"This place has a wine cellar?"
"In the basement."
"Awww, you're the best." I guess Daddy's charm was harder to resist than I thought.
"So you'll give it a few nights?"
"Sure."
There are few things in this world I won't do for a really fine bottle of Shiraz, and fewer still I won't do for my dad. I wouldn't let a bunch of dead people ruin my chances at a new life. Dad was right. I could do this.
I ended the call and raced to the little door behind the kitchen I assumed led to the basement. To my pleasant surprise it was a finished walkout; too bad if you walked out it would be straight toward the dead people. I tried to ignore the view and veered toward the wine cellar. As big as a bedroom, the section for reds had a separate door from the whites to keep each wine at the optimal temperature. Looking over the rows of bottles, their labels turned upward, my mood significantly improved. Dad hadn't let me down; my favorite label was at eye level. I grabbed the familiar bottle of Shiraz from the reds and headed upstairs.
Dad had come through on the food as well. I found a Styrofoam clamshell from Valentine's, my favorite restaurant. Salmon fillet, some red potatoes and fresh asparagus. I scraped the contents onto a plate and popped the vittles into the microwave. Cooking with wine is my specialty, so I grabbed a glass and reached for my old friend, Mr. Shiraz. Unfortunately, the bottle in my hand was Pinot gris.
"Weird," I said to myself. I could have sworn I'd grabbed the red. Odder still, the white was cold. I didn't remember going into the refrigerated section at all.
I revisited the cellar. The bottle of red I'd wanted was back in its spot. I replaced the white in the cooler and then ran back upstairs with my Shiraz, double-checking the label. Man, I was losing my mind. I blamed the stress of moving.
In the dining room, I uncorked the bottle and poured myself a glass, admiring the clarity and subtle scent of berries. I drained the vino with an unladylike swig. Who cared anyway? Like my dad said, the neighbors wouldn't be talking.
The doorbell rang. I jolted, almost dropping my glass. Who the hell could that be? I set the glass down and approached the door cautiously. The bell rang again.
"Can I help you?" I yelled through the etched glass oval of the door. A man's silhouette sliced the twilight. There was no way I was opening up without some credentials.
The man's muffled voice filtered through the door. "Hello? I'm Rick Ordenes, from up the street. Your dad asked me to stop by and welcome you to Red Grove."
"Up the street?" I hadn't noticed any neighbors.
"Yes, I live across the bridge. I'm the caretaker."
"Oh. Hold on." It was nice of my dad to send the old guy over to check on me. I unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door.
And came face to face with the chiseled Adonis from the side of the road.
I Break My Own Rules
"Is this yours?" he asked, effortlessly holding the huge box I'd forgotten on the porch.
"Yeah." With some effort, I lifted my cardboard nemesis from his hands and dropped the sucker ungracefully into the corner of the foyer. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Even more striking up close, I wanted to snap his picture to post on Facebook along with the status, Getta load of my new neighbor. Outlined in my doorway by the orangey purple sunset, even the sky seemed to blush at the sight of him. And what a sight he was. Taller than me, his dark, wavy hair curled at the base of his neck in a style I'd call well-managed chaos. His straight white smile contrasted nicely with his golden complexion and Mediterranean features. Masculine, with a long-muscled grace, he reminded me of a matador or Flamenco dancer. Almost regal.
"Rick Ordenes." He extended his hand. "I'm the caretaker."
I accepted his handshake. Firm, strong. Good eye contact. He definitely passed handshake 101. "Has anyone ever told you, you don't look like the typical cemetery caretaker?"
"What does a typical caretaker look like?"
"I don't know. I was expecting old and gray."
He laughed. "Believe it or not, it takes resilience to do my job. An aged man would struggle with the work."
"I never thought of it that way." I hoped I hadn't offended him.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not what I expected, either."
