Not Full-Bodied Enough

“I’m—not really a wine person.”

The waiter staggered away as though I’d just said I had Covid.

Even in the candlelight, I was pretty sure he could see the hot blush prickling over my face, but I kept my gaze on the man sitting across the tablecloth from me. Was this another first date that was going to go wrong? Because if so, the sooner, the better. This man was gorgeous. Not handsome, not built, but so—o—o teddy-bear cute.

The whites of his eyes showed for a moment under the soft restaurant lights. “Well! That’s a shock.” It must be. There were five wine glasses in an arc around the top of my plate and five around his. I touched my handbag in my lap. It might be better to call it a night before this lovely man spent a fortune on my dinner.

He gave me a kind smile. “Would you like to just—try?”

This was a test of the new me. I put one hand on the table. “I spent my entire marriage trying to please my husband.” I watched him guiltily. Even I knew the thing you didn’t do on a first date was talk about exes. “I need to stand up for myself.” But I spoiled my strong stance by looking at him pleadingly. Please understand.

His soft hand covered mine, sending warmth and strength up my arm. “No worries.” He smiled at me kindly. “We can get you a soft drink.”

The waiter choked.

He sent the waiter a small frown. “Or Tony could manage a fruit juice and sparkling water.”

He was being, just, so nice. I swallowed. “I could, well, try some. To keep you company.”

He gave me a broad surprised smile. “Maybe half glasses?” I nodded shyly. His hand squeezed mine and left. I was buzzing from the confusing feelings of having pleased a very nice man, and having a cold lonely hand now. I hugged my handbag.

“Let’s think the best way to do this.” He tipped his menu—the real menu, not the book which was the wine menu—to share it with me.

We leaned at an angle to read it together. Tony prodded my menu closer to me and we both ignored him. I breathed in Owen’s cologne appreciatively. The least I could do was to try his dinner experience.

As we sat back and waited for the first course, the muted clatter of knives and forks and genial conversation carried from other well-spaced tables. To have something to do, I picked up my chilled water and took a nervous gulp. It went down my throat like a ball. I sat staring ahead as my throat swelled to keep it down.

Owen watched me anxiously. “It’s a Peter Lehmann Riesling, I thought we’d start with something fresh and crisp.”

I blinked my watering eyes. “Crisp. Yes.” I swallowed again. My throat felt as if grapes were dancing there. “This is a very nice place,” I choked. “I didn’t know there were clubs like this in Adelaide.”

“Mm, yes.”

Slowly my throat eased and we sat quietly together watching soft-footed waiters who knew everybody’s names and never wrote anything down. Such a strange place, an exclusive club. Rich old carpets, rich old curtains, rich old wallpaper. It even smelled expensive.

The first course was two braised scallops under four crossed asparagus spears. I mean, it looked great, I’ve always thought scallops were amazing; thick tasty rounds with magical markings. But that was a lot of empty plate.

My first bite of moist, tender, shellfish melted onto my tongue. Owen lifted his glass and nodded encouragingly. I took a sip of wine and my eyes widened. Owen beamed at me.

I just couldn’t get enough of the flavour of the grassy crisp asparagus and the buttery fishy scallops and the astringent, yet fruity, wine, and it was amazing knowing Owen was experiencing the exact same thing.

Owen was so comforting to be with. I wasn’t even intimidated when the lobster came. Tony the waiter gave me an apron to wear, which meant that at least I wouldn’t get fishy splatters on my shiny crimson best dress. But one thing I couldn’t understand was why Tony had brought out a bottle which had already been opened. “Is this house wine?”

Tony showed the whites of his eyes. “This is a Western Australia Franklin Tate Estate’s 2019 Sauvignon Blanc,” he said. He carried the half-empty bottle off in a napkin as if I had insulted it.

I looked guiltily at Owen.

He looked guiltily back at me. “They keep my wine for me.”

“That’s amazing! They must have enormous wine fridges.”

He looked down. “I’m the one most interested in wines.”

Oh. Oh. He was the only member they kept bottles for. I smiled at his balding head. He was shy about his hobby.

“Do you grow wine? I mean, grapes?”

He smiled. “My family do. I like to be on the receiving end.”

I smiled at him and nearly said I did, too. Then I blinked and took a sip to shut myself up.

I ate tender tasty white lobster meat in a most clever creamy sauce, then I drew out the tendons with a nifty silver fork. We grinned at each other as we wrestled out the tastiest parts, determined not to miss any of that special flavour. First dates at a restaurant were a great idea. You really got to know someone when you ate lobster together.

This time the wine wasn’t so fruity and I was glad because I was really enjoying the flavours, but fresh lobster is really strong and I wanted to have a clean mouth at the end of the evening. I bet Owen would have lovely soft lips if he kissed me. And he seemed to quite like me.

I hadn’t actually finished my wine, but Tony took it anyway, and we waited for our Peking duck. Owen tugged at his lip and frowned as Tony approached us with a new bottle.

The wine was red, and the bottle unopened. “This is a Bass Phillip Premium Pinot Noir,” Owen said slowly. “Lightly chilled.”

I was really enjoying watching a man get so deeply into his hobby. I leaned over the table. “You’re worried about it?”

“I’m concerned it will overwhelm the duck. Tony assures me it’s lighter than the previous year, but…” The men’s eyes met and Tony nodded anxiously.

I watched, captivated by the wine tasting ritual, becoming a little anxious myself when Owen nodded in appreciation, accepted the wine, but made a small frown again. I stifled a hiccup. He was such a serious, cute teddy bear.

Owen stared as I swirled the wine like he had, and took a teensy sip. It was like the strongest cordial ever – like someone had picked dark fruit, and concentrated it, and then poured it over a burning log. I licked my lips apologetically. “It’s all so confusing.” He frowned again and I had to hold in a smile.

The most beautifully designed dishes of duck arrived.

I watched the candlelight play on Owen’s serious expression as he pointed at the duck and told me how it complimented the wine, and I realised I was sitting in a restaurant sharing the most delicious meal of my life instead of washing up alone in my kitchen. Owen really did want to share his eating experience. He didn’t mind that I didn’t understand about wine. He liked teaching me. A wave of gratitude rolled over me. I was starting to wish this was a third date. I bet Owen would be really nice to take home. Had I washed my sheets? I chased down my last spring onion. I only changed them yesterday, didn’t I?

A nearby group burst into loud laughter but neither I nor Owen reacted. We were inside a bubble where only Owen and I dined.

Owen put his knife and fork together on his plate and smacked his lips. “I enjoyed that, but we need to rethink the next wine.” I nodded in understanding and Tony rushed over with the wine booklet. I watched their absorbed expressions fondly. Really, if a man was going to have an obsession, being a wine connoisseur was a good one because it meant so much pleasure for him and his dinner partner. How lovely it would be if I was with a man like Owen who was patient and kind and wanted to share his interests with me.

I watched him dreamily, but his frown stayed as he looked up from the wine menu at me and his voice was cold. “We were going to have the Merlot, but after that Pinot Noir it’s not full-bodied enough.”

Cold slapped across my face and my chin jerked up. My husband always looked at me like that and said things like that. You’re too skinny. There’s nothing to you. A man’s got to have something to hold onto.

I stood up fast, noticing Owen’s expression had turned shocked. Oh, no, he’d seen how much he’d upset me. Things were always so much worse when a man knew he could hurt your feelings. “Restroom!” I said brightly. I lifted my head high. He mustn’t see my face. No one must see my face. I strode to the restrooms, hating that people could see how skinny I was.

I leant on the tiled wall and pressed shaking hands to my face. I had to get out of this dinner. I shouldn’t have come in the first place. Not full-bodied enough. I should have known Owen was too good to be true. No man was that cute and kind in real life.

Wearily I started swiping off smeared mascara. Let’s face it, I wasn’t the most attractive woman in the world. I wasn’t that smart, I wasn’t that young, and I had no money. How could I have thought Owen was attracted to me? I remembered grinning at him over the lobster and winced. So overconfident. His dislike of me must have been building the whole time.

My stomach cramped. How could I go out there and face him again? I straightened my shoulders. There must be other dates out there, men who were nice, who liked me for who I was. I swept out of the restroom with my naked face held high.

Owen was waiting outside.

I gaped, amazed to see him there, standing a bit hunched, looking so anxious.

But he’d been so dismissive and rude. I looked behind my shoulder. Was he waiting for someone else?

He took hold of my cold, shaking hands. His hands were cold, too. “Elle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

We looked at each other. I knew my eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. His were big and wet and worried.

“‘Full-bodied’ is a way of describing a wine.” He looked at me enquiringly as if testing whether that was what had upset me. “I was talking about the wine.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I was annoyed about the Pinot Noir.” He shoved out his jaw. “Not you. Never you.”

My whole face went from cold to hot. Could it be that I had over-reacted to an innocent comment? But no, he’d been angry. And the way he’d looked at me…

Owen met my gaze bravely. “You have the best figure of any woman I’ve seen in real life.” Now he was the one blushing. He offered his arm. “Come back to the table with me?”

Uncertainly, I touched the sleeve of his coat.

Our steaks had arrived and Tony was hovering with a napkin over his arm. “I didn’t pour the wine, sir.”

“Ah, we’ll have the Merlot after all, Tony.” Owen hugged my arm against him, warm and solid. “God’s Hill Black Olive Merlot. Brilliant, elegant, complex, and long-lasting. The Merlot will be perfect.”

THE END