Wine, a beautiful woman and a firefighter... What more do you want? Maybe some romance?
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. A strong woman? (I know I have some readers that will appreciate that 😉
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. Sex, you say?
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I think you'll love Gregg and Ellie as much as I've come to love them. Emails welcome! Thanks for reading!
Whispers in the Vineyard Ch 01
The rumbling red ladder truck ground to a halt in front of my old Florida cottage. Two guys in the front and two on the back and all waved but one.
He jumped off the truck and strode across the lawn wearing a sharp white sports shirt with the county fire logo and navy pants.
I had a foot on the porch swing, the other hanging down, my toe just touching the floor to keep it moving. I pared off a slice of the apple I had been eating and offered it to him.
The corners of his eyes crinkled when he flashed a smile, his teeth looking impossibly white because of his darkly tanned face.
"How'd y'know that's why I stopped?" Gregg said.
"You and the gang," I laughed, glancing out at the truck still rumbling at idle, waiting like a bird ready to swoop off when needed.
"What're you up to today since you're closed?" he asked, munching on the apple he had somehow spirited out of my hand.
"I have a few new recipes I want to test." I scowled. "After I get to the butcher," I added as an afterthought because I just noticed the morning was slipping away from me.
"Do you need a taste tester?" He leaned on the porch railing, chin on his hands.
"Are you stepping on my flowers?" I scolded but was unable to hold back a grin.
Suddenly the squawk box went off on the rig and he was sprinting across the yard. The truck started to move as soon as he jumped on.
Twenty years ago, I would have killed for a hunk like that. But I'm pushing mid-forties and he's... Well, he's young. I don't know how old he is, but he's way too young for me. Or I'm too old for him. Either way. Too young is too young.
I carelessly ran my fingers through my fluff of wild auburn curls, grabbed my purse and keys from the table inside the door, and was out the door to the butcher.
When people think of Florida, they consider Tampa, Miami, and the Florida Keys, but there is so much more. I live in a town of around eight thousand in the middle of the state, equidistant to the big cities as well as the smaller Naples, West Palm, and Sarasota.
They come to our quaint little town, spend their money in our antique stores, boutiques, and restaurants, then leave. They don't live here and drive up our home prices. The seasonal crowd dodge the northern snow cold and greyness, spend their money, and are gone again in the spring.
Several years back, to the shock of the locals, I opened Ellie's Place, a bistro. Not a pizza joint, not a breakfast place, or a café, but a higher-end restaurant. I'm the cook. Besides the front of the house, I have some kitchen prep help and one other that is good enough to do what I tell him to do and do it very well.
There are ten tables. I only have what I can cook for. Reservations are a must, and we are usually booked two months out. Cancellations are the only way to sneak in earlier.
Gregg was at a seating one evening with his sister. That was how I met him. His sister had heard about my place and booked a reservation two months ago from Charlotte, where she lives.
The locals often complain that they can't get in, but summer is much easier to eat anywhere really. Once the part-time residents are gone back north, things quiet down considerably. Most businesses don't like it, but I don't mind. I like the slowdown. I like seeing the locals again. Small town stuff. My kinda stuff.
"Thanks, Frank," I said picking up the already packed bag at the butcher. "How's it going?"
"Busy! But I'm not complaining." I nodded, understanding.
After running a food cost check I began prepping the ingredients. Unlike many higher-end restaurants, I liked to give my customers food on their plates instead of a dab of this and that. I do not want anyone leaving hungry.
Time got away from me, and it was late evening by the time I got my kitchen cleaned up and began the grocery list for the week.
I showered, put my vintage caftan on, and was preparing to watch some television when I heard a tap on my door.
It was a small town and although I always look, I'm not alarmed. Besides, it was only around seven.
"I hoped you'd be done and ready for some of this," Gregg said, grinning and holding out a bottle of wine. "I figured I would be late for the food, but I didn't want to interrupt your analysis. Research. Assessment."
I laughed at him. "I just might have some leftovers if you're not offended by scraps."
"Woof woof!"
"You're crazy," I laughed.
Gregg opened the wine while I fixed a plate.
I am five foot five inches my clothes told me my hips and waist were small but my thirty-nine C bust required a large top. As a teen, I wanted a breast reduction, but my parents told me to wait. If I wanted to have it done when I was older, I could. I did wait and found once I was out of school it wasn't a big deal. They sometimes got in the way, but otherwise, I never thought about them.
"This is pretty damn awesome," he mumbled, still eating.
"Southern Greens Fried Rice," I smiled.
He went to the next pile on his plate and mumbled some indistinct words as he shoveled it in. I laughed and poured more wine.
"You're a helluva cook, Ellie. I always knew, but this just verified why you're so successful." He wiped his mouth and took a sip of wine. "And you've done it all on your own."
I picked up his plate, rinsed it in the sink, and stashed it in the dishwasher.
"Let's sit outside. It's not going to be comfortable enough to do that for much longer." Spring for Florida meant warm to hot but low humidity. Unlike the sweltering summer that was sure to come.
The night air was pleasant, and the scent of my jasmine filled the air. I curled my feet up underneath me on the front porch swing and he set the pace.
"I did and I didn't do it on my own. My ex-husband is very wealthy. I found out he was seeing someone else, and I moved out. He offered because he would have legally had to pay me a monthly sum, to instead give me a large settlement. One and done as he said." I took a drink of my wine. "I opted to do that and used that for my startup here."
"Well yes of course then you did it on your own. With the talent you have for food, you would have flourished anyhow. Maybe just take you longer, but no less your hard work. "And," he took my hand, "I'm sorry your husband did that to you. No one deserves that."
