the pride in my voice.
We continue with our drinks, and the bar fills around us, the noise rising and falling in waves. Stuart moves past with another tray. Someone near the windows stands to leave, and the cold air from the door brushes the room for a second before warmth closes in again.
I watch Josie as she listens, the way her posture loosens when she laughs.
She carries herself like someone used to being watched, but for the most part she refuses to shrink from it.
It’s attractive, and it’s also instructive.
People don’t grow into that kind of presence without learning how to handle pressure.
When our glasses are nearly empty, I set mine down and ask the most important question. “Would you want to stay for dinner?”
Josie’s gaze flicks around the bar, taking in the room in a way that feels less about appetite and more about consequences.
“If we do,” she says, “you’re going to be the topic of every conversation in here.”
I let out a short breath that’s half amusement, half resignation. “I’m already the topic, don’t you think? That probably happened the second you walked in and joined me. I get it. You’re fancy.”
Josie tilts her head slightly. “You’re not bothered?”
“I grew up with a different version of the same thing,” I explain, though I keep the rest to myself.
Josie’s mouth curves. “Interesting. And it seems you’re stubborn.”
“Only when it matters.”
She considers a moment. “Fine. Dinner.”
Stuart appears at the table as if he’s been watching for the signal.
“Interested in food?” he asks, offering menus.
Josie doesn’t need to look. “I’ll have the salmon.”
I scan the list quickly and hand it back. “The lamb chops for me.” I look at Josie. “A bottle of wine?”
“Sure. Did you have something in mind?”
“I thought I’d defer to you, the real expert.”
She looks at Stuart. “With the salmon and lamb chop, how about a Willamette pinot noir?”
I smile. “Perfect.”
Stuart nods and moves on.
Josie lifts her glass for the last sip, and then sets it down and leans back, glancing around the room again.
I decide I should get in front of this. “So you think they’re going to have a theory about why we’re here?” I ask. There’s no use ignoring it. I can feel the eyes.
Josie feigns confusion. “Who do you mean?”
“Everyone,” I say. “The room.”
She sighs, and I forge ahead. If I’m going to live inside this town’s assumptions, I’d rather name them than let them crowd the air between us. “The most likely theory will be that someone in your family has cancer and you’re out with the oncologist to talk about it.”
Josie’s laugh bursts out and her eyes widen. “They wish.”
From what I know of her, what I’ve gathered, she doesn’t mean that to be cruel so much as bluntly honest about what it means to be a Dempsey in this town.
“I’ve inherited the Paradise feud along with the family name, my siblings and cousins and I enlisted to carry grudges against our fellow winemakers that were laid down long before any of us were born.”
“You should try to take the attention as a compliment. People like creating stories that make them feel close to important families.”
Josie’s smile is thin, knowing. “Welcome to Paradise.”
When our dinner arrives, Stuart sets the plates down with care. The salmon looks glossy and gorgeous, and my lamb chops smell like rosemary with something rich underneath. “Enjoy your dinner,” he says with a bow.
The first bite slows the world for a moment, as good food always does, erasing everything but taste and texture.
We eat for a few minutes without talking much, letting the shift from cocktails to dinner take hold. The bar noise continues, but it feels farther away now, like we’ve created a pocket of space inside it.
Josie sets her fork down first, wiping her mouth with the edge of her napkin.
“So,” she says, “how did you come to love wine so much? Enough to stand at a fundraiser and educate strangers about it.”
I laugh, because she’s not wrong. “My parents always liked good wine. It was normal in our house. Not in a pretentious way, just…part of dinner, part of hosting, part of the world they lived in.” I take another bite of lamb.
“When I moved here, I realized how complicated the process is. You can see it when you’re closer to the source—cultivation, weather, timing, all of it.
It’s not just a bottle you buy. It’s an entire process that can go wrong in a hundred ways. ”
Josie nods, attentive.
“My undergrad degree was chemistry,” I add. “So wine makes sense to me in that language. Fermentation is alive. It’s controlled chaos. It’s science with personality.”
She smiles at that, and it feels like she understands the exact place in the brain I’m describing. “I agree,” she says. “But most people don’t talk about it like that.”
“Most people are drinking it,” I say, raising my glass. “Not thinking about it.”
Josie takes another bite of salmon, and then flips the subject again. She doesn’t like to linger on herself for too long. “Did you always know you wanted to do oncology?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I knew I wanted medicine. I didn’t know where I’d land.” I leave it there, because tonight isn’t for unpacking every decision I’ve ever made. I’m aware of how easily that conversation can veer past what I’m willing to share.
Her gaze holds mine. “What drew you to oncology?”