Page 17 of Holding Out for a Gyro
“Oh, indeed.”
Stupid words fell out of my mouth. “Looking for wine?”
He chuckled. “No. I was looking for a book.” He glancedaround. “Shit, is this a wine shop?”
I shook my head. His sense of humor had not improved. “Don’t they sell wine at your grocery store?”
“It’s notmygrocery store, and yes, but it’s not fancy enough.”
“For who?”
“For my brother, Nicky. It’s his birthday next week, and he’s a surgeon.”
I tilted my head. “And that matters because?”
“Because I can’t show up with a bottle of wine with a screw top.”
Curiosity stifled the warning sirens in my head, and I had to ask, “Do you have many siblings?”
“Three sisters and a brother. I’m the baby. You?” He ran his fingers along the bottles, studying the labels.
I relaxed. Maybe he wasn’t interested in me after all. Maybe that night had been enough for him. “Only child.”
He hummed, like he was processing that. “I used to think I’d want to be an only child. What’s that like?”
Maybe because of how we met, truth tumbled out easily. “I never knew any different. I used to want a sister. But three? You and your brother must have had to team up.”
“My brother’s about to turn forty, so no. We didn’t spend a lot of time together.”
“Oh.” I didn’t have any experiences to draw from to respond to that.
“My sisters teamed up against me. You are looking at a man with a wealth of information about the various versions ofPride and Prejudice.”
I laughed. “You have a lot in common with Elizabeth.”
“You don’t have an opinion about Colin Firth?”
“Not particularly. What’s yours?”
“He’s the quintessential Darcy.” He pulled out a bottle of petite sirah, frowned, then put it back. “Although I loved him best inBridget Jones.”
I pictured him, outmatched by three sisters, unable or unwilling to demand control of the remote to pick something he’d consider more masculine, and I envied his sisters. I’d never have dared reach for the remote unless my mom and I were home alone.
“What kind of wine are you looking for?” I perused the shelves. “I’ve tried many of these.”
He stopped scanning the wine and examined me. “I wonder how many times we’ve crossed paths without even knowing it.”
Exactly what Elizabeth had said. We might have spent years walking right past each other. How could I have been so blind? “Probably not that often.”
“I thought I saw you earlier. At work?”
“I didn’t see you.”
His expression pinched. “I guess that truth serum wore off, huh?”
I scoffed. “Excuse me? I’m not a liar.”
“What then? Secretive?”
